#but you start a fucking fight over PASTA

[the-gayest-sky-kid]

im so fucking done

[violenteconomics]

the first-years need some extra cash (maybe they want to set up a vacation fund or smth, because damn, do they need one right about now), so they start up a really unofficial restaurant in ramshackle dorm. because they're still in school, it's only open on the weekends, but it instantly becomes a hit with the other students, not least because the only other option is super expensive and gets you scammed more often than not.

yuu is the owner, naturally, and they convince some of the ghosts to help cook and wait the tables. they're also responsible for handling crises like table shortages and managing out their expenses.

epel is the actual chef of the group, who specializes in apple pies and apple juice, but who can make a mean chicken pasta if he has a recipe.

ortho's job is to sit on the couch and play music lol. he takes request and can play any kind of music, but his default setting is the "my next life as a villainess" opening theme.

jack is the head waiter of the place, since he's great at hearing orders, memorizing orders, and can carry multiple dishes at once without dropping them.

sebek is the bouncer, essentially, of the whole establishment. he's in charge of kicking out annoying customers and beating up customers that try to fight with each other.

ace and deuce take care of the entertainment. ace has a poker table in the corner of the room where people can challenge him for 1000 thaumarks, but nobody ever seems to win no matter what they try. deuce, on the other hand, literally just sits a table right next to ace, and for 10 thaumarks people can just... talk to him. you have people lining up AROUND THE BLOCK just so they can speak with him, giggling and leaning over his table like schoolgirls, because for as empty-headed as he is, he has a surprising amount of rizz.

(the restaurant is called "fresh meals by freshmen")

(their tagline is: "for just one meal a day, you can help these poor souls get the fucking vacation they need")

[thephant0menace]

| Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley head cannons

Being in a relationship with Ghost

Warnings: fem!reader x Simon Riley, strong language, fluff, slightly suggestive and mentions of sex, mention of blood and wounds, lots of pet names, simons awful dad jokes😨

Simon is a very intimate and physical lover.

He loves touching you and will always want to be close and affectionate with you, as he didn’t get that kinda physical affection as a kid.

He’s not big on PDA but as soon as you guys walk through the front door of your house, he’s all over you.

He’s absolutely terrified of accidentally hurting you like his father use to do to his mother.

So when you first started dating he was so cautious and gentle with you.

He was scared he’d break you.

But eventually he got more confident and comfortable with you…thanks to all your late night counselling sessions together on random nights. 

He never tells you about his injuries after returning from missions, so you’ll randomly find wounds on his body through out the night.

It’s an effort to get him to let you patch him up and be acts all tough as he doesn’t want to worry you.

“Just let me patch you up…it’ll be quick!”

“It’s fine, darlin’.”

“Simon, you’ve got a huge slash up your arm…”

“I’m alright. Let’s just go to the bedroom, I missed you.”

“I love you but we are not having sex with your arm sliced open.”

He’d eventually give in after lots of whining and complaining from him.

He hates to admit it but he does like it when you play doctor and sit in his lap, patching him all up.

“Look so pretty in my lap, lovie.”

You just roll your eyes, fighting back a smirk as you clean his wounds.

He loves when you give him back massages after missions and he happily returns them.

Loves when you use all your special essential oils and lotions to massage his sore muscles.

100% has fallen asleep mid massage.

Simon hates spicy food.

But he will suffer through it if you make it for him because he loves it when you cook.

“Simon? Are you alright?” You try to hold back a laugh as you stare at him from across the table.

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, m’fine…” He mumbled out, tears welling up in his eyes as he reluctantly scoops another spoonful of spicy pasta into his mouth.

You raise a brow suspiciously, “you don’t look fine…are you crying?”

“No! No, I’m not. Promise.”

“If you don’t like it you don’t have to have it,” you chuckle.

“I told you, I’m fine. Just a bit of spice…” there are tears practically spilling from his eyes and down his flushed cheeks.

You still tease him about it to this day.

He has also taught you how to make tea like a proper Brit.

He doesn’t believe in water.

This man lives off tea and bourbon. NOTHING ELSE.

He’s super quiet for a big guy.

He’s stealthy 🤨

So sometimes you don’t even hear him approaching and it scares that shit outta you.

He finds it hilarious yet he doesn’t even mean to.

Simon also sneezes so fucking loud.

Like you know those big ass sneezes dads do…yeah like that.

It quite literally makes you jump, every. single. time.

No matter how long you’ve been together…it always gets you.

DAD JOKES! DAD JOKES! DAD JOKES!

“Hey love,” he rasps out, voice croaky from sleep.

“Hm?” You groan, opening your eyes slightly.

“What do you call a soldier who survived mustard gas and pepper spray? A seasoned Veteran.”

“Simon, it’s 2 am.”

A/N: you guys seem to like my Ghost head cannons, so eat up🫶🫶

Also…more Konig and potentially Price fics coming up next!

[bitchimasnake-sss]

"doing laundry and taxes with you" ft. the monster trio!

ft. (domestic!) luffy, zoro, sanji x fem!reader in which, you make their house a home (a/n: im sick and needed some comfort so this got very long im so sorry!!) warnings: nsfw towards the end! nsfw stuff includes car-sex, in public, dirty talk, rough sex, penetration, squirting, sanji takes a picture of you choking on his dic- (ahem, not sorry); MDNI (thankyou very much okay byee) m.list

luffy:

they are so precious to me 😭😭

- whatever you do, don't imagine domestic!luffy - don't imagine cold mornings when you're under the cover with him. he's holding you tightly, snuggling against you and whispering a soft, "good morning, baby" - do not imagine him coming back from home and holding you by your waist when you're doing something, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as you asks you how your day was - don't think of him as one of those guys who start a tickle fight when poke him once and laugh at him - absolutely do not imagine his as one of those s/o who are down to make everything into a game "whoever loses mario-kart makes the dinner, okay?" he grins, pulling you down onto the couch with him "oh really?" you laugh when he holds you tighter, "i really want some pasta tonight then" - he ended up making pasta that night - but as i said, don't imagine luffy as that because he is certainly that man and more - he will fret over you when you fall sick, trying to make you laugh your way out of a fever (canon). he won't leave your side, no matter how much you insist that you're fine "what do you need? water? soup? pizza- oh wait no that's unhealthy" a pause, "wait, do you want a pizza? it'll probably be fine if you eat one tbh, right??" - also the kind of guy who will ask his friends to turn their car around (because in no parallel universe do i believe luffy knows how to drive ffs) because you only said "love ya" and missed the i (how dare you, he's heartbroken now) "yn!!" he's yelling from the driveway, "YOU FORGOT TO SAY I LOVE YOU!!" so now you're sticking out your head out of your apartment window, looking down at a pouty luffy, annoyed zoro and unbothered sanji - also, man has TERRIBLE separation anxiety - (people now know that wherever you are invited, luffy is invited too "what are you doing here?" nami hisses as she vaguely looks at luffy, "this is supposed to be a girls night out!" luffy shrugs, "pretend im not even here" yeah, luffy that's kinda hard when you're practically draped over your girlfriend the entire night) - but as it's been established, don't fall for his perfect acts because he is the kind to park in a distant corner of a grocery store parking lot and beg for you to let him fuck you "it'll be quick," he's whining, tugging you towards himself and kissing you senseless, "baby, i promise. just one hit." - he's feral, holding you flush against himself as he fucked you with your top still on and your hands holding tightly against his neck - your arousal drips into his thigh and he's groaning about how good you feel, you feel him thrust into you harder and now you're spasming and cumming around his girth - he didn't infact let you go after one hit. - you both walked into the grocery store 37 mins later with your faces flushed, hair tousled and a familiarly uncomfortable wetness nesting between your thighs - (cause i know he's fucking nasty and he will absolutely make you walk into that store with his essence still inside you. sorry, i do not make the rules :/) - eitherways, best guy ever - he's the perfect s/o that never lets you have a dull moment in your life as long as his annoying ass is around

zoro:

- i will stand by what i've always said. soft zoro is the best zoro. 'nuff said, i will die on this hill. - but god, nobody can ever imagine how soft domestic!zoro is with you by the way he shrugs and grunts off any and all people around him (except for his crew) - frankly speaking, you didn't expect this either when you started dating him - you would have never imagined this green-haired, stoic-faced, dry-ass motherfucker to hold onto you tightly and lightly close his eyes whenever you forced him to see another horror movie - he claimed watching horror movies was the equivalent of mind torture but followed along cause you seem to like them (you don't probably like them that much, you just like his heavy figure against yours as he snuggles in deeper and deeper against you) "this is so stupid" he hisses at the girl in the screen, groaning when she blatantly ignores him, "she will die if she follows the fucking voice!!" you don't fail to notice how shrill his deep voice can get whenever there's a jumpscare (but he will blame the wind for that noise, never admits what he knows is true) - he is so soft in the way he offers to shampoo your hair when you drag him into the shower. his calloused fingers are light, gentle, against your scalp and you can't help but smile when he flashes you a small smile and asks if it's fine - domestic!zoro is so soft in the way he would carry you bridal-style/on his back everywhere (wdym you only had to go to the kitchen?? he can carry you there, he's strong, do you not believe him?) - also, we all have sorta established that he's not a pda guy but my lord, behind those four walls, he needs to be around you one way or the other - doesn't matter if he is just standing at the bathroom door, making small talk as you do your skincare for the night or he's holding onto your hand as you both lay sprawled on your bed, looking at your phones - but don't let his softness make you forget that this man is a piece of shit. - he will purposely stand in front of cabinets and cupboards when you cook and flash you a innocent smile when you get annoyed; he will finish your favourite conditioner even though he said "i don't that conditioner too much"; he will purposely order you random stuff online and everytime you'd open it thinking it's something cute but it'll end up being something green and (cutely) stupid - (you now possess 5 mushroom figurines, 12 frogs doing random shit, a green cheap light saber, a lowkey-fucked up painting of baby yoda and green paper-clips. he doesn't even like green all that much, he just loves to annoy you) - but as i said, don't fall for his sweet facade because he will stop you at the door and fuck you against it before you're heading out in that skimpy dress (yes, he fucks you in that dress) (ofcourse he doesn't mind your dress riding up as long as people can see the marks he left on your body) "ah" he groans, thrusting upwards as one of his hands hold you firm against the door and another plays with your swollen clit, "sorry for ruinin' your makeup, baby. but look at you, you look so pretty, getting fucked right now" - he's sure the neighbours can hear the wood creaking against your weights and your high-pitched, feverish moans as you beg him to fuck you harder (it's the fourth time this month) - he forces his fingers (which were slick with your arousal) down your mouth and watches as his fingers rub away the lipstick into modern art "much better" he would sigh against your skin when he was done, "have fun at the party, babe" - he holds back a laugh cause he knows you can barely walk, much less party (not to mention, you gotta re-do your makeup now.) - so he goes with you, lending you his arm as support so that you wouldn't walk so wobbly "that dress still looks too good on you" he will whisper against your ear, "meet me in the bathroom in five, let me fuck you again" - as much as he is a menace, you wouldn't have it any other way - god, iamsodownbad for him <3

sanji:

it's him officer, he is the one who altered my brain chemistry!

- vinsmoke sanji is the perfect pinterest boyfriend. argue with the wall, i don't entertain wrong views. - what i mean is, he is the boyfriend/husband who will be up to bake a cake at 3 in the morning and eat it with you as the sun rises, he is the one who will hold you hand and groggily lead you to an ice-cream vendor at 1 in the night because you really wanted ice-cream, he is the one to take a thousand photos in any outfit you wear "yn" he's changing his angles every second, shutter of the camera snapping photo after photo, "you look so beautiful, so marvelous, charming, ah- mesmerizing, my love!" - he is the guy to hold your hand in a horror house no matter how scared he himself is. but you call tell by the way his fingers tightly close around yours whenever a jump-scare comes on (no, he is not being strong because he wants to look tough in front of zoro, tf you talking about??) - he is the man who will be looking for halloween decor on the first of september and christmas decor on the first of novemeber, takes the task of decorating his house very seriously (yes, he will out-do linda this time! so what if she bought a life-sized snowman?? he will pay luffy to become one, fuck linda.) - sanji is the guy that posts his girlfriend religiously (at one point, ussop asked you if you were holding him on gun-point and making him post you so much) - by religiously i mean for every one photo of himself, there's six of you like baby calm down nobody's gonna take her away - he also surprises you a lot (with nice surprises, unlike zoro.); he bought you a candle on your one-month anniversary and repurchases it every time you run through it - grocery store runs followed by cooking together is basically your idea of a weekly date - very on-brand with his theme but he has so many candids of you (a whole secret album with the title "my love <3"). there's pictures of you laughing at chopper's new onesie, hitting luffy in the face after he stole your sushi, tasting his cookies, tasting his dic- ahem. - it shouldn't come as any surprise that he has a huge thing for clicking pictures/ taking videos of you as he abuses your body in a way that has you crying for god "san-" "like that, moan out my fuckin' name, darling. tell me who's fucking you like this?" "you" you moan harder, eyes clamping shut, "you you, fucc-k you, sanji" - there's a video on his phone of his dick sliding in and out of your wet cunt as you moan and suck on your bottom lip; there's pictures of you sucking on his dick, giving the camera your prettiest doe-eyed look; there's a video of you squirting around his fingers, face red and body soaked as he keeps going and you're cumming a second, third, fourth time (that's his favourite video, it's insane how many times he comes back to that video) - he loves ruining you with slow sex as he makes you focus on the boring movie or show you're both watching - he gets off off how you try to maintain your composure but then come undone "yn, my love" he rasps in your ear, "come on, keep holding on for me. i'm gonna fuck you so well if you just keep taking me like this." - he ruins you and then gets you the best aftercare - ugh stan sanji for a good life.

a/n: the way i write sanji has me confused as to if i truly am a zoro girlie lmaoo. hope you liked it!! req are always open (also im sorry to the people who requested and i havent gotten around to it, i am just running low on fuel lately) m.list

[chalametluvrz]

dating timothee chalamet

timothee x afab!reader (mainly gn! expect on nsfw bits)

towards the start of the relationship, i think he'd be pretty anxious

he'd often find himself messing around with his hands a lot on dates

or stumbling over his words a little too much with a small giggle

if you've ever seen old interviews of him when he was younger. you know the ones where he gets all shy and giggly? that's exactly how i envision him to be with you

after some time, that's slowly replaced with his hyperactive ass

and let me tell you, boy never shuts the fuck up that's not a bad thing

because of his schedule, he rarely gets to see you in person

so whenever he does, he just has so much to tell you and so much to talk about that he just ends up coming out with a cluster-fuck of words

he always tries to facetime you at least a couple times a week

and let me tell you, the call will always start with him saying 'oh, i missed your pretty face' or 'seeing you has made my day'

boy is madly in love

and even though he hasn't said it yet, it's fairly obvious he's not hiding anything

he's the kind of person to want to keep your relationship on the down low

because if you're also famous, he wouldn't want to cause any issues or drama through tabloids

and if you aren't, he'd feel awful dragging you into the world of hollywood

eventually though, as most celeb relationships do, you got found out

someone caught you out on your 6 months anniversary

and that was it; twitter was going mental

timothee soon figured out that he probably had to say something

but honestly, he was kind of relieved he didn't have to hide you anymore

the morning you two woke up and saw yourselves going viral on twitter, there was a bit of a mad scramble between the two of you

before eventually, timothee chilled out

'but now i don't need to hide we're together, anymore. i can let the world know you're mine.' he'd say to your confusion at his relaxed state

cute but also now all of timmy's fans are stalking your instagram

cooking meals together!!!

i have a feeling timothee's love languages are more tailored towards physical touch and acts of service tell me im wrong

so cooking together is such a beautiful thing for him

as much as timothee loves taking you out, i think he'd much prefer to cook a fancy pasta dish together with wine over that any day

he also strikes me as a cosy movie date guy

but honestly, it more than likely turns into something else

don't fight me on his, he's a horny guy

like bro would get a hard-on just snuggling with you

when you first started dating, he'd get all shy about it

he'd apologise frantically and his face would be redder than ever

after dating for some time, he'd be less phased

unless you showed and expressed discomfort with it of course

after the shock of you dating slowly weaved out of the fans

timothee would definitely start posting you on his instagram

he just needed the world to know how obsessed he is with you

arguments are rare

extremely rare

they usually only happen when timothee is stressed

feelings get heated and you end up making some snippy comments at each other before one of you gets up and leaves the room

after you've both had time to cool down, you're both mature enough to talk it out and apologise for whatever each of you or one of you has done

communication is a big thing for timmy, so i think arguments are heavily avoided because he encourages you to come to him about anything

any concerns, rants and problems you have, he wants to know

he's a flirter, let me tell you that thankfully not with others

always dazzling you with compliments

you're in the crowd at a press tour? he's staring, smirking and winking at you the whole time

you're supporting him whilst he's on set? the man can't take his eyes off you and is coming to hold you the second the shot is taken

you're on facetime? every odd sentence is him saying some suggestive comment or simply how stunning you are

the man cannot get enough of you

going back to the horny thing...

he has a high sex drive

there's absolutely no doubt about it

he is a giver!!! the man aims to please!!!

could eat you out for days

i've already made a headcanon about him eating you out so i will be brief BUT!!!

he's messy!!! the wetter the better!!!

will overstimulate you with hid tongue any day

and then make sure you cum on his cock as well

you know what they say about tall, skinny boys? wink wink

i'd say he's a good 7 inches, 7 1/2 at a push

he knows how to please you, and he's eager to learn what makes you tick

even though he's mainly a dom, i can see him being a sub at times

only on rare assurances though

being his date to things like the met gala, oscars etc

after being open about your relationship, he couldn't wait to take you everywhere and anywhere with him

loves it when you wear his clothes

but i feel like all boys do?

especially when he's away, opening up a facetime call to see you sat there in one of his t-shirts. he actually thinks his heart might implode.

this boy will actually love you with his whole heart

the cutest, softest and proudest boyfriend around fr

[everythingne]

christmas in monaco - cl16 [2]

Trying to even bring up boys with Max ends up in a fight. You and Charles have a heart-to-heart. Daniel and Carlos help you devise a plan.

warnings/notes: comparing Max to Jos during the fight, mentions of shit parents, one (1) jab at Kelly, the chapter is serious and then Daniel shows up and that goes to shit, the last bit of set up before i go full scooby-do search party through the doors on you guys

verstappen!reader x charles leclerc, secret dating/brothers best friend

prev | next

-

You know you're in for it when you open the door to Max's apartment, groceries tucked lazily in one arm and coffees in the other and he's staring at you.

"What?" You ask as if you have no idea what he wants. You can see Penelope laying on the floor, coloring while some cartoon you've never heard of plays, and thus immediately switch to Dutch.

"[Why do you look like you're mad at me?]" You say, walking over to where he sits on the kitchen island, plopping down the groceries, and handing him the coffee you'd bought. Kelly's off doing god knows what today, leaving the two of you to watch Penelope before you return to your apartment next door.

"[Who is he?]" Max asks, taking the coffee with a nod of a thank you as he helps you organize the groceries. You knew posting that picture would cause this conversation, you and Charles had spoken about easing Max into the fact you were dating at all, and maybe it wasn't the best idea. Max had been fiercely protective over you since you were kids, you don't know why you assumed he'd stop now that you were adults.

"[I haven't told anyone yet. We're keeping it hush.] Okay?" You speak softly, setting down some things for dinner. Simple pasta, since Penelope had picked that over pizza--as long as you made her meatballs as well. You pluck the ingredients from the mess of other groceries, making sure you have everything as Max leans back in his seat.

"[Oh, so I'm just anyone now?]" Max lifts his hands in agitation, the same accusatory tone of your father's ringing in Max's voice. You swallow your vitriol, crossing your arms taught over Charles' hoodie you wear as you cross the room, then you tug up the red sleeves of the hoodie as you set down the ingredients for dinner by the stove.

"[Max, come on.]" You urge, hoping he'll drop it. But he's as stubborn as your father and as impatient as him too.

"[No, I feel like I have a right to be upset over this, how long have you two been seeing each other?]" His pointed glare at you as you whisk out a pan from under the stove makes your skin burn hot. You pause, mouth opening and closing as you slowly slide the pot onto the stove. If you say two years, does that link you to Charles too quickly? But if you lie, will Max see right through you? And you can't dodge the question, not here, not now.

"A couple months." You say. Yeah, twenty-four of them, then you scoff when Max makes a face, "[Stop acting like a child.]"

"[And how come Danny knows?]"

"[He found out on accident, and honestly I remember now why I didn't wanna tell you.]" You huff, filling the pot with water and clicking the burner on. You tie your hair up lazily, looking over at Max as your crack-open fridge next to the stove and then turn to grab the ingredients to make the sauce, "[you're treating me like a toddler.]"

"[You're my baby sister, I feel like I am kinda... obligated, to be concerned?]" Max's voice is sharp as you start to whip up the same sauce you've been making since you were fourteen. Max stands up and crosses the room to stand next to you, "[And I'm not treating you like a toddler. It's my job to protect you as your brother.]"

"[I'm a year younger than you! I'm not a baby, you just don't trust me, which is fucking stupid because I'm not the one dating a woman almost a decade older than me!]" You huff as you turn to Max, who tries to stammer some defense to his situation but you don't give him a chance to, "[and I don't know why you think I can't date drivers, by the way, you trust those guys with your life but not my heart?]"

"[Those guys are cheaters, I don't want you hurt.]" Max runs a hand through his hair, watching as you continue making the sauce. You can tell, just by his eyes, that he's thinking of the times you used to make him pasta after races growing up. You try to not think about the past.

"Who?" You ask, looking at the sauce and burning the red color into your retinas, mentally praying that he's not catching onto you.

"Lando, probably." Max huffs, stepping back, "Charles."

"Charles?" You hum, hating that you come to his defense immediately and not Lando's, "[The guy who just announced the girl he's been dating for two years?]"

"[He's done some interesting things.]" Max says in his defense and you can't help but laugh. You knew before Charles met you he had been a bit of a womanizer, or 'man-whore' as your friends so kindly said. But with you, it was like Charles was a brand new person.

"[You're so overdramatic.]" You deadpan, turning to add the noodles to the sauce and Max scoffs.

"[I'm trying to protect you so you don't end up with someone like Dad!]"

"[You haven't even met my boyfriend yet and you're assuming the worst! Why are you being such a dick, Max!?]" You slam the spoon down and then flinch, remembering Penelope is in the other room the second you do it. It takes a few seconds, and then her little head peeks around the doorway.

"Are you fighting?" She asks sweetly and you shake your head.

"No, Penny, it's fine." You try to smile at her, but Max seems to have taken another level of offense to everything.

"Y/n. [Go fuck off to your mystery boy, why don't you?]" Max takes the spoon off the counter. His cold shoulder isn't something new, but it's the way he says it, sounding like the harsh whispers your father would pass at you in public, makes you swallow hard. You walk across the room, grabbing your purse and car keys off the table before kneeling down in front of Penelope and kissing her hairline.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay honey? Sorry if I scared you when I slammed the spoon down." You squeeze her in a tight hug, closing your eyes as you feel Max's eyes burn into the back of your head.

"Okay, Tante Y/n." She smiles, throwing her tiny arms around you, "And it's okay, I thought you dropped it."

You step back, kissing her hairline again, before getting up and leaving the apartment in a breeze, coffee forgotten. Your hands fumble with your phone, finding Charles' contact and sending him a quick message as you try and calm your anger.

--

You have a spare key, and as you jiggle your phone and keys in your hands to find it, the door swings open and two arms wrap around you. Laughing softly, you bury your face into the fabric of Charles' sweater and sigh heavily. He's warm, smelling of the usual cedar cologne you'd bought for him a while back. He also smells weakly like his hair products and if you try to search for it, your perfume lingers on his neck.

"Hi, amour." You murmur into the fabric and he bends at the knee enough to scoop you up to carry you the few inches inside before popping you back on your feet as he uses one hand to push the door shut.

"Hi." He says back, stepping back and squishing your cheeks in his hands and peppers soft kisses to your hairline, "Sorry about Max."

"It's fine. He's just being overprotective again." You kick off your shoes and follow Charles to the living room, flopping down on his couch and burying your head in your hands.

"You know if..." Charles sighs, hand coming through his hair and then pausing as he scratches at his neck, "If it's gonna be easier for you, I can try and talk to him?"

"No... I should tell him, he's my brother. I just don't think now is a good time?" You say as Charles pops down next to you on the couch and you shift so you can lay his head in your lap as you kick your feet onto the coffee table to rest, "he just seems so... agitated."

"Because you're dating?"

"He's afraid I'm gonna end up with someone like Dad. That's the problem. He doesn't trust anyone with me and gives them no chances. He thought Jolie was a drug dealer for like, six months!"

"She's a teacher?" Charles turns to you and you can't help but just laugh because that's Max.

"I know!" You huff.

Silence lulls for a while, and then Charles sits up and grabs you to unceremoniously pull you against his chest as he lays you both down on the couch. your face squishes against his hands as he peppers soft kisses to your hairline, the apples of your cheeks, and your nose, before pressing one long kiss to your lips. Pulling back just enough to murmur,

"I wanna spend Christmas with you, properly, this year." He says against your lips, your eyes fluttering before he presses his thumb to your pulse to draw you back enough to make eye contact, "I want to be able to post you, to talk about you with everyone because you're so fucking amazing, and I wanna meet your siblings and your mom and go on holidays with you guys and have our moms meet because Maman and Arthur both adore you and..."

Charles drawls off for a moment, hands coming up to cup your face as he thumbs along the warm, delicate skin of your cheeks, "I want, one day, to be able to get down on one knee and give you my whole heart."

Your pulse rams under his touch, cheeks dusted red, eyes wide but happily smiling as he leans in to lock in a long kiss, then he peppers some pecks on the corners of your mouth.

"The problem is, I can't do anything without Max knowing about us. Two years of us dating without telling him is already bad enough and he's been in my life since we were kids--even if we absolutely hated each other at first." Charles sighs, pressing a final quick kiss to your lips before letting you rest your head on his chest, "I feel terrible he doesn't know."

"But you know what he said." You sigh, closing your eyes against the warm fabric of his sweater--the grey one you'd bought for him a while back.

"I know, but we're either going to tell Max, or Max will find out." Charles sighs, "I prefer the first if I'm honest."

Even as you nod in agreement, you feel sick. The bubble of you and Charles had been safe for so long, that you weren't sure if you wanted to let Max in. But he was your brother, a year and fifteen days older, and you had told him everything up to this point. You'd be lying if you said you didn't also feel like shit for keeping Max out of the loop, but yet you feel like you have to.

"How'd Daniel find out?" Charles asks after a moment and he looks at you with those big eyes that make your heart thrum under your skin, love, and adoration seep from him and you don't understand at that moment how he could've ever been a womanizer when he looks at you like you hung the moon and stars just for him.

And then a small smirk peeks across his lips, "Because I know how Carlos did--"

"That one was your fault, Leclerc." You poke his chest, "Not locking the driver's room door was stupid."

"It was! But we're lucky it was Carlos."

"We're lucky we were only kissing."

"[We could've done more.]" He teases, making sure to really ramp up his accent as he speaks French so it's a bit harder for you to follow along, but you get the gist and whack his chest.

"Daniel saw me leaving, he was in the area doing media stuff." You explain, "I guess he saw me leaving."

"Oh, I thought it was because he moved in downstairs last week." Charles hums and you snap your eyes open and exclaim--

"What?!"

"Mhm. And Carlos lives in this building too." Charles looks over at you from where his eyes had been burning a hole in the ceiling, "Mon chéri, a lot of the drivers live in Monaco."

"I'm gonna lose it." You grumble, then pause, sitting up so you're hovering over Charles, one of his hands slides to support your waist immediately so you don't slide off.

"Carlos and Danny know." You say.

"Mhm."

"And... Carlos is your best friend--"

"--Arguably--"

"--and Danny is arguably Max's best friend, behind you."

"Uh-huh."

"...What if we ask them for help?"

"Absolutely not am I asking those two," Charles says and you huff.

"Come on! We clearly can't do it ourselves!" You exclaim, bouncing yourself on him with your arms, making him grunt as your body weight hits him.

"Daniel will tell us to do some sort of skit and Carlos will say for us to just say it!" Charles grips your waist and pulls you closer, "I don't need their shit advice."

"Maybe we need their guidance, and I promise it won't be bad! I promise! We can invite them over, have some wine and dinner, and voice our concerns--maybe they know something about Max we don't! Maybe they'll know he won't be mad or something."

"Y/n." He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

"Charles!" You whine, "Look, if they give us shit advice, we kick them out and go back to the drawing board."

"Fine. But I'm holding you to this."

--

"I'm going to kick Danny out in about five seconds." You hiss to Charles and he laughs.

"Dude!" Danny shouts from where he sits on the floor, "I'm just saying, Max likes Charles. We all see it!"

"Believe me." Carlos hums into his wine, "There's a reason that... what is it... Lestappen shit is so popular. He's not gonna be mad its Charles. If it was like... me? Probably. Charles and Daniel are probably the only two drives you could date."

"And Yuki." Charles hums, "I don't think Yuki could do wrong."

"He might stab someone with the chef's knives he got for Secret Santa." Daniel points out and you snort.

"But you seriously have nothing to worry about." Carlos nods, "Honestly, you both are so stressed about it, I don't think either of you can think clearly."

You huff, "I feel like I can be stressed though. Max will either be fine with it or hate me forever."

"No, not forever, étoile." Charles hums, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he draws you close.

"I don't think Max can physically hate you. I think he'd explode." Daniel hums, "Remember when you were sick and he thought you were ignoring him but you just literally couldn't hear out of one ear and he almost had a crisis?"

"You remember that?" You blink at Daniel. That had been only shortly after you'd met Daniel, the first race of that season. You were so delirious you couldn't remember most of the weekend, but you remember Christian and Daniel holding that over Max's head for weeks after.

"I do because he almost lost his mind for like four hours thinking you were mad at him and ignoring him. And then you rolled over and woke up from your nap." Daniel finishes the unceremonious story and Charles and Carlos burst into high-pitched laughter.

"He didn't think to like, shake her shoulder?" Carlos asks between laughter, finishing off his wine and grabbing a bottle from the little makeshift bowl cooler you put on the floor. He pours himself another glass and then tops everyone else off before putting the bottle back.

"He knew she was sick, and Y/n specifically told him not to touch her or go near her while she was sick." Daniel explains, thanking Carlos before taking a sip of the wine, "It was ridiculous. And then he made her promise that she wasn't actually mad."

"It was pretty funny." You grin and Carlos nods.

"So then Daniel is right, Max can't stand you being angry at him. So he can't be angry with you. If he is, he's a hypocrite, and fuck him, obviously." Carlos raises his glass in mock toast as sarcasm bleeds through his sentence halfway through, "But I can't say he won't be mad. He might be furious when he finds out, you have explained how protective Max can be, but I think he'll feel better knowing it's Charles."

"Charles is like his best friend," Daniel hums, "if you're dating someone he trusts I'm sure he'll feel better about it."

"Didn't we just make this point?" Carlos turns to Daniel who nods.

"Yeah, but it's a good one, so make it again."

"Max trusts Charles so it's fine," Carlos says and you laugh, waving your hands.

"Okay, so how the fuck do we do this?"

The plan is simple but effective. And it takes a few words to describe; be exactly the same, but a bit less secretive.

And the best way to start that is via social media. Once again.

-

y/nverstappen made a new post! ↴

liked by carlossainz, charlesleclerc, maxverstappen, and 412k others..

y/nverstappen: he called me his star <3

joliejolie: CYOOTIE PATOOTIE WHHAAAT

user1: caption??? GUYS?? CAPTION??

maxverstappen: i still don't know who

charlesleclerc: thanks for using all my film

charlesleclerc made a new post! ↴

liked by ynverstappen, danielricciardo, landonorris, and 612k others...

charlesleclerc: never getting rid of this camera.

user2: get me someone who will do this for me.

danielricciardo: DUDE THERE ARE KIDS HERE.

⤷ landonorris: im covering oscar and logans eyes

⤷ logansargeant: yeah ok.

⤷ charlesleclerc: ill get worse

⤷ oscarpiastri: pls no

⤷ carlossainz: ill buy u wine if you do

⤷ danielricciardo: DONT ENCOURAGE THAT WE DONT NEED A FUCKING HOMICIDE ON OUR HANDS??? CARLOS???

⤷ ynverstappen: why is DANIEL on damage control??

user1: why is this the sweetest thing ever?

ynverstappen.jpg: make a jpg coward

⤷ charlesleclerc.jpg: who says i dont have one.

⤷ landonorris.jpg: its just priv.

⤷ danielricciardo: unpriv coward

⤷ charlesleclerc: ok ?

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: YEAAA SECRET CHARLES PHOTOS!!

charlesleclerc.jpg made a new post! ↴

charlesleclerc.jpg: in her own world.

arthurleclerc: vomiting. put clothes on.

y/nverstappen: TWO shirtless photos. BRO.

⤷ charlesleclerc: oops.

maxverstappen: so she takes after you with not wearing a shirt?

⤷ charlesleclerc: low blow

⤷ ynverstappen: accurate blow tbh

landonorris: where is ferrari's pr manager.

⤷ carlossainz: no one can help her.

ynverstappen.jpg made a new post! ↴

y/nverstappen.jpg: some fuckin gems in my camera roll recently

charlesleclerc: omg finally a feature

danielricciardo: WHEN WAS THAT TAKEN I DO NOT RECALL

⤷ carlossainz: shit talk night w her and charles

⤷ danielricciardo: after the advice?

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: yes and u still owe me a new shirt >:(

maxverstappen: can you ever post a nice photo of me on here?

⤷ y/nverstappen: nope <3!

charlesleclerc: the banana is so old why now

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: comedy

-

And by god, it starts working.

You're walking with Charles, hands intertwined as you wiggle through the tiny stalls in the small market that's popped up for the holidays. You both find a small corner to hide, stealing a chaste kiss and then you pop a chocolate strawberry in his mouth.

"Oh, damn." He hums, "You are right, these are amazing."

"I told you!" You grin, peeking behind your shoulder to see if anyone is watching. You swear you make eye contact with Max, but the longer you look the less the guy looks like Max so you turn back around.

"You good?" Charles rests a hand on your waist and you nod, taking a strawberry into your mouth and sighing.

"Mhm. Just hate hiding." You lean into his touch, letting him wrap a firm arm around your waist as he peppers a few kisses to your hairline.

"Hey, think about it this way." Charles says, "Soon we won't have to."

As you step back and agree, Daniel pops up next to you with big wide eyes--and not the usual excited ones you're used to seeing.

"Hey, Max, on your six." He pokes your shoulder and you make a face, before Daniel waves his arms around in some sort of odd gesture and hisses out to you, "Clock direction!"

"Oh-!" You whip around as Charles' hand moves off your waist and walking towards you is none other than your brother. Offering a soft smile and wave.

"Hey! Didn't think you'd be here!" You call and he pokes your arm, crossing his arms over his chest as you, Charles, and Daniel kinda scramble to make it look like nothing was going on.

"Kelly wanted to grab some flowers for the kitchen," Max hums. The two of you hadn't really apologized for anything said during the argument. In your family, arguments were never really apologized for, you kinda of just moved on from everything. So even if there was still a bit of an awkward twinge, nothing was said.

"Oh! Somehow Charles and Daniel haven't had the strawberries so I brought them here to try them." You smile, and someone's hand comes to your jaw. You blink as Charles uses one of the napkins to poke your cheek.

"You got chocolate on your face, somehow." He murmurs and you laugh, grabbing his wrist and taking the napkin into your own hands.

"Thank you, Charlie." You blot where he says the chocolate is and you notice Max giving you a weird look. Looking over at your brother, you go to say something before Daniel pulls Max away to look at something, mouthing to you both,

"Be more discreet, maybe?"

And you can't help the giggles that leave your mouth as you lean into Charles and he wraps an arm around you, laughing out apologies.

Yeah, Max was gonna catch on.

-

and now you and Charles had to get real good at lying and dodging watchful eyes. Monaco was a small little country, and now that it would be filled with more people who knew you, it was about to become a real challenge to see if you could make it through the holidays without anyone knowing or noticing.

Oh, especially when your Christmas Eve dinner was now going to have the Leclerc's stopping by as well.

taglist. thank you!

@angelayse @iamahallucinationnn @ilove-tswizzle @supremebaddietrash

[oneforthemunny]

Could we possibly get a spanking blurb I don’t care which Eddie I just need him to beat my ass😩

sure why not lol. for freaky friday. this was longer than i meant it to be lol.

thinking of going with the classic, dom!eddie. smut ahead. minors dni.

"Grab some plates." You nod towards the cabinet, steam lifting from the pot of pasta boiling on the stove beneath you.

"Plates?" Eddie hummed, tone lilting in a playful way, hand sliding over your hip when he passed you. "Plates for mac and cheese?"

"Yes," You huffed, fighting back an eye roll. You knew he was watching you, itching for you to slip, give him a reason to punish you.

You were so close to winning. Tomorrow, you'd wake up victorious in your little bet with Eddie. A silly bet that started playful until both your competitive natures turned it to something more.

"You couldn't act right if your life depended on it." Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes at you. "I think it would actually kill you to be sweet for a few days. Not be bratty for once in your life. No way you could do it."

"Please," You huffed back. "I could do it, but you piss me off. Get me to that point."

"That right?" Eddie hummed, tongue rolling down his cheek.

"You know it is." You lifted your brows. "You can't help it. You love it too much. Just push me to my limit where I snap."

"Care to make a little wager?" Eddie's eyes dazzled, bright with excitement that left your tummy flipping. "Four days. I won't provoke you, you don't brat to me. You make it the full four days, you win. If you don't, I win."

"What do I win?" You chirped smugly. "Because I will win."

Eddie bit back a grin. It was going to be too easy. You couldn't help it. "Loser has to do whatever the winner says for a whole day." Eddie shrugged.

"Anything?" You lifted a brow.

"Anything." Eddie nodded.

"Non-sexual too?" Your eyes narrowed towards him.

"Sure. Why not." Eddie shrugged casually, sticking out a ringed hand towards you. "We have a deal?" Your hand in his, the two of you shook on it. A done deal.

Eddie expected you to break by day two. He knew you'd be on your A-Game for the first day, wearing thin on the second. Eddie's eyes would widen with excitement every time your breath would hitch, a snarky comment threatening to roll right off the tip of your tongue, only for a sweet remark to come out instead.

Now, as day four was drawing closer to the end, Eddie had accepted you as the winner. Not that he minded. This was the one bet he could lose and still end feeling like a winner.

"Could just eat it out of the pot." Eddie shrugged, swiping the two plates down from the top shelf. "Less dishes to wash."

"No." You tried to keep your tone light through gritted teeth.

"Just sayin'," Eddie shrugged, pulling the colander out from under the sink, placing it in the sink for you. "I used to do it all the time. We can get two spoons, share it." He grinned at you.

"You don't wanna share a pot with me, hm? Just like we do with popcorn at the movies, but better because it's mac and cheese, and-"

"-That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard." You huffed, throwing your hands up. "That's so messy and disgusting, and you'll end up hogging the whole thing just like you do with the popcorn. We can eat it off plates like normal people do."

The kitchen fell silent, the hiss of the vent the only sound filling the space between you. Your chest settled, days of building agitation replaced with sudden dread. Eddie's eyes wide, gawking at you in disbelief, slowly spreading into a smile.

"You-" Eddie pointed at you. "Holy shit, you lost." He barked out a laugh.

"I did not." You hissed. "You-You pushed me to it!"

"Nuh-uh, don't even try that with me, baby." Eddie shook his head. "You and I both know I was not trying then. That was all you."

Your shoulders slumped in defeat, lip jutting in a furious pout. He was right, and you knew it. You hated it, but you knew it. Eddie had won.

"Fine," You huffed, flicking the stove eye off, moving the pan to the other eye to cool. "You win. Guess we'll be eating out of the pan tonight then?" Your lips curled in a bitter snarl.

Eddie fought back a smirk, lips pressing together smugly. "No, wanna save it for tomorrow. Really get a whole day out of it." He hummed, pulling the drawer above the sink open.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the pot holder, wrapping it around the hot metal handle to strain the noodles. "Just leave that there." Eddie nodded towards you. "Don't want it to get cold."

"What?" Your brows pinched together in a furrow.

"My victory day doesn't start until tomorrow, but," Eddie pulled the wooden spoon out of the drawer, satisfied with how your eyes widened, your face falling at the sight. "Gotta fix that attitude real quick."

"Eddie," You whined, squirming under his darkened glare.

"Don't even try it, sweetheart." Eddie shook his head at you, taking in a step to close in the space. "You know better than that."

Your cheeks blistered with embarrassed heat, sulking towards the kitchen table, bending over the wood. You pressed your thighs together, a desperate attempt to dull the throbbing between your legs that only intensified as Eddie got closer.

His hand shoving down your little cotton shorts onto the floor, anchoring his free palm onto your spine, before the first hit fell. Your lungs squeezed out a startled gasp of a breath, raising on your toes at the impact. It burned, settled into an achy sting that had you whimpering- still you had to swallow the moan that threatened to follow, lifting your hips back into place, eager for another.

Eddie didn't remark, though he didn't miss the tiny whine that feel from your lips. Instead, he let the spoon rain down in sharp, quick successions all over your cheeks. A steady rhythm of wood snapping against your skin, the table creaking with every squirm.

You knew you'd welt, have round shaped marks that you'd frown at in the mirror tomorrow, running your hand over them and try to ignore the throbbing that'd begin all over again.

For now, Eddie's hands sunk into your hips, a hard hold on them as he used you, rocked your body back and forth, up and down his length. Drilling you over the table, hip bones snapping into the hot skin of your ass as you clawed into the wood of the table.

[jobean12-blog]

A Place Made for Love

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (No-outbreak Joel)

Word Count: 5,081

Summary: You're new to the small town Joel's lived in all his life and just the sight of you has him feeling a certain way so when he learns that you've bought the old bookshop and you're moving into the apartment above, it turns his familiar world upside down.

Author's Note: This one got away from me. I love the idea of Joel just living his life and doing construction and being grumpy and then reader comes along and really gives him a run for his money. Had to include a bookshop for this because along with Joel, it's one of my favorite things. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always!❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

PS Bold font means texts and anything italics is like an inner thought lol

Warnings: grumpy Joel, sassy reader, tension, flirting, softness and smiles, fluff and sweetness

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You trudge down the canned food aisle feeling completely indecisive but hungry and growing more aggravated by the second.

As you round the next corner you’re sifting through the contents of your basket when you walk headfirst into what feels like the wall.

“Ow!” you yelp as you stumble back.

A strong arm wraps around your waist to steady you and you look up, blinking.

“Better watch where you’re goin’ there darlin’.”

Your body tenses at the feel of him pressed against you and you mutter something inaudible under your breath before slipping from his grasp.

“Not even a thank you,” he muses as he turns to follow you.

“Weren’t you going the other way?” you shoot back.

“Just realized I forgot the pasta,” he says, leaning over your shoulder to whisper the words close to your ear.

You force your betraying body to remain calm at his proximity and then ignore the comment.

“What the hell are you gonna make with that mish mosh?” he asks as he peeks into your basket.

“Why do you care?” you counter with a brittle smirk.

He shrugs as the corners of his mouth turn up into a grin.

“Maybe something to poison you with…that would be nice.”

Your sassy remark makes his whole face light up with a smile and it momentarily roots you to the spot.

With one last disgruntled glance you stomp off in the other direction. “Since I’m new here you’d think you’d be a little more neighborly!”

“Fuck,” Joel mutters as he follows you.

“Ok darlin’.”

“Ok what?” you ask as you turn to face him.

“Maybe…” and he paused, studying you. “I could be a bit more friendly.”

He looks back down at your basket.

“You know if you grab some beans and a pepper you’ll be well on your way to making a great chili.”

“Chili,” you repeat.

You look between him and the basket. “That works. Although…”

“You’ve never made it before?”

At his question you fight back a sigh.

“No. I haven’t. But I’m capable of looking up a recipe.”

“Or I could just tell you about some good take-out places.”

You roll your eyes.

“I can manage to cook my own dinner, thanks!”

At the sarcasm in your tone his grin widens before he starts to step around you, his arm brushing yours with the motion.

“Great darlin.’ Just don’t burn the place down or anything. It’s the only bookshop in the neighborhood and we all love it.”

He winks and saunters off.

The urge to turn around and watch him is almost overwhelming but you square your shoulder and keep your chin up. “I can make chili,” you assure yourself.

Joel sits across from Tommy and sips his beer, waiting for his brother to make a dinner choice.

If Tommy notices Joel glancing too many times at the small bookshop across the street, he doesn’t mention it.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Tommy remarks as he drops the menu and leans back. “What’s on your mind?”

Joel grunts before looking across the street again. “Work.”

“This new job we have is a big one. I want it to go perfectly so they hire us for the rest of it.” Joel continues.

Tommy nods in agreement but he’s battling a smile.

“Somethin’ you wanna say brother?” Joel asks.

Tommy grins. “I might have somethin’ to say.”

Joel grinds his teeth and tightens his grip on the beer bottle.

“Heard you had a little exchange with our new bookshop owner at the grocery store this mornin’.”

“Who said?” Joel asks, pinning Tommy with dark eyes.

“No one of importance,” Tommy shrugs. “You’re starin’ a hole through the window.”

Tommy’s eyes glitter. He’s clearly enjoying himself. “Heard she didn’t back down and run off over your…charm.”

“You’re worse than a school girl. Spreadin’ gossip around.”

That makes Tommy laugh and he takes a swig of his drink.

“Still,” Tommy says. “I can’t blame you…she’s real nice to look at and probably a lot of fun when you get her goin’…which you seem to enjoy doin’.”

“Tommy,” Joel warns as his jaw tightens. “Don’t go sniffin’ around any of that and don’t ask me to explain why.”

Tommy dips his head in understanding, his mouth tight in a straight line but his eyes bright with amusement.

“Not a single sniff. You’ve got my word brother…”

Tommy’s head swings around and his attention settles on something happening in the street. “What the hell…?”

Joel jerks his head in the same direction and in matter of seconds he’s out of his chair and charging through the door.

Without thinking he runs toward you and let’s out a breath when he looks you over, the large pot between your fingers and a garbage bag over your shoulder.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” you breathe, staring at him. “Where the hell did you come from?”

His relief at the fact that you’re unharmed is obvious even as he takes the pot from you and grabs your wrists, turning your hands over to check.

His skin is warm and his fingers are calloused. The sensations cause your mind to go blank and you stand there motionless.

Once he’s satisfied he looks down at the pot and the black contents inside. He’s still holding your wrists.

“I burnt it,” you say quietly. “The whole upstairs apartment smells awful so I thought I’d better get rid of it quick before the shop started to stink.”

“I can take care…” Tommy begins to speak and Joel whips his head around just now realizing he was even standing there and glares so Tommy snaps his mouth shut.

Joel looks back at you and slowly releases you, the loss of his touch something you instantly feel.

Tommy covers a cough and you drag your eyes away from Joel to glance at his younger brother.

“Hey,” Tommy says and extends his hand.

You reach out and shake it to introduce yourself.

“I was saying I could help you out with that but I think my brother here has it under control,” Tommy quips.

“Damn right I do,” Joel says, hands on his hips.

“Thanks Tommy, I appreciate the offer,” you smile.

Tommy tips his head and walks back across the street to the bar.

Joel’s hard eyes turn to you in an assessing way but he remains silent.

“Aren’t you going to make some shitty remark about my cooking skills,” you snip.

His broad shoulders slump and he holds out his hand.

“Here, give me the bag.”

You hand the bag over and watch as he empties what he can of the contents and then stares down at it with pursed lips.

“Might have to…” he starts.

“You can just get rid…” you say at the same time.

He drops the pot into the bag with a laugh.

It catches you off guard and when he meets your eyes again the surprise is evident in your wide-eyed expression.

“No shitty remarks darlin.’ Just glad you’re ok…and you didn’t burn the place down.”

The last part of his comment trails off into quiet mumblings but you still catch it.

“Couldn’t help yourself huh?” you say but you’re fighting back a small smile.

The two of you stand there on the sidewalk for what feels like forever until Joel clears his throat and you look up at him through your lashes.

“Guess your dinner’s ruined,” he states.

“You could say that. I’ll have to go aimlessly walk around the grocery store some more in the hopes of finding food.”

His large hand runs through his already mussed hair before it settles on the back of his head and he shoves his free hand into his jeans pocket.

“Hey uh, listen darlin’…I’m sorry if I was rude earlier…at the store…and the other times before that. It was wrong of me.”

Your expression softens.

“Thank you, I accept.”

Joel hums and flicks his head toward the bar. “I had just ordered dinner before you came running out. Go in and eat it.”

When you stare at him he plays back his words and realizes they came out as a demand.

“If you want to,” he adds. “Join me. For food.”

You smile and slide past him. Your distinct and soft scent wafts up to his nose and he instinctively inhales, his eyes closing briefly before he starts to move to follow you.

He motions to the small table and pulls out your chair, waiting for you to sit before he does the same. His thick fingers wrap around the fork, making it look comically small, before he hands it to you and pushes the plate closer.

You stab a French fry and pop it in your mouth.

“So Tommy…you guys work together?”

“Yeah. Construction. We actually have a big project coming up in the city. Working on one of the new fancy hotel buildings.

“That sounds exciting. I guess it’s not really a 9-5 job then?”

“Nah, not really. Some days we spend doing small, odd jobs around the neighborhood and other times we’ll be on one job for weeks or months.”

You nod. “What do you do in your spare time? Besides follow women around the grocery store and make snarky comment on their food choices.”

“Gonna hold that over my head for long?” he asks.

You look him over and pretend to think about it. “Not sure yet.”

“Fair enough,” he sighs, noticing you stopped eating and nudging your arm with his elbow. “Eat.”

“Are you always this bossy?” you ask as you chew.

His eyes drop to your mouth and the way you lick the salt from your lips.

“Maybe,” he replies, the sides of his mouth twitching with a smile.

“Fair enough,” you tell him, mirroring his earlier words.

The whites of his teeth appear with his lopsided smile

“You plannin’ on trying to cook chili again?”

“Maybe,” you answer, loving the way his eyes crinkle at your repeated and mocking words.

“So now that you know a little more about me why not tell me why you’re here in our little town?”

He settles his forearms on the table and leans in, watching you with intense eyes.

“Well,” you start with a sigh. “I’ve always wanted to run or own a bookshop but my job in the city was keeping me so busy I barely had time to read and of course it’s easier said than done. For a while I didn’t mind…the work that is. Sure I was busy but I figured my life was just what it was supposed to be. Had a nice apartment, steady job, steady boyfriend…until I didn’t. He broke up with me over a text and then refused to answer my calls and explain why. After that, my job became less and less appealing as did living in the city so when his opportunity came up I had to jump on it as scary as all the change is.”

You wait and hold his gaze. “What are you thinking?” you ask.

“I’m thinking a lot of things,” he says quietly before stealing a fry off the plate.

“Like?” you ask.

Like where I can find your ex-boyfriend so I can give him a proper beating.

When he still doesn’t speak you continue talking. “I’m thinking about the renovations I want to make to the bookshop. It’s nothing crazy. Just some minor changes to make it more of a cozy space.”

“That sounds nice,” he answers. “It could use some upgrades.”

“Definitely. And the door to my apartment upstairs doesn’t even lock! I need to get that fixed first.”

Joel’s eyes narrow at your statement. “That’s not safe.”

You smirk and steal the next fry that’s dangling between his fingers as they hover over the plate.

“Maybe I’ll look up some cute contractors online to come help me.”

He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest and spreading his legs wider under the table. Your gaze moves to the way his biceps pop under the tight fabric of his shirt.

“You could. If you wanted the job done poorly.”

“Are you saying you’d be able to do a better job?”

“Damn right darlin.”

Was this still about renovations to the shop?

With that thought still floating around in his brain he watches you stand and pop one last fry into your mouth.

“Thank you for sharing your dinner with me,” you say before rounding the table. “I like it when you’re nice.”

And I even like it when you’re bossy. Maybe too much.

You kept that last thought tucked away and lean down to kiss him on the cheek before lightly brushing your hand over his shoulder and walking out the door.

Tommy drops into the now empty seat, grinning ear to ear.

“How’d that go boss?” he asks.

“Shut it,” Joel growls.

Later that week with the sun just peeking above the horizon you hear a knock at your door. It startles you into alertness and you sit up with a gasp, dropping your book to the bed.

Your feet hit the cool floor and you ask, “who’s there?,” hoping to keep the shakiness from your voice.

“It’s Joel.”

“Oh,” you whisper, now suddenly even more alert but much less jumpy.

Before you open the door you quickly run a hand over your face and scrub away the sleepiness. You turn the knob and have it halfway open before you realize you’re barely dressed, the only thing covering your body is the old tee shirt that hits way above your knees.

You stop and peek through.

“I’m um…I’m not really dressed. I was in bed reading.”

“Shit,” Joel mutters. “Sorry darlin.’ I didn’t even realize the time. I can wait till you’ve put somethin’ on.”

He doesn’t move away from the door and you open it a little wider before slipping away to grab shorts.

“Fuck,” he mutters quietly but not quietly enough and your lips turn up into a triumphant smile.

When you return you open the door invitingly and then notice the toolbox at his feet and meet his eyes.

His cheeks are dusted with pink and not even the scruff lining them can cover it. It’s hard to hide your smug satisfaction but you do your best.

“What’s that for?” you ask.

“I came to change the lock for you,” he explains hoarsely.

“Oh,” you answer, feeling your stomach erupt with nervous energy. “Why?”

“I’m leaving this morning. To go to the city and start on that hotel job. Won’t be back for a few days. I just…”

He kneels down and starts rummaging through the tool box, metal clanging against metal so you can barely hear him when he adds, “wanted to make sure this place was safe and secure.”

Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your old shirt.

“That’s really nice of you.”

“Well.” He stands and starts working on the door. “I saw you hadn’t done it yet and I didn’t want you calling any random guys.”

“Because you can do it better. Right?”

He doesn’t look up from his work and just grunts his acknowledgement.

You take the opportunity to move toward the small kitchen area and start making some coffee.

“Coffee?” you offer.

He looks up at you as you lean against the counter with your bare legs on display. His eyes drag down the length of them before he shakes his head no.

“Already had a cup thanks.”

He finishes the lock and puts his tools away before approaching. His hand moves to his back pocket and he pulls out some folded papers, setting them on the counter.

“I brought some take out menus.”

“It’s probably too early to be insulted.”

“This isn’t me telling you not to cook. These are just in case you don’t want to cook.”

“Ah,” you answer. “I could have just looked this up online.”

“Yeah well I don’t have your number so how would you know the best places to get take out.”

You stare at him from over the rim of your steaming mug.

“Maybe you should take it,” he says abruptly. “My number…in case…”

“I need cooking advice again?”

He makes an affirmative nod and smiles.

“Ok, what’s your number?” you ask as you reach for your phone.

The relief on his face doesn’t go unnoticed by you and he recites the digits as you punch them in.

When you hit dial on his contact his eyebrows draw together as if he’s trying to figure out where the sound is coming from.

“That’s you. Now you’ll have my number too.”

You giggle and the corner of his mouth lifts a little. “Right.”

You set your coffee down and push yourself up onto the countertop.

With one more almost imperceptible sweep of your legs he coughs into his fist and turns toward the door.

“Thanks Joel!” you call after him.

He waves with barely a turn and flies down the steps.

The rest of your day is spent figuring out the renovations for the bookshop space downstairs. You clean, declutter, and really start to map things out in your head. By the time the late afternoon sun is setting you realize you’ve missed lunch and you’re starving.

“I should try chili again,” you say to yourself.

After a quick and much less exciting visit to the grocery store you head back with a bag full of Joel’s recommended ingredients and get to work.

Two hours later you have a large pot of bubbling and unburnt chili on the stove.

Without thinking too much into it you snap a picture of the food and send it to Joel with the caption, “I did it! And it smells amazing!”

Before you even put your phone down his response dings in.

“Wow darlin.’ Looks amazing. Save me some.”

You’re about to reply that you definitely will when another text comes through.

“And I’m hoping you didn’t burn anything down?”

He follows it with a silly smiling emoji and you answer with, “nope! Everything and everyone is intact,” including your own smiley face emoji.

“Perfect. And I meant it. Save me some.”

“Please…” you type and then send another message saying, “so bossy!”

He responds quickly. “Save me some. Please.”

He adds a kissy smiley face and you giggle before sending one back with a thumbs up.

It’s easy to flirt over text. You aren’t overwhelmed by his masculine and sexy presence. By the smell of him. Woodsy and spicy. And his hands aren’t there teasing to touch you.

All you can think of while you enjoy your bowl of chili is how you can’t wait for him to come back this weekend.

When Joel returns from his trip he rushes home to shower and change. It’s already late but he needs to see you and you should have a bowl of chili waiting for him.

When he pulls up to the bookshop and parks his pickup he frowns at the darkened space.

Maybe you’re out? With someone…

Pushing the invasive thoughts aside he gets out and walks to the large windows, peering inside.

Nothing.

The scuffle of feet pulls his attention away and he catches sight of you sitting across the street by the park, your feet dangling along the pavement.

He approaches slowly, making noise so you don’t get scared. You look up and tense but instantly relax at the sight of him.

“Was wonderin’ where you were,” he murmurs.

“You’re back,” you say. “I have chili for you.”

You half smile but your eyes fall.

His chest tightens.

“Darlin’?” he asks before sitting down next to you.

His thigh brushes yours and his arm is close enough that you feel his warmth.

Your sniffle and hug your arms around your body.

Hesitantly he lifts his arm and rests it lightly across your shoulders.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

When you don’t pull away and instead lean into his strength he tugs you closer.

“I tried to start doing some work on the bookshop. I just wanted to take off the old and peeling wall paper but I think I fucked things up. I’m not sure how to fix it and really I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s a mess.”

Your confession softens him and he runs his calloused fingertips along your smooth skin, sneaking them under the sleeve of your shirt.

“I’ll take a look at it. I’m sure we can fix it.”

You were so soft. It took everything in him not to pull you even closer and wrap you in his arms.

“It’s a mess. I’m a mess. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing!”

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t put yourself down. It pisses me off.”

You look up at him and gasp. “You? Pissed off? That’s new.”

The corner of his lips lift and his eyes sparkle. “I deserve that.”

You wipe your nose and give him a smile.

“Maybe. But only a little.”

You lean your head on his shoulder and sigh.

“We’ll sort it out,” he assures you.

You look at him with soft eyes full of gratefulness. His gaze moves lower…to your mouth and his lips part as if to speak but the sound of a loud car horn makes you jump apart.

“How about that chili?” you ask as you start to stand.

“Sounds great darlin’.”

You walk toward the building, tensing at his side the closer you get, knowing he’s going to see the disaster you’ve made.

He stops you with a hand over yours.

“For what it’s worth,” he whispers. “I think you’re really brave for comin’ here to start over.”

The tension slips from your shoulders and you take his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“You did it,” you murmur. “I’m still upset but…I feel better. More hopeful.”

He smiles before you turn to unlock the door and your hyperaware of the feel of his hard body behind you. It takes everything in you not to turn around and throw yourself at him but you manage to get the door open and offer him some chili.

The next day, being Sunday, should be a day of rest but your new-found determination has you up and out of bed bright and early, ready to conquer the wallpaper debacle and then some.

You’re saved from wondering where to start when the front door of the shop opens and in walks Joel with a tray of coffee and a bakery bag.

“Hey there darlin’,” he says. “Thought you’d be up and ready to work.”

“Hey back,” you wave.

He fills the doorway with his body and you try to focus on the smell of fresh coffee and sugar.

“That for me?” you ask and point to the tray in his hand.

“Yeah.”

He crosses the small distance and places the tray down on one of the old tables. You reach for the coffee and open the top, inspecting the contents of the cup.

“You know how I take my coffee?” you ask, raising a brow.

“I pay attention,” is all the answer you get.

You stood dumbfounded for a moment until you remembered that you had made coffee the other morning when he fixed the lock on the door upstairs.

“Thank you.”

Your gaze travels to his and there is some kind of silent communication between you. You can’t believe how much he can convey without actually speaking. Your breathing becomes shallower as he continues to look at you and you know, by the determined set of his jaw and confidence simmering in his gaze that things have really shifted.

When he finally pulls his eyes away you let out an audible breath and take a sip of your coffee.

“What’s happening here?” he asks as he looks over the mess of a wall. “You want to get rid of this?”

He moves closer and toys with the wallpaper.

“Yes and then I want to…”

You start rattling off your ideas in a long run-on rambling sentence without taking a break and when you’re finally done you find him eyeing you with both an amused and thoughtful expression.

“Right,” he said. “Well I know a good place to get lumber and all that so we can shop later but for now let’s get this cleaned up.”

He turns and strides for the exit, passing your trash bag from yesterday that was too heavy for you to lift.

“You want this out for pick up?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you respond.

With zero effort, he tosses the bag over his shoulder and walks out. When he returns he’s carrying his toolbox.

You peer through the window and see his pickup truck and one trip at a time, he brings more supplies and tools.

Grabbing the back of his sweatshirt he drags it up and off, bringing his tee shirt underneath along with it, and you catch a glimpse of what’s beneath.

“Shit,” you mutter.

Now that he’s only in a tee shirt you can see the deep cut of his triceps and forearm muscles every time he lifts or handles something.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“You alright there darlin’?” he asks when he hears your quiet reflections.

“Huh? Me? Oh yeah, just fine thanks. Um…I want to help so just tell me what to do…you know be bossy. You’re good at that.”

He steps closer with a sideways smirk, his warmth coasting over you, and his gaze falls to your mouth, taking it’s time before finding your eyes again.

“Keep ripping that wallpaper down. I know it looks a mess but you’re doing it right.”

The words themselves hold no sensuality at all but the way he says them, the way he leans in close and whispers them along your ear…it sends a shiver right down your spine.

As the days pass you continue to work and make progress on the shop. Some days it’s just you and Joel and other days Tommy joins you both to help. On the days when Joel has to work he gives you detailed instructions on what to do and how to do it. You’re proud of how much you’ve accomplished together but also on your own.

At the end of the week, with the late afternoon sun already making it’s way toward the horizon, you notice the shop is oddly quiet. No sound of the saw or hammer.

“I have something to show you.”

His low and gravelly voice pulls you from your current task of polishing the small table tops and your nerves fire up.

When you stand and walk closer he looks you over from head to toe. You’re covered in dust and your skin is glowing with a light sheen of sweat.

You look down at yourself then back up at him.

“Is it that bad?” you ask with a halfhearted smile.

“You look beautiful.”

He holds his hand out and you take it, letting him pull you toward the back of the shop.

You step behind the last row of bookshelves and stop short.

“Joel…”

The large bay window is now framed by two brand new floor to ceiling dark shelves. The polished wood gleams in the setting sun and every beautiful accent swirl and grain is highlighted.

“It’s amazing! I just…I love it. Thank you!”

He takes the rag from his back pocket and cleans his hands while he watches you from under the dark strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead.

“Glad you like it darlin’.”

“No. I love it Joel. How can I ever thank you.”

“Have dinner with me…and not here…on the floor of the shop like we do some days. A real date.”

You suck in a small breath and curl your fingers together. “Did you think you needed to build me this to convince me to go on a date with you?”

“No,” he says as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I was workin’ up the nerve to ask you and this was a good distraction.”

“Oh…” You say the words and your mouth forms a little ‘o’ shape. “I…I mean…of course. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

He looks down at his feet and nods firmly, a smile playing on his lips. “Alright then.”

He starts to gather and pack up his tools. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six.”

You shake your head yes and realize you’re not speaking and as he turns to walk away you move forward while calling his name.

One second he’s holding the tool box and the next it’s on the ground next to him and he’s turning toward you. Your momentum brings you right into his chest and his arm wraps around your lower back.

He waits for you to speak, his eyes wandering over the features of your face before focusing in on your parted lips. His fingers splayed along your lower back dig into your skin and he tugs you closer as he dips his head.

Your palms land flat on his hard chest and slowly dance upward along his broad shoulders.

“Thank you.”

The words are just a whisper but you manage to get them passed your lips and he looks like he’s about to speak but instead covers your mouth with his.

The kiss is worshipful but you can feel his restraint in the tense and flexing muscles of his body and your fingers find purchase at the back of his neck and comb through his hair.

His hand slides up your back and he presses you closer as he lifts the other to cup your jaw. The callouses on the pad of his thumb scrape deliciously across your soft skin and he moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

When the need for air finally takes over he releases your mouth just long enough to look into your eyes before he dives back in, stealing your breath all over again.

The door to the shop opens, the newly installed bell atop it ringing loud and clear through your kiss filled haze.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Tommy says sheepishly when he appears by the window.

Joel breaks the kiss, his chest heaving with harsh breaths and he stares at your mouth for a few long moments while you cling to him. His hand eventually drops away from your back and his fingers trace along your jaw and then down your neck to pull your ear to his lips.

“Tomorrow night,” he murmurs. “Six.”

@hiddles-rose @lorilane33 @lizette50 @littleseasiren @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Different Meanings (Part 18)

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Danny got Ellie her treat and then practically dragged himself home. As he got closer he could sense Jason and was relieved to feel he had gone back to their home and not a safe house, Danny needed the security of their nest and his lover. That fight had gone really well, and Danny was glad to think that Dan might start doing better after this, but he was exhausted. 

He didn't bother with the door and just slid through the outer wall invisibly with a sigh. He dropped his invisibility, and then his ghostly form, letting his feet hit the floor with a soft thump. 

“I'm home,” Danny called, exhaustion dripping from his voice. The apartment smelled like fresh bread and savoury garlic but no one came to greet Danny right away, so he waited. It was a few minutes before Jason practically slunk out of the kitchen to meet Danny. “Are you done being mad?” Danny asked, his tone shamefully bitter.

“I’m so sorry Danny,” Jason said softly, helping Danny out of his Hyena costume, Danny groaned as he pulled off the stiff material breathing deeply with the restriction gone. At least he wasn’t sweaty underneath since the entire fight had been in his ghost form. 

“You should be. The meeting turned into a fucking intervention! And Batman has been snooping, or our people have been talking, or both, because he knew this wasn’t the first time. It was fucking miserable to have your siblings pitying me. You should have seen the looks on their faces, I think you broke their hearts. You have to make this right,” Danny accused him, baring his teeth at Jason. He was too tired to figure out how to say any of this nicely, besides he was still pissed and Jason needed a wake up call.

Jason winced and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. So much for trying to be a good influence on Tim, he didn’t want to know how much trust he had lost with his little brother. More important right now was how much he’d upset Danny.

“I’ll talk to them soon, I promise. You must be hungry after using your powers so much right? I made ravioli and garlic bread,” Jason asked Danny, nearly pleading for him to accept the food.

Danny was almost too tired and angry to accept, he almost said he was just going to go to bed. But Jason’s eyes were pleading and Danny couldn’t say no. “Fine,” He sighed, a ringing endorsement to be sure.

Jason nodded eagerly. “You go put on something comfortable, I’ll set the table and fix you a plate,” He promised and vanished back into the kitchen.

Danny sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath before he went into the bedroom to pull on some sweat pants and a long sleeve shirt. He looked longingly at the bed for a moment before shaking his head and wandering back into the kitchen. A reluctant smile pulled at the corners of his lips when he saw that Jason had set the table with some fresh flowers and lit some candles. It was nice, Jason was pulling out all the stops to make Danny feel loved and say sorry with more than just words. Danny could already feel it soothing the ache in his core as he went to sit down at the table.

Jason was quick to bring over a plate for him, loaded with a generous helping of homemade stuffed pasta and sauce, with garlic bread on the side. He set it down in front of Danny and kissed his temple softly. Danny’s attempts not to smile failed and he leaned into it just a little. “I’m still mad at you,” He mumbled.

“I know,” Jason said with a rueful little chuckle before he went to grab a plate for himself, as well as a drink for Danny before sitting across from him. He was sitting on the edge of his seat like he was ready to take off again, if Danny mentioned anything else he needed or wanted Jason would be quick to get it for him. He was full of nervous energy and trying not to let his knee bouncing shake the table as Danny dutifully picked at his food.

“It's good Jason, I'm just so tired,” Danny groaned when he was about halfway done. He propped his elbows on the table and dropped his face into his hands. 

“Just finish your plate, I know you're hungry,” Jason encouraged gently. “Then you can go to bed, and if you want me to sleep on the couch tonight I completely understand.” If Danny agreed to that Jason knew he wouldn't sleep at all but he would understand, they needed to have a serious conversation and they couldn't do that while Danny was this tired and upset.

Danny gave a half hearted snarl but he lifted his head and started eating again. “I think you should take the couch tonight,” he agreed with a sigh.

Jason's stomach dropped but he just nodded, looking down at his plate and not arguing with giving Danny the space that he needed. Danny finally finished eating and Jason got up, sliding around the table and leaning down to kiss Danny’s forehead as Jason took his plate. “Do you want seconds, Beloved?” 

“No thank you,” Danny yawned, shaking himself a little to get energy back into his limbs before he pushed his chair back and stood. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow okay? I love you.” 

“Of course, I love you too.” Jason replied, some of the tension easing from his shoulders because they would work through this. He had fucked up, but Danny still loved him, he and Danny were still committed to each other and tomorrow was a new day. They would work through this.

-----------

The bats didn't know what happened after Danny had left with Ellie, but Dick in particular hated the idea of what might have happened to Danny when he went home. Bruce wanted to barge right in but both Dick and Tim absolutely refused to let him be involved. Danny and Jason both had intense and not unreasonable mistrust for Bruce, and they loved each other regardless of if that love was healthy, they would not respond well to Bruce being involved in this, they might not react well to any external interference at all. But they needed to do something, didn't they? So a brotherly intervention it was.

They went in the morning, about ten AM and let themselves in rather then knocking and risking Jason not letting them in. They were practiced enough to avoid Jason's traps anyway, if Danny was nearby he might lash out but he's stop as soon as he realized who it was breaking into their house. 

“That better be my siblings,” Jason called from the kitchen with a growl in his voice. 

“It is. Dick and Tim,” Dick called back, following Jason's voice into the kitchen where he was up to his elbows on flour and aggressively kneading a ball of dough. 

“What do you want?” He grumbled, barely glancing at the two of them. 

“Where's Danny?” Dick asked nervously.

“He's still asleep. The fight yesterday took a lot out of him so he needs the rest. I'm making fresh bread for the whole fucking neighborhood,” Jason scowled, driving his fist into the dough again making Tim and Dick flinch a little. 

“Ya, about that Jason, about what happened yesterday-” Dick started and was cut off when Jason snarled. “Please don't get defensive Jay, we just want to help,” Dick said, holding up his hands in a pacifying gesture.

“Did you already talk to Danny about this?” Jason asked without looking up from his kneading.

“Ya but he-”

“Let me guess, he blew up on you for bringing it up?” Jason asked with a wry expression.

“Ya,” Tim sighed.

“Ya he's like that, he hates anyone questioning our relationship. He gets really defensive, I just feel ashamed. I know it's not great, but it's also not as bad as you think it is. Danny agreed to this. I mean I'm in the dog house right now for hitting him in front of you but usually he really doesn't mind. It actually helps him too I think, and he asked for this.”

“Jay, that's not-” 

“No I don't mean “he asked for it,” in the shit way abusers do. I mean literally before we were even in a relationship he broke into my office while I was having a Pit episode and basically demanded I take my anger out on him so we could get back to work faster.” Jason interrupted, shaking his head and smiling a little at the memory. He finished kneading the dough and started to roll it out, planning to make this batch into cinnamon rolls. “Wouldn't take no for an answer.”

“Are you serious?” Tim broke in, sounding skeptical.

“Ya, you can ask him about it if you want to, though he’ll probably be pissed you’re interfering at all,” Jason said with a shrug. “He’s like that. We know that this… isn’t ideal and we’re working on it I promise but also, Danny is afraid of himself. He’s afraid of what he could become, how much damage he could do. Feeling controlled by me eases his fears of himself, and since I think he’s more scared of himself then just about anything, besides maybe being recaptured by the GIW, he still feels like he needs to be controlled. 

“I don’t know how long it’ll take him to trust himself again but until then I think he’s scared of things changing. I think that’s why he lashes out when people try to bring it up to him. When some of our employees tried to talk to him about it he blew up too. I’m glad you guys care about him, I’m glad they do too, but this is our relationship and we’re handling it in a way that works for both of us.”

“Jason, are you sure?” Dick asked worriedly. “You don’t exactly have a model of a healthy relationship, with how you grew up, and Bruce is not exactly a romantic. We love you, and Danny, and we just want what’s best for you I promise. We’re not here to accuse you of anything.”

“Ya, and I assume you had to bully Bruce out of coming and actually accusing,” Jason chuckled, glancing up to see Dick give a sheepish smile. Tim was still stone faced, Jason got the impression he was quite mad at him. “Thanks for that. I know the two of you mean well, and I know I fucked up yesterday.” A timer dinged and he turned to pull a couple loaves of bread that had just finished baking out of the oven and set them on the counter to cool. The next batch that had finished proofing went in.

“Babe? Who are you talking to?” Danny called from the hall and all three of them stiffened immediately. Looking like deer caught in headlights as Danny came around the corner and spotted them. “Oh,” He sounded, voice flat and face expressionless. “Is there coffee?” He asked Jason, firmly ignoring Dick and Tim.

“Ya there is,” Jason said, quickly pouring Danny a cup and passing it to him. Danny came forward and bullied Dick off of his barstool still without acknowledging him. 

“Hey-” Dick started indignantly only to shut up when Jason hissed at him.

Danny took a few long swallows from his coffee before he sighed and finally looked at Dick and Tim. “So what do you two want?” He said coolly. “You weren’t invited.”

“We were just worried about you-” Dick started and Danny hissed sharply, interrupting him. 

“We don’t want your worry. If you’re here because you’re concerned~ You can leave again,” He snarled at Dick.

“I’m not here because I’m worried,” Tim spoke up, though his expression was still blank. “I’m here because I’m hurt.” 

That made both Jason and Danny wince, Dick on the other hand looked betrayed. “Tim, this isn’t about us! This is about-”

“Shut up,” Danny snapped. “You should leave,” He told Dick before turning back towards Tim. “You can stay if you want to.”

Dick glanced back and forth between Danny and Tim, and seemed a little betrayed when Tim avoided eye contact and stayed on his stool. “Fine,” Dick sighed, sliding off his stool and resting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Text me okay?” He asked softly before looking up at Jason and Danny again. “You too, I’m just… worried about both of you, I care about both of you. However I can be there for you,” he said before slipping out of the room.

Danny watched him go and waited till he heard the door close before he let his shoulders drop with a sigh, taking another sip of his coffee. Jason shook his head and grabbed a plate, pulling the cinnamon buns out of the oven and putting a fresh one on the waiting plate, sliding it across the counter to Danny. He gave Jason a grateful smile and then bit into the burning hot bun, Jason could practically hear it sizzling on Danny’s cool pallet but Danny never minded.

 “It’s good, it’ll be better when it’s cooled enough to ice,” Danny mumbled through a full mouth. Jason rolled his eyes fondly. “Right,” Danny said, putting the bun back down and turning back towards Tim. “I think I can guess why, but can you tell me how what happened yesterday made you feel so we can talk about this properly?” He asked gently. 

Tim looked down, fidgeting with his hands as he tried to organize his thoughts. To give him something else to focus on Jason poured him a cup of coffee and handed it over, Tim gave a mumbled thanks. Jason nodded and grabbed a cup for himself before turning off the oven and sitting down, he still had more dough he could bake, but he could freeze it and go back to it later too and this was more important. 

“I guess I just… look up to you guys,” Tim muttered, clutching the mug in both hands. “My parents treated their marriage like a business exchange, and then there’s Bruce… Dick has pretty good relationships but we’ve never been that close. Your relationship is-” He paused, taking a sip of his coffee and wincing a little when he burned his mouth. “I guess I saw you both as a model of a good relationship, and now…”

“It’s okay Tim,” Danny said, giving him a patient smile. “I get why you feel that way, and I’m flattered you’ve seen us as role models-”

“Though it’s a horrible choice really,” Jason interrupted, earning a gentle smack on the arm from Danny, and a suppressed snort of laughter from Tim. 

“But we’re not perfect people, and sometimes we fuck up. Jason fucked up yesterday and he knows it,” He said, glancing over at Jason who sighed and nodded, looking down. “We’re going to talk about that and work through it, but I need you to understand that it’s not as big of an issue as it would be if someone hit you, for instance, or Dick. I’m preternatural, I’m much harder to hurt, and I heal very quickly, usually in seconds. 

“More then that I think I mentioned how violence is a culture for ghosts, it’s expected, it’s a bonding activity. What Batman was talking about that happens behind closed doors? I want that, I volunteered for that. I can’t really fight back because I’m so much stronger and I worry about hurting Jason, but the violence between us doesn’t have the same meaning that it would in a relationship between two humans. 

“What Jason did last night wasn’t wrong because he hit me, he’s allowed to hit me, we’ve discussed it and we have understandings and aftercare set up. What he did was wrong because he did it in front of others, which is against the rules we’ve set up for our relationship. But most of the time it’s like… you asking Kon to spar so you can really go all out without having to worry about hurting him because he’s a lot more durable then another human would be. Do you do that?” Danny asked for clarification and Tim nodded warily, Danny nodded back. “Right, and that’s probably fun for him too isn’t it? 

“It’s a bonding activity for the two of you, you get your frustration out, and I’m sure he enjoys getting to see how strong you are.” Danny smiled mischievously when Tim blushed and spluttered. 

“Jason and I have a relationship that works for us. It wouldn’t work for two humans, but we’re not fully human, either of us. I’m only half, and even though he’s mostly human he was dead long enough to keep some of those instincts. I get mad because I don’t want to have to explain our relationship to someone who has no business meddling in it! But you deserve an explanation, so I hope it’s helped you understand better now that you have one.”

Danny sat back in his seat and sipped his coffee, Tim drank too, mechanically as he processed all that information. Jason fidgeted in his seat and tried to take inspiration from Danny’s patience as he sat quietly waiting for Tim to finish processing and think of something to say. Jason almost wanted to jump in to break the silence just because of how awkward and uncomfortable he was feeling, but that wouldn’t help right now. To keep himself from speaking he got up to mix a frosting for the cinnamon buns and frost them before handing Danny a fresh one, now iced since they were cool enough. 

“What do you think about this, Jason? I know you mentioned him asking for this earlier, but you were quiet through all that?” Tim finally spoke up, making Jason startle. 

“Ya, I agree with it. Mostly anyway, I’m working on my anger, because sometimes I don’t like the energy that I bring to our interactions, you know? Sometimes I know I’m not doing things for the right reasons, and I don’t like how often I’ve let it take control and make me fuck up. So I sure as hell wouldn’t look up to me, but everything Danny said is true too,” Jason said a bit awkwardly. 

Tim nodded slowly and let out a long breath. “Okay, I think I understand, thank you for explaining. I’ll try and explain that to Dick too, and Bruce if you don’t mind?” He asked, glancing back and forth between Danny and Jason. Danny shrugged and looked at Jason, who hesitated and then nodded, mostly because he hoped that would get Batman off their backs some. “You should call Diana though, and soon.”

“Right, I’ll do that today,” Jason promised with a soft sigh, that was going to be a hard conversation. She was going to be disappointed in him and he hated that.

“Good,” Tim said, nodding before turning his attention back to Danny. “Okay, I’m not going to say this again after this because I know it upsets you. But if anything changes or it gets to be too much you can talk to any of us. I don’t want you to think that just because we’re Jason’s family we’ll take his side.”

“No, if anything it’s the opposite,” Danny said with a scoff. “You guys are always at each other's throats. You could really do with a family vacation or something.”

“You know that’s not a bad idea,” Tim said, a slow smile spreading across his face. 

“No,” Jason said with dawning horror. 

“I’ll tell Alfred to make sure Bruce doesn’t turn it into a team building exercise. Can I take some of those cinnamon buns to go?”

[mewhenimanangel]

everywhere ʚɞ miles morales x reader

pairing: 42!miles morales x reader

synopsis: you were a wreck. it’s your mom’s one year anniversary since she passed. miles helps you feel better

wc: 3.0k

warnings!: swearing, death, death jokes, violence, kissing, n word used

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you begrudgingly pulled your blanket off you and went to the bathroom to brush your teeth. you were fighting so hard to not crawl back in your bed and sob into your pillow. it was the anniversary of your mom's death and all you wanted to do was cry.

you got in your uniform and put sunscreen and lotion on your face, not bothering to do anything else. you grabbed your bag and your phone and went out your door. your dad was standing there making coffee when he turned around to walk over to you and embrace you in a hug. "good morning baby" he pulled you back to see your quivering lip.

"i know, i miss her too. say what how about i make her special pasta that she always made. or at least attempt to." he joked. "yeah sure whatever" you fanned your tears and went out the door. safiya was standing outside your building waiting to walk with you. "hey bebe how you doing?" she rubbed your back. " i'm fine" you faked a smile. she knew you were lying but she didn't say anything and you two just walked to school.

your classes went by quickly, probably because you spent 90% of them staring out the window. currently you were in physics class doing the exact same thing, it's been a month since your schedule switched and you and miles grew a little closer, as close as he'd let you. you'd exchanged numbers and followed each other on social media. and he would join you and safiya on the walk home, silently walking at your side while you chat with your best friend.

miles looked through the side of his eye and noticed you hadn't even picked up your pencil since class started and were just staring into space, dejected expression on your face. he nudged your shoulder and whispered "what's up with you today, chiquita?"

"mm? oh, nothing." you mumbled looking back down on your desk. "you ain't even write your name, ms bennett's gonna get on your ass" he snickered. you just snorted a bit before going back to stare out the window. it was a rainy day out, how ironic.

he could tell something was off with you so he decided to help you out. "here, i'm done" he moved his paper to your desk. "just copy it" he told you.

you smiled at him before writing down everything he had on his paper, on yours. "you look different today" referring to your bare face "in a good way" he added when he saw your eyebrows furrow. "um thanks" you finished your paper just in time for the bell to ring.

you were in the bathroom washing your hands when the melanie came in. "oh..hi y/n, we miss you in math" she said with a condescending smile on her face. you rolled your eyes and dried your hands before getting ready to leave. "oh by the way since your fine daddy's single, do you think you could give him my number." you face twisted in disgust and you turned around and shoved her up against the wall. "fucking say shit bout my parents again and i'll fucking kill you." you snapped, pushing her head back against the wall.

"bitch is that a fucking threat?!" she pushed you off her. "yes bitch! i'll fucking gut-" "girls, where are we supposed to be??" a hall monitor interrupted coming into the bathroom. you grumbled an insult before pushing pass her and heading to the roof.

miles looked over from his conversation and saw you storming off from the bathroom, melanie following shorty after with the monitor trailing behind her. "yo i'll see you later aight" he dapped his friend up and followed behind you.

his eyebrows furrowed when he saw you sneak through the rooftop door. he followed through the door and snuck up the stairs. he saw you hunched over on the ground and he could hear your sniffles from here. he didn't mean to slam the door but he did and it startled you. you darted your head over your shoulders, quickly wiping your tears when you saw him. "what are you doing here?" you put your head back on your knees. "saw you when you stormed outta the bathroom, you looked upset. then i saw you come up here and i wanted to make sure you ain't kill yourself" he joked, making you giggle.

"why you up here anyway? and why you crying?" he asked, sitting down next to you. "i told mr brown i'd water the garden." your voice was breaking. "doesn't explain why you're crying ma" he looked at you. you didn't say anything for a moment, taking a deep breath before you opened your mouth. "today was the day my mom died, like a year ago today" you told explained. "i promised myself i wasn't gonna cry today but that fucking cunt melanie loves to piss me off"

"that why you said you fought her?" he asked. "mhm" you mumbled. "well she's a fucking bitch. don't take that shit from her." he told you, you nodding your head. "but...i get it. my dad's dead and when he died, niggas thought something was funny? so that's why i had beat lincoln's ass" he said. "god the people here suck so bad. m'sorry about your dad." you told him. "it's aight, i'm sorry about your mom" you smiled and nodded your head, holding back the tears that dared to slip down your face. "it's alright to cry ma. don't hold back i'm not gonna judge you"

you blinked and your tears came flowing down your face, you leaned your head on his shoulder and he didn't move it he just let you cry. "i just wanna go see her grave, but it's all the way in westchester" you wiped your tears. he stayed silent for a moment "then let's go see it. i have my license and i know where my dad's old car is" he told you, rising to his feet. "what? we can't do that. we have school and you can't just take your dad's car." you rose to yours too.

"what, is he gonna stop me?" he said making you giggle. "that's crazy. you don't have to do this really it's fine" "it's alright, if it'll make you feel better i don't mind. come on let's go through the door in the green hallway" he said going through the roof door, you following behind. you opened your phone to tell safiya you were skipping with miles.

'miles is taking me to my mom's grave??😭

we're ditching come with us' you sent the text.

'girl WHAT 💀' she sent.

'that emoji feels familiar 🤔' you sent back.

'stop. anyways i cant come, bout to start a test. just be safe baby. i love you' she sent back.

miles scoped out the hallway making sure no teachers or monitors were around. he pushed through the door and you two made a break for it down the street. "wait, i wanna get something" you pointed to the grocery store down the street.

you both went in and you picked up a bouquet of pink roses, her favorite flowers, from the front. you went to another aisle and picked up a pack of ferrero rocher chocolates "these were her favorite. one time my dad stood her up with work on valentine's day so she and i watched her favorite movie and ate a whole big pack of these. we were so sick afterwards. after i threw up she gave me medicine and sang me to sleep" you lightly laughed, biting your lips to hold back your tears. "she sounds great" he said giving you a comforting smile. "she really was"

you checked out and miles took you to an old garage, tugging open the door, a black buick sat on the other side. "does this even still work?" you asked opening the door. "should. if not i'll just make it" he turned the key in the ignition, engine sputtering in response. he groaned, opening the electrical system. he pulled out two wires, hitting them together until a spark emerged and the engine started. he looked at you with a cocky smile "there, all we need is some gas" "how do you know how to do that?" you asked putting on your seatbelt. "don't worry bout it" he drove off.

after stopping at a gas station and filling up the tank, you two drove the hour and a half drive to westchester graveyard. he let you control the music and would occasionally glance over at you while you just stared out the window. he watched you put your legs up in criss cross apple sauce and doze off, smiling at the way your mouth fell open and he could hear your soft snoring.

he pulled into a nearby parking lot and tapped your thigh "we're here" he told you. you stretched and rubbed your eyes, looking around to make sure it was the right place. "you were snoring mad hard" he teased you. "i was not!" you gasped. "yes you were" "nuh uh, i do not snore" you retorted. "yes you do, could barely hear the music" he lied. you rolled your eyes fondly and opened the car door, grabbing the chocolates and the flowers.

he followed your lead to her headstone and you let yourself plop down next to it, resting the flowers down gently. "hey mom" you leaned your head back. "miss you, god even after a year it still doesn't feel real" your voice was breaking and miles figured he'd back off a little, sitting back on a bench nearby.

"i'm a junior now, me and safiya are still as close as ever but i've been making new friends. dad and i have been weird but if feels like it's getting back to normal now?? his cooking still sucks ass tho" you giggled "oh i got a job now, i'm a barista at mel's. i've been letting my hair grow longer and i redecorated my room. i started reading those poetry books that you had always wanted me to and brandy's been in my playlists on repeat, maybe it's silly to do this because i like to think that you know all this already cause you're watching over me."

"i miss you so much mommy. god i wish you would just come back, how is this not some stupid joke" you wiped your tears, but they wouldn't stop streaming down your face. you turned around and kneeled, knees sinking into the soil beneath you, hands resting on top. you couldn't control it anymore you let out a broken cry and shoved your face in your hands.

you felt miles tap your shoulder and pulled you to your feet. you looked at him, face scrunched up with bloodshot teary eyes. he moved a hand up to your cheek wiping away the tears that rolled down your face. "ugh this is embarrassing" you grumbled, shoving your face in his chest, and he put his arms around your shoulders. "it really isn't. i get it y/n, trust me it'll be okay. i'm not saying it's gon stop hurting but it'll hurt a little less with time." he told you.

he reached in his book bag and took out a small pack of tissues. he handed them to you so you could wipe your tears off. "put your leg up" he told you putting his hand on the underneath of your knee. you put your hands on his shoulders to support yourself and he used the tissues to clean your knees. you let out a small laugh "thanks. really thank you so much for this, you genuinely did not have to do this at all." "it's alright ma"

you checked your phone seeing a missed call and  texts rom your dad. 'where you at? school call me tell me you not there??' 'answer me before i call the police' they read. you giggled a little before telling him you were in westchester, which he did not take lightly and told you you were in trouble but right now you didn't care.

you went to the bench miles was sitting on and grabbed the chocolates. "you wanna eat some with me?" you asked him, holding out one to his hand. "you not gonna eat till you throw up right. i don't fuck with vomit." he put out his hand. "no!" you laughed which made him smile.

the two of you sat there on the bench for about another half an hour talking about whatever. your parents, your lives outside of school and knowing each other, etc. while eating the chocolates. you stopped yourself before you got too into them. "ah we should probably start driving back" you told him. "you sure?" he looked at you. "yeah, dad said i'm in trouble when i get home anyways" you got up and closed the container.

"well. since you're already out can i take you somewhere?" he asked. you twisted your mouth in thought "but my dad-" "well if you're already in trouble when you get back why not stay out a little longer" you let him convince you and got in the car for the drive back to brooklyn.

when you got to brooklyn he drove straight past your buildings and to a nearby unused subway station. you went down and he walked you all the way to the end of the platform going onto the side of the tracks. "alright are you trying to fucking kill me" you hesitated in following him. he chuckled "relax ma, no trains run here anymore it's an old track" he put his hand out to you and you took it and you both walked down the tracks. "alright we gotta hop the fence" he told you.

"are you crazy" you furrowed your eyebrows at him. "it's not even that high up, i'll go first" he climbed the fence and jumped down, swiftly landing on his feet. you followed behind and lost your balance when you were on top causing you to fall over but not before he caught you and put you down. "will you chill out" he laughed at your annoyed expression.

you kept walking for about a minute until you saw a wall full of graffiti. "my uncle takes me down here sometimes and we just paint" he told you, tossing a can at you. "you wanna do a mural for her?" he asked you. you smiled and nod your head "what does she look like?" he asked you. you pulled out your phone and opened the photo album you had dedicated to her, picked a photo and gave him the phone.

"wow she's beautiful. you guys look like twins" he said holding up the phone to a blank part of the wall. "she should fit right in there." "you think i know how to spray paint?" you said shaking the can. "i can help you."

and so he did, he found a color to match her skin tone and her facial features. he did most of the artwork, putting you on his shoulders to do the hair and the top of the rose. you stepped back and admired the finished product. it was your mom with a big smile on her face with her signature red lip, you added details such as your matching necklace, the beauty mark on her cheek, her smile lines and a hand that held a single pink rose.

you smiled and tears stung your eyes, mix of happy and sad but mostly happy. you looked at the time and saw it was almost 9 o'clock. "ohh my dad is gonna kill me" you groaned. "do you think you could take me home now?" you asked him. "yeah it's mad late" he picked up his bookbag and you guys walked back out of the track.

he drove the car back to the garage and you grabbed your book bag before you guys  got out, walking to your block getting to the front of your building. "thank you for today, like seriously. i don't know anybody who would've drove me out for two hours just to sit at a grave." you giggled. "you were sad and i didn't like that, wanted to make you feel better." he nudged your shoulder. "you did make me feel better, thank you" you threw your arm around him, pulling him into a tight hug wrapping around his waist.

you threw your arms up to his face, pinching his cheeks "who knew you were such a big softy morales" you said in a playful baby voice. he rolled his eyes before looking into yours, face softening. your hands were still on his face and his were still around your torso.

your eyes flickered down to his lips before going back to his eyes, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. you quickly pulled back "oh sorry! don't know what came over me" you frantically apologized. "don't apologize" he whispered before pulling you back in. you threw your arms around his neck, hand rubbing against his fade. his hands were on your waist pulling you closer to him.

you were interrupted by your dad poking through the window five stories up. "y/n! you had me going crazy wondering what the hell you were doing and you out here kissing boys?!" he shouted, baffled expression on his face. "girl get inside" he told you through gritted teeth. "goodnight miles" you giggled pulling away from him. "g'night" he said back to you. "and boy who your parents is? cause i will be giving them a call! got my damn daughter out at night kissing all up on her" he pointed at miles, grumbling the last part. "dad relax!" you shouted up at him. "get inside!" "what does it look like i'm doing?!" you shouted back, opening the building door.

taglist ౨ৎ

@prettypink-princesss @itsnotino @r3d0n33 @iluvprowlermiles @jmsanchoo

[rafeysbafey]

⭒to the rescue⭒

⭒summary. rafe comes to your rescue when drunk.

⭒warnings. fem!reader, drinking, cursing, slight angst if you squint, fluff, protective rafe

⭒word count. 654

you were attending one of topper’s parties, usually with rafe but this time with sarah, getting drunk and dancing your worries away.

she had persuaded you to come along, labeling it as a girls night, but you knew the real reason why she wanted to come.

and plus rafe was doing work for his father, so why not?

but things had started going downhill once you downed three…four? shots. the alcohol running through your veins as you felt your confidence shoot through the roof.

all was fine, dancing with sarah and making friends with the random girls around you, until some touren decided to test his limits with you.

“i s-said stop,” you slurred, shoving him against his chest in a weak attempt to get this random boy away from you, sarah backing you up by shoving him in the side.

“topper!” sarah yelled, trying to grab the kook’s attention while keeping an eye on you, your eyes fluttering shut as your body swayed.

“cmon, i’ll show you a good time.”

you tried not to vomit, the smell of beer and whatever god awful musk he was wearing suffocating your scent.

“i-i have a boyfriend,” you mumbled, body relaxing at seeing topper and kelce approach the situation. kelce quickly grabbed the guy before sarah dragged topper over.

“leave her the fuck alone, bro” kelce spat, shoving the guy as topper quickly took out his phone to dial your boyfriend.

rafe let out a groan at the sound of his phone going off, his attention taken away from the scattered papers covering his desk.

“what, topper?” he snapped, annoyance clear in his voice.

“u-uh, we have a problem,” topper started off, moving away from the phone for a second to yell something in the background, only ticking off rafe more.

“spit it out, topper. i don’t have time for this-”

“y/n is like- wasted. and some touren won’t leave her alone.”

that was all rafe needed to know for him to leave tannyhill, forgetting about the piles of paper work ward was forcing on him.

when he arrived, it wasn’t hard to miss his girlfriend who was drunkenly fighting with kelce and topper.

“you said he was coming!” you whined, throwing your head back as you leaned into sarah.

“y/n he is-”

“hey, baby,” rafe called, grabbing your attention as your eyes shot in his direction, a drunk smile making its way on your face.

“rafe!” you gasped, stumbling to him before throwing your arms around him, “i-i’ve missed you!”

“i’ve missed you too, baby,” he chuckled, pulling you away to fix your messy hair, strands sticking to your forehead.

“i heard there was a boy problem here?”

your eyes went wide as you gave him a pout, tears threatening to spill, “i didn’t d-do anything!”

“oh i know, shh it’s okay,” he whispers, frown on his face as he runs the pad of his thumb over your cheek.

“i’m just here to get you home.”

your frown was quickly replaced by a smile, letting rafe bring your figure closer to his.

he felt warm and smelled good, bringing immediate comfort to the situation.

“thanks top for calling,” he said, grabbing the boy’s attention, “and kelce for helping. you too i guess, sarah.”

sarah gave her brother the finger before letting you two head back, rafe’s arm wrapped firmly around your body as he fished for his keys.

“can we get food?” you mumbled, rafe helping you into the passenger seat before buckling you in.

“it’s 1 in the morning, gorgeous.”

“pleeeaaaasssseee,” you whined, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. he let out a sigh before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“i’ll make you some pasta, how does that sound?”

you gave him a peck on the lips, your smile making him melt on the spot.

“i love when you cook for me,” you sighed, rafe rolling his eyes before shutting his door and joining you a few seconds later.

“oh! what about milkshakes?”

“don’t push it, sweetheart.”

[soft-persephone]

A Fresh Start 1

Mother’s Milk x Fem!Reader

M // WC: 1.3k // warnings: eventual smut, potential descriptions of mild violence, but mostly fluff, mostly sweet, typical romcom shenanigans // masterlist

“I don’t wanna go to the party.”

You sucked in a breath, holding back a sigh of frustration.

“TT, you need to make friends.”

Life was not what it should be, especially when 8 year olds are worried about your social life and general well being.

“Momo, I’m an adult,” you started softly, mustering all the cool calm collected and comforting and safe space energy you could, “and I take care of you. Not the other way around.” You put a hand on her shoulder, sliding it up and down her back.

“Thank you for thinking about me and caring about me. I love you just as much.” You studied her, hoping you weren’t making anything worse, “but you don’t need to worry about me. There’s nothing to worry about. Go have fun with your friends and I’ll be here when you’re ready to go or the party ends. Deal?”

“Will you at least be on your best behavior?”

You sighed.

“Go play with your friends.”

“But I just—“

“Now, Mo.”

Kids. You shook your head and grabbed the tray of food you made per the list that was sent out.

“You made it!” One of the mom’s wrapped her arms around you. You did your best not to look as uncomfortable as you felt.

“Thank you for having me.” You smiled and gave her the tray.

“Uhm, Sweetie. . . What are these?”

“Pigs in a blanket. Slightly charred A grade beef sausages, the mini ones of course, wrapped in a croissant dough, dusted with a caramel Dijon mustard and pepper sauce.”

“They’re third graders.” Sheila blinked at you.

You pouted with a huff.

“They’re just pigs in a blanket!”

“Sheila stop giving her a hard time.”

“Hi, I’m Tracey.” She looked back to you with a smile.

You introduced yourself slowly to all the other parents.

“So you’re Monice’s mother?”

You squeezed your hand.

Of course they all knew. At this point who didn’t.

“Uhm,” you took a breath for courage, “I’m actually her Aunt. Her mother didn’t make it through the accident.”

That’s what you had to call it, but it was far from an accident. Your dead sister in law and your brother in critical condition in a comma is not what you call an accident. Especially, when the forces that caused it had enough power in the world to prevent it if they weren’t such careless fucks.

But you couldn't say that part out loud or you’d get sued.

Some people gasped and you wanted to shrivel up and disappear. You wanted everyone to stop looking at you like you were about to break because you were, but it’s hard to keep it all together or at least just look like it with so many eyes on you.

“How are you holding up through all this?”

“We’re uh, we’re good. Monice obviously needed some therapy after what happened, and she wouldn’t do it unless I did it with her, but I honestly needed it too.”

Someone had made you a plate.

The pasta salad was amazing and the ribs spectacular. It was good to be around your people. You ignored the growing ache of your family. You all had been in shambles since the accident. Your mother barely talked to anyone. Your father was angry, but somehow rather a calm in the eye of a storm. He was holding it together for everyone, but at his age, he did not need to be doing anything like that, and nothing you said calmed either of them down.

“And you’re doing this alone?” Someone chimed in with a hand over their heart.

“Well, I had a boyfriend, but I guess he,uh wasn’t ready. He basically said he couldn’t be there for me.” You realized that might sound harsh, so you continued in an effort to diffuse the reality of your words, “he took me on a date to this beautiful restaurant we loved.”

You smiled at the thought, fighting tears.

“It was all so nice. . . And then he just started talking about how emotionally draining being with me was. How he didn’t want to start living with a kid and change his whole life around. That he still wanted more time and that it was just too much for him.” You picked at the roll on your plate.

“I always thought I had more time too, but none of that matters. Momo’s entire life has been turned upside down and she doesn’t know if her father will ever come back into her life or not. She’s scared all the time.” Your voice cracked.

“And this past Monday I was on the phone with my therapist just opening up trying, just trying, to get to a good place so I can be there for Mo, but she overheard me say I Feel like I’m alone and drowning with everything and that I just want my big brother back and now she’s so worried about me being alone and always asking me about my friends not being there for me like they were before and I just—“

Fuck you didn’t mean to say all that. You don’t mean to cry.

“Should we?” Sheila looked at Tracey who only shook her head.

“Maybe you should talk to Marvin?”

That’s all everyone in this community says.

“I heard Monice used to go to a different school?”

You but your lip. Unsure what to say.

“She was suspended.” You said matter of factly.

“After everything she’s been through?” Tracey asked.

“Everyone experiences trauma different. I want to curl into a ball, stay in my bed, and cry all day.” You sighed at nothing in particular, “Momo gets angry. Other kids still love superheroes and she lives in a world where superheroes took her family away. Long story short I’m in an office and they're telling me she’s a bully and has to go because her behavior is unacceptable.”

“That can’t be right.”Sheila said, aghast. “She’s a little black girl. It must be some sort of a mistake. You know how they are when we aren’t perfect all the time and I heard it was a pretty prestigious school.”

“I’d love to believe that was the case, but it’s not. She owned up to it. Told me everything and now we have to face the consequences of our actions, so bye bye old school, old friends, and all the other stuff.”

Everyone kind of stared at you.

Fuck.

You said something wrong. Or you don’t look so heartbroken and beaten down and broken enough, Or was it your parenting?

It was probably all of it.

You got overwhelmed, you wanted to chill out, you wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, but you got through it.

You looked out at the kids running around with large bubble wands and toys galore.

Momo seems to be having the grandest time with another little black girl. They chased each other with large bubbles, attempting to pop them on each other’s head.

She made a friend.

All of a sudden your shoulders were falling back and down into something relaxed. You were exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Were you that tense the whole time?

You shook your head and made your way to the desert table once more.

There were these croissant donut things or some type of pastry. It looked so good, but you couldn't tell which one you wanted most. Between the decadent looking chocolate and the mouthwatering matcha strawberry. You couldn’t tell which one might taste better.

You only wanted one.

“You must be related to Monice?” A rich deep voice interrupted you.

You slightly turn around to meet warm brown eyes and equally comforting dark skin.

Butterflies filled your stomach. You chased the feeling down by fiddling with your fingers, still looking at him so it doesn’t come off as awkward as you felt.

“What gave it away?”

“You both stick your tongue in your cheek and pout when you can’t decide between more than one thing.”

You huffed a laugh through your nose. Your eyes rolling dramatically around not sure what to look at.

“I do not pout.” You crossed your arms. “I’m not a child.

“Well you're acting like one.” He picked up both croissants with a napkin and placed them on two plates. He gingerly cut both in half with a knife and swapped one of the halves. “Here, now you can have both.”

You held out both your hands. Looking at the plate and back up to him.

“How-how?”

“What do we say?” He ignored you. Taking a step into your space, leaning down so his face was in yours and staring.

“Stop.” You laughed but he didn’t move.

“Ugh, fine.” You smacked your teeth. “Thank you.”

“I’ll take it, but you could sound more grateful.”

“Mm.” You grunted at him and took a bite of the matcha one first.

He followed as you sat on the edge of the patio to continue to watch the kids play outside.

“Why don’t you come back in with the rest of them?”

“You mean inside with the women?”

He gave you an unamused look.

“You know what I meant.”

“Well, they started playing fuck marry kill for the Vaught dummies.” You picked at the corner of your paper plate, “and I excitedly yelled kill Homelander before anyone could say anything.”

You expected him to empathize. Maybe even give you a: damn, that’s tough. In the way some black men talk when they can’t express emotions, but what you don’t expect him to do was laugh.

“It’s not funny.” You muttered into your chocolate pastry as you took a bite.

“What did they say?” He bellowed and put his hand on his stomach.

“Nothing!” You laughed as he wiped a tear. “And that’s what makes it worse. I sorta lied and said I had to go to the bathroom and I’ve been out here ever since.”

“Well it’s nice to not be the only one around here.”

“The only one around here what?”

He looked at you. Really, looked at you.

“Who hates Supes.” He said lowly, leaning in so no one walking by could hear you.

You didn’t say anything and took another bite of the matcha one. You winced and he sort of turned to you, extending a hand as if he was going to hurily fix whatever was wrong.

“It’s fine,” you explained with a lick of your lips, “the matcha one doesn’t taste as good when you take a bite of the chocolate one before it, “it took me by surprise.”

“Oh.. right.” He put his free hand back on his plate, taking the piece of matcha pastry and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth, making him look 30 years younger.

A really really big kid.

You wanted to tease him for it.

But instead you handed him a napkin.

He silently took it before popping his thumb in his mouth and placing it on your cheek. You held in a breath as he wiped it across the corner of your mouth.

“I—“ you started.

“bad habit. I have a—

“DADDY!!”

A little girl squealed and ran up to you both.

You held a hand over your eyes to block the setting sun.

The man you wished you had asked a name of did his best to discretely lean away from you without his daughter noticing how close you were.

His daughter didn’t notice, but Momo was studying his every move.

Fuck, how were you about to explain this? Or rather, what is it that she thinks she saw and were you about to have a conversation you did not want to have. . . How much did she see?

“This is my new friend Monice! She goes by Momo or Mo!” His daughter went on and on to her father about every little fact about Mo, filling you with absolute glee.

Kids had that effect on you.

Whatever they were feeling just filled you up to the tips of your toes on steroids. Whatever she was about to ask him for you hoped he said yes. Who could say no to her? Certainly not you, but other adults seemed immune by this supernatural power obtained by every child. How? You’d never know.

It was your kryptonite.

“Can she spend the night?”

“Or can she spend the night at my house TT?” Momo excitedly interjected.

You looked up at, Daddy from where you were sitting on the patio. He had his arms crossed in thought but as he looked down, you could feel him telling you to pull yourself together.

You bit the inside of your cheek whenever you were deciding how to parent.

“Maybe some other time when me and Mr. . .”

“Milk” He filled in for you.

“Can talk about it? Okay?”

“What she said Janine.” Was all Mr. M said.

Janine was about to open her mouth to say more, but Momo knew better and pulled her away with a sigh.

“I can never have anything!” She frantically exclaimed as she dragged her friend away.

“But we —“

“No. We can’t!” Momo yelled back just to make sure you heard her.

Kids.

“You let her act like that?”

You narrowed your eyes and bit back a smile.

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know what I’m talking about.” He stuffed the other pastry in his mouth and brushed his hands together to get rid of the excess crumbs, making sure they didn't hit his clothes, “you’re spoiled too.”

“What makes you say that.”

“Spoiled children raise spoiled children.” He said it matter of factly, like it was wise somehow, and pulled a wet wipe out of his pocket. He handed you one as well before neatly putting the packet back in his jacket pocket.

“Sounds really funny coming from you.” Was all you said in the same casual tone he used before, taking the wipe and cleaning the excess sugar and sticky residue from your hands.

“Oh yeah.” He challenged, crossing his arms.

A cheeky grin slowly formed on your face. .

“Not when your daughter is clearly a Daddy’s girl.”

“Let me stop you right there—“

“—Who clearly gets everything she wants and more from you.” You raised a finger to his chest and he leaned in letting it touch him.

You don’t realize how excited you had got. Your cheeks were puffy with tears from laughing and your chest heaving from raising your voice for so long.

“And you love it.” You added with a huff and parted lips.”

“Takes one to know one.” He huffed. Perfectly still and unaffected, a wall of calm, but you saw the twitch of his lip.

“Look who’s pouting now.” You smirked.

He pulled away from you with a smack of his teeth and a groan.

“You got lucky.”

You curled your feet in the grass before you. Taking in the sounds and sights around for the first time, letting them wash over you, truly enjoying them since the first turn you arrived.

You were lucky.

.

.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in next chapter:

@megamindsecretlair @nerdieforpedro @planetblaque @chaithetics @notapradagurl7

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER NINE — EDDIE the OBVIOUS and the LADY SPHINX

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: a tense dinner at rick lipton's place reveals some part of al munson's reason for returning to hawkins. your saturday morning detention is tense, and you and eddie both get more than you bargained for when you crash hellfire club to profile them for the school newspaper. content warnings: MINORS DNI AS ALWAYS warnings for smut, cunnilingus, dick-fondling, p in v, reference to drug usage, slight perv!eddie, silly teenagers having silly teenage fights that actually aren't so silly (kinda antagonistic ronance version!), reference to childhood physical abuse, al munson jumpscare, lacy's dad jumpscare, both lacy's real first name and surname is used in this chapter. no description of body type. just descriptions of a good time eye emoji eye emoji word count: 16.4k

Dear Lord, 

Grant me the serenity to accept the shit I cannot change, the courage to change the shit I can, and the wisdom to seize a damn fine opportunity when I see one. 

Amen. 

When Al Munson cooks a spaghetti dinner, you know he means business. 

Once a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes, always a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes.

He learned to cook on the grill, but perfected it in the joint. During one of his stints, a homecoming tour of the state of Kentucky, he fell in with this web of wiseguys who made him stagiaire in their makeshift kitchen, slicing ghostly slivers of garlic with a razorblade. 

Al’s insisted on the method ever since. Even now, hunkered over in Rick Lipton’s kitchen, preparing a meal for which Eddie’s already lost his appetite. 

Eddie had already given up on the whole there are a bunch of knives right there suggestion, knowing his father loves few things like he loves performing his whole Kiss the Cook bit. He plays it to the hilt, an exercise in tart, rich, floral smarm that beats out the complex flavoring of his tomato gravy by a country fucking mile. Down to that bullshit Serenity Prayer. 

“Courage to change the shit you can? Man, you can barely change your underwear!” Rick heartily chuckles, heaping pasta onto his plate. The way the noodles slide against each other, thick and glistening like worms full of nefarious promise, makes Eddie want to ralph. 

He hadn’t had much of an appetite for anything since he’d visited the nurse’s office. 

He felt weird. Strung out. Guilty. And angry. Guilty like, what got into me, why’d I do that and angry like, why’d I leave you just standing there like that, and why’d you let me.

“C’mon, kid, you look famished,” Al pulls that anger-inducing Cheshire Cat face, placing a solely ornamental leaf of basil on top of the dish Rick passes. This fucking asshole. These fucking assholes. In cahoots together. “Wayne’s Hungry Man dinners ain’t hittin’ the way they used to, huh?”

Al’s smile doesn’t slice through the tension of the room nearly as clean as he wants it to. Eddie feels Wayne stiffen at his right elbow, sees Rick divert his eyes from across the table.

“Well, Dad,” Eddie says, forcibly stabbing and winding his fork through the spaghetti, “You know what coulda solved that?”

“What’s that, huh?”

“You staying out of lockup for longer than the duration of an MC5 song.”

Al doesn’t falter. Eddie bets he could open-palm slap him and that shiteater of a grin wouldn’t slide from his face. 

“I’m here now, ain’t I?” his father clicks his tongue, digging right into his own dish, “You really gotta learn to live in the moment, kid.” 

Eddie’s spaghetti-filled mouth starts to form around the indignant words, I’m not a kid! but Al beats him to the punch. Quite literally. 

“Though, judgin’ by those scuffs on your knuckles, looks like you did somethin’ without thinkin’ it the whole way through first. Huh?” Al slurps his pasta noisily, and Eddie feels Wayne tense even more, if that’s possible. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

The sense memory of silver flashes colliding with Billy Hargrove’s face in the parking lot, the sense memory of you and your vicelike grip trying to pull him off before he killed him. The sense memory of bile blowing through his veins, stumbling upon those lowlifes talk to you like that. Rage blackout. Yadda yadda.

According to rumor, Hargrove was lucky that Eddie didn’t cave his entire cheek in. He still couldn’t totally see out of his right eye, the swelling was that gathered and insistent. 

Eddie lets the question droop in the air, before eventually mumbling, “S’nothing. Just– shit at school.”

Wayne had been the first one to ask him, obviously, catching sight of his bandaged hand when he came upon Eddie staring a hole into–you guessed it–yet another Murder, She Wrote rerun, following your encounter on the examination table. 

Eddie had given it the brush off so Wayne had given it the brush off. He was no stranger to his nephew bearing busted knuckles, even if it did make the old man’s blood chill every time he saw it. Those interactions always reeked of you poor kid, like Eddie was the perpetual victim. Got under Eddie’s skin a little.

But Al asks him like he knows something. And Rick won’t look at Eddie. 

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your lovely new neighbor, would it?” Other shoe, meet short, hard drop. 

Eddie’s grip tightens around his fork, and in the back of his mind, he summons the spirit of the sharpest tongue he knows.

“Who?” He’s this close to prank calling people using his Lacy impression, that’s how good it’s gotten. 

Al cradles his cheek against his palm. His eyes, the eyes that might as well have been scooped out and shoved into Eddie’s skull, they’re such iris perfect replicas, search his son for cracks in his composure. Al stabs, stabs, stabs aimlessly into his dinner. 

“You’re a lot of things, Eddie Munson,” he says, “but you ain’t dumb.”

“Truly do not know what you’re yakkin’ about. Can I eat?” 

“Come on, Eddie boy! You out there getting into scuffles over that little gold-plated piece’ah something?”

“Can I eat?”

“A little forbidden flame, maybe, two’ah you?”

“Can I eat?”

“Can’t say I blame ya. If I were… twenty years younger.... Or maybe she likes ‘em a little more mature. Think I got a shot?” Al’s teeth are starting to grit, spittle starting to fly. Frenzied in the way he’s trying to eek a reaction out of his kid. “Huh? Eddie?”

Al’s lecherous suggestion of you toed the line of too much for the Munson men, it seems. Eddie and Wayne’s voices overlap. 

“Maybe we leave that girl out of this, Al–” “–can I eat, or what?”

SLAM! Al’s fist comes into direct contact with the hardwood of Rick’s dining room table, plates and cutlery and glasses clattering nervously. Rick jumps a little, groaning under his breath. Wayne drags a hand over his eyes. 

“You can answer the goddamn question! Shit!” 

Eddie, for his part, should probably feel a little scared, his dad raring up on him like that. Instead, he just lets his wound-up fork sag in a pile of spaghetti and leans back in his seat. The thing with Al Munson is this– his bark has always been way bigger than his bite. Especially when he’s as coked up as he is right now. 

Ever since he’d roared into Rick’s driveway in that eyesore of a muscle car (alright, it was a little cool– but in, like, a lame Dukes of Hazzard kinda way), Al had been operating in sharp angles and backed-up nostrils. 

Shit, Eddie would be shocked if there wasn’t residue on that razor blade he used to slice the garlic. That stupid, reckless, peacocking-as-a-father motherfucker. 

He folds his arms, waiting for Al’s tone to pitch on down, for the tremor in his hand to act up, for him to say–

“Sorry. Sorry,” pressed through a line of grit teeth, “I just… Hmm.” It’s like Al is actively trying to plaster the mask of his charming grin back on his face but it keeps slipping out of his fingers. “She’s a real dime. Smart as hell too, huh? Shame about–”

“Al, what’re you gettin’ at with all this?” Wayne asks, and thank god he does. Eddie doesn’t know how much more dancing around the subject he can take, but he won’t be the one to bend first. “What did you bring us up here for? And don’t–” the eldest of all Munson holds a hand up, “--say you just wanted to get together. I don’t buy it. Eddie sure doesn’t buy it. And if Lipton here buys it, he’s a fool.”

Al shrinks, a snot-nosed kid under the magnifying glass his big brother holds to him. “Wayne–”

“You bring us up here to make us part of that goddamn stupid high school feud with that girl’s father? You really spin out that far?”

It’s not often that Wayne speaks up, but when he does, boy. Can that man dress a situation down. 

Al falters. Wayne has that ability to knock him out at the knees, and Eddie makes a mental note to ask him how he does that. 

“Listen. Alright. It’s not– alright,” Al clenches his hands in fists, a flex in and a flex out. A gesture Eddie notices, because he does it too. As if he’s trying to grasp the last threads of trust from them. “With that girl’s old man permanently benched so to speak, there’s an opportunity for another batter to step up. Okay? Jail sentences get doled out like Halloween candy–who knows that better than me, right?--but life goes on. There is… an opportunity here. Work still needs to get done. Work that I could’ve– that I can do.”

Eddie knows that his dad doesn’t realize he’s saying a lot of nothing, because Al’s always saying a lot of nothing. Vague promises with no real end to them. What catches him this time around is the glint in his eye, hidden behind the drug-induced one, and the glint of a gaudy ring on his finger. A green gem stamped in the middle, like a cat’s harvested eyeball. Huh. 

“... let me make good on this, boys. For once. Let me take care of y’all.” Al huffs a faux-humble breath, glancing toward Rick for some kind of illustrative reassurance. “Y’know, seeing how it screwed up that little girl, seeing her big, upstanding daddy go to jail and all, I really–,” a swallow, for dramatic measure. Gunning for Best Actor here. “--felt it. Made me think, Eddie, of all the times when you were just a squirt… Made me wanna do right by you, is all.” 

“How much of that doin’ right have you got up your nose, Dad?” Eddie sneers, putting two and two together. Of course this is what he’s back for; not to sell, couldn’t possibly be that simple in the convoluted world of Al Munson, but to supply. To get a suit fitted, pretend to be the big man. “Try before you buy isn’t exactly the most cost-effective policy.” 

“Jesus, why, why have you got to make this so hard on me, kid?” Al is just about wringing his hands right now, scaling the apex of his desperation. “You have an in! You have the in!” 

The in, of course, being Eddie’s connection to you, and by proxy, your dad. Al’s like a bloodhound that way, sniffing out the few good things that Eddie has going for him from miles off and tearing them right from his hands and acting like he’s doing Eddie a favor by making him his man on the inside.

“This whole town could be ours if you would just–”

That does it. Eddie leaps from the table, chair clattering to Rick’s warped wooden floor.

“I don’t want this whole town, are you fucking crazy?!” he yells, spittle flying, “And–and I certainly don’t want it if it’s anything to do with you!”

What the hell would make Al think that Eddie would hitch his wagon (which, granted, ain’t in too great a shape–he’s barely passing any classes, thanks to a pickup in business he guesses he can thank his dad for) to the living sunk cost fallacy that his father is? What the hell does Al Munson want with that kind of fantasy, one where he’s king bastard of the Hawkins cockwalk when he can’t even stick within county limits for more than a couple of weeks?

Well, Eddie actually has a pretty good idea, one that occurs to him like a lightning strike as Al struggles to keep his temper level. Let Eddie look like the tantrum-throwing brat.

Yeah. Exactly. 

He’d wind Eddie into whatever scheme he was cooking up and ditch it, half-baked, leaving Eddie in a kitchen with all the smoke alarms going off. Elbow deep in an unsalvageable mess, because Al could never follow through on anything. 

He’d have Eddie exploit your relationship for a couple of instances of, “That’s my boy.” Because Al still thought that trick worked; making him believe he’s loved, valuable, wringing every last drop of loyalty out of him because a boy needs his father… and a father needs his boy, y’know!

Fuck that. 

“We should split.” It’s Wayne who says it, batting away the apologetic glance both the Munson men get from Rick– like he’s Al’s keeper or something, managing his moods. Like he isn’t raking in a cash cow from Al’s great Ray Doevski replacement theory. 

“No, c’mon–” Al half-heartedly protests, like he could still save the evening but can’t really be bothered. 

Wayne follows Eddie’s furious stalk out the door, tearing a cigarette from a soft pack as he hauls into the passenger side of the van. 

Eddie, a tightening ball of rage, whacks the steering wheel with one good thump. He’d been stupid enough to entertain Al these past couple of days– out of confusion more than anything else. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were.

“The in,” Eddie mockingly mumbles as the van roars to life and he peels out against scattering gravel. 

Wayne has his cigarette pinched between his thumb and index and lets that settle for a beat or two. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

Fists flexing around the wheel, Eddie knows very well he’s been caught red-handed. There’s no way Wayne had gone this long without suspecting anything, even after he’d specifically warned him. More of a suggestion, actually; Wayne knows that Eddie will do whatever he wants, regardless. 

Unfortunately, he’s like his father that way. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Eddie says, a shoulder shrug, a mirthless lilt in his tone. “She…”

Again, Wayne stays silent. Waiting for Eddie to tell on himself, like he always does. 

“She doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of this,” Eddie arrives at, voice a little choked. “Whatever Dad’s planning on doing–”

“Neither do you,” Wayne reminds him. This is where Wayne and his stoicism pulls Eddie up short. Neither do you, and the only way you avoid the blowback is if you two avoid each other. But at that same time, Wayne always knows where Eddie’s heart is at. Knows that his heart is too big not to follow. 

Even if Wayne hasn’t seen you two together, laughing ‘til you’re stupid like the kids that you are, can’t he see…

“Why can’t this be easy?” Eddie asks, his voice small. Echoes of a littler him, one that Wayne would pick up in the truck after school. Head hanging, backpack trailing, kicking pebbles and cursing the world. 

Instead, through a sage swirl of smoke, Wayne’s hard stare seems to peel back some. He’s always known where Eddie’s heart is at. Eddie’s starting to think he wishes he knew less. 

—

Jesus Christ, are you ever sick of learning your lesson. Of reflecting on what you’ve done. 

It’s exhausting, and more to the point, pointless, and even more than that, boring. 

Truth is, you’re beginning to second-guess your adoration of brilliant thinkers. Those motherfuckers knew too much, and in the past week, you’ve found yourself yearning for the days where you got by on knowing nothing but the good stuff! The juicy gossip, where the best parties were at, what lipstick could not stand up to what nail polish! When intellectualism was a bedtime story you’d read to yourself under the fucking covers and you didn’t have to decode the labyrinth of your own stupid feelings! 

Sure, you felt like a husk most of the time, but you’d take that over this graceless stumbling shit!

You should be allowed to smash the windows out of Billy Hargrove’s car and no one should be able to say boo about it! God!

Instead, however, you’ve been caught up in an as-yet-unprecedented display of seething and sulking. People are still whispering about you, natch, glancing at your belly like you would’ve if that heinous spawnous prank was played on anyone else. At the very least, they still have the good sense to flinch when you match their stare.

Billy Hargrove’s two week suspension means you don’t have to worry about seeing his ugly face, but it also comes with the two week guarantee of not seeing Eddie. 

And the probable delay of your Hellfire article. Which is paramount. Obviously.

Speaking of Eddie, there’s too much speaking of Eddie to do. 

You keep replaying the sneak attack from Al Munson in your head, him sliding his aviators down his nose to get a look at you. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Payin’ my respects. Your father, shit. Shame what happened to him. He was– well. I was gonna say he was a ‘good man’, but that sounds kinda funny, don’t it?”

It wasn’t about Eddie, except it was about Eddie, because every stupid thing is about Eddie.

Especially the fact that you’re sitting in your college-going beau’s chariot, about to slink into Saturday detention. If it weren’t for him…

“Lacy?” a voice calls from the driver’s seat. “You alright?”

You snap to, rearranging your face into something definitive and sharp and pleasing to the eye. Because you’re fine! You’d said as much when he snuck you into the basement of his parent’s house–why wasn’t he back in school yet–and said as much when he squirmed against you, asking you if you were okay in that weighted way that really meant can I put it in yet. 

You’d gotten on all fours because it allowed you to roll your eyes when he was all, oh, woah! sliding it in from the back. 

You’d reached around and teased your clit to attempt a climax. Trying to imitate that clumsy rhythm from the nurse’s office. It didn’t quite stick–paled in comparison, like a Simon and Garfunkel tribute act made up of people that didn’t secretly want to fuck each other. 

And then he gave you a ride this morning. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to bore yourself out of misbehavior– but you’d told him that you had newspaper business to attend to. 

“I’m fine,” you brightly declare for the fourth and final time, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. It was a weird gesture, but the shine had buffed off. He’s cute and all, but you two had gone to see Paris, Texas at the Hawk and he didn’t get it.

He didn’t get how much you clowned on him for not getting it afterwards either. You hadn’t been able to get it out of your head, the way he shrugged away from you at the diner as you ribbed him for his plodding misunderstanding of Harry Dean Stanton.

Coldly, you thought of the trade-off that you and Eddie had agreed on. Repo Man for Paris, Texas once it came out. You had to pretend you liked Repo Man a lot less than you actually did to swing that one, because Eddie wasn’t keen to lock in to some movie about a dude crying in the desert or whatever unless you angled in the fact that you owe me for making me sit through all that machismo. 

“You love machismo. You wanted to nail that sweaty little punker, I saw you squeezin’ your knees together.”

“For Emilio Estevez? Please. I had my eye on the old guy. ‘Ordinary fuckin’ people, I hate ‘em’--that kind of shit really does it for me, Munson, you know that.”

“That why you’ve been entertaining the pleasure of my company for so long?”

“Down, dog.”

Anyway. Fuck. 

“Listen, Lacy, I gotta tell you s–”

“Can’t right now! I’m already late and Fred is gonna have my head,” you chime, all saccharine, climbing out of the car. “Call me!” You pray that he doesn’t. 

Slam. What an extraordinary waste of time. 

As instructed, you make your way to the gym, which you think is a little weird. Detention usually denotes writing pointless, go-nowhere laments on how sorry you are for being such a bad kid, right? Think on your sins, yadda yadda yadda. 

Typically enough, no one’s here on time. Everyone’s late. You’re perched on the bleachers like an asshole, sitting alone like an asshole. That’s the goddamn ticket, isn’t it? You’re alone in all of this. You always have been. 

Like, for example. The Al Munson walk-on role into the surrealist tragi-comedy that is your fucking life. You can’t tell that to anybody. Not Eddie, naturally, not your mom, not Nancy because then you’d have to explain the continued and complicated Eddie of it all, not Ronnie because just because. And the ickiness of it hangs off your every move, and you can’t shake it, and no one can share it. 

You’re beginning to wonder if that’s true of all the parts of you. The ickiness. It’s all a little heavy, isn’t it? 

As if on cue, hearing ickiness called by name on the wind, Mr Kaminsky pushes open the gym’s double doors. 

“Oh, what the fuck.”

“Had to see it for myself.” Your loathed History teacher says, full of glee.

“Sir, if this is some kind of elaborate courting ritual, I have to say, you’re not my type.”

“Careful up there, Doevski. There’s more detentions where this came from.”

“Freak accident. I can’t be caged.”

“Well, let me enjoy the exception to the rule!” Kaminsky claps, and you jerk at the echo. 

You sigh so hard you almost unlatch something. “What elaborate torture have you got planned for me today? Want me to run laps or something? Because these shoes aren’t built for that.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lacy,” the teacher digs, “We’re still waiting on your comrades.”

“I’m late, I’m late, I know I’m late!” a familiar voice comes skidding right up behind Kaminsky, baseball hat askew, mud stains on the knees of her overalls. “Some goddamn lunatic tried to run me and my bike off the road–”

“Ronnie?”

“Hey, Lacy!” she calls brightly and breathlessly, slamming herself down on the bleachers beside you.

“Ron, what’re you–”

An unmistakable heel-click rounds its way into the gym, and in walks Nancy Wheeler with her face all pinched like a porcelain doll. She receives your big ol’ center-piece-missing jigsaw puzzle of a look with a knowingly arched eyebrow.

“You’re late, Wheeler,” Kaminsky tries, but Nancy’s already consulting her wristwatch. 

“Detention starts at nine sharp, right?” she says, impenetrable as always. “It’s 8:58.”

“Then can I have my admission of lateness struck from the record, actually?” Ronnie asks and Kaminsky shoots her a withering one, consulting his clipboard. 

“Alright, we got one more. Give it the goddamn two minutes, but then I’m bumping her to suspension. You wanna count it, Wheeler?” he scoffs. Wow, so he’s like a round the clock douchebag. To everybody. 

At what you only can assume is 8:59, the mismatched gangle of Robin Buckley comes slinking over the waxed floor, looking half-awake and pissed off–more pissed off, you might argue, now that she registers her company. She perches on the furthest end of the bleachers, pointedly away from the loose gaggle of you, Ronnie and Nancy. 

You shoot Ronnie a look like, what’s the sitch there? Thought you two were getting all bosomy. 

Ronnie just shrugs. 

“Alright!” Kaminsky claps the clipboard again, “So, this is a fun group. Bunch of smart girls who got caught doing idiot stuff. We’re gonna make you pay for that today. Sound good?”

The whole bad bunch of you just stare at him, slit-eyed. 

Your collective punishment, as it turns out, comes in the form of scraping old, disgusting, errant gum and other mystery sticky bullshit from the bottom of the bleachers. 

“Stupid is as stupid does,” Kaminsky sagely says, handing you each a tiny chisel from the art room, “And I understand that some of you are violent offenders,” that’s a pointed look at you and Ronnie, by the way, “but please. Don’t use this opportunity to take another girl’s eye out. Your community college acceptance is riding on it.” 

Motherfucker. Everyone knows Ronnie Ecker is in the running for valedictorian.

He leaves the four of you to your own devices, promising to check up on you all in a solid forty-five. 

“How many times you think he can beat off in forty-five minutes?” Ronnie immediately asks as the teacher disappears through the door. 

“Depends. Is he doing it in the shameful privacy of his three-door rust bucket or the clandestine confines of the AV room?” you question. 

Nancy makes a gagging sound but adds, “And is he using his imagination or Ms Kelley’s yearbook picture?” 

Nasty Wheeler! That girl has truly endeared herself to you.

Robin, however, doesn’t weigh in at all. She just sort of glares and angles herself onto the nearest bleacher rung to start scraping the age-old mastication from the wood. Tension in the air.

“Buckley’s got the right idea,” you say, twirling the chisel in your fingers, “Sooner we get started, sooner we get the grossness over with…”

Ronnie sticks close by you, which is nice. You always like having her in proximity. Nancy, who’s nothing but work ethic in everything she does, starts furiously working on a corner a little ways away from you both– and Robin. 

It doesn’t take long, maybe fifteen minutes of silent, resigned scraping, for you to get bored. And disgusted. 

“At what point do we get to do the whole prison thing of what are you in for?” you say, sitting up and letting the blood rush back to your head. 

“Well, yours goes without saying,” Ronnie chuckles, “going all batter on Hargrove’s car like that. Did you actually bust a window?”

“Just swung it around,” you say, driving your heel into the bench, “I may have inherited the felony misdemeanor gene, but I didn’t inherit getting caught. What about you?”

Ronnie flicks another gum wad off with her chisel, “Actually, you might wanna ask Wheeler about that.”

Your brow furrows. “Nance?” your voice rings down to the lower rungs, “Ronnie here says you were implicated in her detention-getting.”

“Yeah, um. Well, I heard about everything when you went–”

“--totally awesome psycho–”

“--in the parking lot and… I just. I wanted to clean up all that shit. From your locker. And then Nicole came by, smacking her stupid gum, and it kind of got ugly.”

Nicole. The irony of it, Nicole, gnashing out shittalk about you and Eddie in order to impress whatever unfortunate member of the wrestling squad she’d dug her press-ons into this week. Nicole, who’d already invaded Eddie’s territory, much to her apparent shame. 

What a majorette of a bitch.

You would’ve given anything to be ringside for this, her versus Nancy.

“You toed up to Nicole Summers?” a little pause, your voice goes smaller, “For me?”

Nancy sits up, her perm clouding around her. She points her chisel Ecker-ward.

“Ronnie was the one who smacked all her books out of her hand.”

Ronnie pffts. “Like she hasn’t done that to me a million times. Eye for an eye.” 

“Nicole wouldn’t even go near her on account of that one time she bit that one kid for catcalling her.”

“Oh, stop,” Ronnie’s gathering a blush, batting her hand all coquettish. 

“Wait, that was real?” you say, eyes darting between them, “I thought that was just some freak rumor we came up with.”

Rabid Ecker was one of the less clever nicknames your group of crown ghouls had come up with, so it obviously didn’t stick too long. 

“We?” Nancy scoffs, not mean.

“The royal ‘we’,” Robin Buckley drawls from her prostrate position on the bleachers. That sounds mean, the bite in her voice. 

Your hackles can’t help but rise at that cold snap in her tone. Does she have a fucking problem, or something? 

“And why are you here, Robin?” you call, hands knitting in your lap.

“I was with these bozos,” she says, a note-faithful mockery of your pointed voice, “For some godforsaken reason… and now I really wish I wasn’t.”

“Why’s that?” you press.

Nancy’s whole upper half tenses. “Robin–”

Robin’s chisel clatters on the bench, a toss made out of frustration. She looks to the three of you with pursed lips before letting loose. 

“Steve found out,” Robin says, “About the pregnancy test thing. In like, the worst way he could possibly find out, which is so goddamn unfair, unfair in the first place because of Nancy not telling him–like, I get it, your choice or whatever but you guys have been together for, like, a really significant period of time and you know how he feels about you–”

You and Ronnie can’t even get a breath in before Nancy rises from her seat, fingernails digging into tiny little fists at her side. She’s all spit and fury, she’s on Robin.

“Oh yeah, the worst way he could find out, Robin, the worst way which is that you blabbed to him!” Nancy yells, ricocheting around the gym, “‘Oh, I couldn’t help it, he asked me what was wrong and it all just came out–’ Give me a break! I mean, are you really that co-dependent that no one can tell you anything in confidence without you running to tell Steve?”

Robin’s face seizes in a snarl. “Are you really that stupid that you forgot to use protection with your long term boyfriend?”

“What is your problem?” Nancy’s voice whistles through her teeth, sheer exasperation, “How is this any of your business?”

“Should we stop this?” Ronnie whispers, with no intention of moving.

You shake your head in tiny, tiny increments, gossip monger past getting the best of you. “I kinda wanna see where this goes.”

“He is my friend, Nancy! And you broke his heart, dumping him right after– after–!”

Both your and Ronnie’s mouths drop into an ‘o’. You’re kind of disappointed–a big Wheeler-Harrington bust up and you weren’t first on the call list?! 

“Jesus, Robin!” Nancy spits, perm flying, stomping towards Robin, “Get a personality! Sublimating yourself onto Steve Harrington isn’t doing you any favors!”

“Why, Nancy? I thought you loved him.” What confusing wording.

“I–”

Okay, these two girls are walking right into shit you can’t take back territory. You and Ronnie rush the bleachers, breaking the negative space between them both. 

“Ladies! Break it up!” 

“You heard Kaminsky! We’re all holding chisels, this could get ugly fast!” 

You look to Nancy and her eyes are glistening. Reddening with the heat of anger and frustration. Robin’s jaw has hardened into a tough clinch, arms bound around her chest. Ronnie, she just lingers awkwardly, not quite knowing where to look. Your hand goes out to Nancy’s elbow, and she jerks away from you at first. 

“Let’s go. Come on.”

“We’re supposed to be chiseling,” Nancy seethes. Your eyes roll, no patience for this go-nowhere brat routine, and you lead her to the other end of the bleachers anyway. Saying something like, we’ll take one end, Ronnie and Robin take the other, we’ll get this shit cleared in no time.

Nancy starts working furiously, but that’s kind of not what you had in mind here.

“You broke up with Steve?” you ask, point blank. Like she’d ask you. 

She keeps chiseling for a few heavy, angry seconds. “I wasn’t gonna tell him, you know. I wasn’t gonna tell him, and we were gonna be fine. He could have lived without knowing. And then–fucking Buckley– and he had all these questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like why didn’t I tell him. And why was I so put out by the idea. Like, why didn’t I want to have his hypothetical baby at age seventeen… stupid shit like that.”

“He’s sensitive.”

“He’s a moron.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” as if you didn’t have irrefutable proof in her favor. But that was the old Steve Harrington, wasn’t it? He’s meant to be some soft-hearted do-gooder dream boy now, right? 

“No, Lacy, he’s a moron,” Nancy hisses, spit flying again; you’ve never seen her like this. Blue eyes bold and frightening with conviction. “Why should I have to tell Steve about something like that if it’s just a big nothing? If I was never even actually pregnant or whatever? Why can’t I just have that to forget about myself? Why do I owe him part of every single goddamn decision I make about my life?” 

This is a bigger conversation, isn’t it? What you’d once regarded as poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, boo-fucking-hoo is now poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, stifled by his redemption.

“At least if he was still an asshole, I wouldn’t feel bad about breaking up with him. After all this.”

“Now it’s just like you’ve kicked a puppy.”

“Exactly.”

“What total bullshit.”

Nancy shoots the tiniest smile up at you, a stiff little nod bobbing her neck forward.

There’s a long beat as your focus reframes around Nancy. All the two of you wanted were lives of your own. Existences not indebted to anybody, good or bad. Shit.

“I’m the sublimator, by the way. I know that,” Nancy whispers, great big eyeballs glittering at you, “It’s easy to… fold into someone like Steve when, y’know… you’re not exactly likeable on your own. I just. I wanted to hurt her. She doesn’t deserve it. But I wanted to.” 

Her chisel gestures towards Robin, working alongside Ronnie in relative silence that Ronnie awkwardly tries to puncture.

You understand that. Wanting to hurt people after you feel like they’ve breached your trust. Even accidentally. And doing it. And the ugliness of the shame after, you’re familiar with that too.

You reach forward and brush a little lint off her collar. “Thanks for getting in trouble for me, by the way. With that stupid prank and everything.”

“What are you talking about?” she scoffs softly, “You covered for me. And you didn’t have to.”

“Hey,” you hold out your pinkie finger. It’s the least you can do. “Promise is a promise, right?”

—

The members of Hellfire Club gather in an awkward row, standing under the odd, warm glow of the drama room lights like a police lineup of suspects least likely to score a date to homecoming. Sorry, Ronnie. 

“What do you think,” you say, swiveling your focus to Jonathan, who’s standing there twice as awkwardly with his camera slung around his neck, “Should we take ‘em outside, make ‘em do Abbey Road?”

In the middle of it all sits the man who can’t help but be of the hour, what with the throne and the glowering and the gravitational pull. Eddie, slumped into that wild set piece left over from god knows what drama club production of, like, Henry VI or Pirates of Penzance or whatever, is so beyond unhappy with what’s unfolding in front of him. 

Good. 

Ronnie clearly hadn’t even fluffed him into the idea. Which she offered to do, when you’d hitched a ride home on the back of her bike after the tension of Saturday detention dissipated. You’d firmly nixed the idea, the sneak attack being the whole point of this thing. 

You’d also learned that a two week suspension was no way no how going to keep Eddie from sneaking in and running this Hellfire session, which meant your article wouldn’t be delayed after all.

So, nah. Good ol’ Ronnie, she just let you stalk in there with your notebook and your pen and your glasses and your Pentax-wielding Jonathan Byers, ready to entirely fuck up Eddie’s day, which gave him no opportunity to protest or call for embargo. Because if he did, it’d raise eyebrows of suspicion and everyone would be like, I thought you two were weird trailer park friends? Is something going on? Something emotionally incoherent and ambiguously erotic? Should we tell everyone? Should we call the Mayor?

“Capital idea,” Eddie says, not exactly to you, but to those in general attendance like he’s playing to the cheap seats, “Maybe I can mow them down in my van and save them from this torture.”

Your smile tightens and Eddie matches your expression, both your mouths straining against your skulls. Wisecracks will not save him. He should know that by now. 

“Let’s get a couple of the maestro while I excavate the disciples’ brains,” come the instructions and a swift pat to Jonathan’s shoulder. He flashes you a bewildered kind of look.

“Wh– how do you… want him?” 

Incredible phrasing. You glance at Eddie, but not really at him–not enough that he can register and sucker your gaze in. Bathed under the dramatic glow like he was born to sprawl all cock-kneed on a throne like that.

“Exsanguinated and hung on a meat hook, preferably,” you say to Jonathan, “But, I trust you. Do whatever.”

As you gather the rest of the Hellfire denizens at the end of the table to interview them talking head style, Jonathan Byers slinks towards Eddie. 

Eddie shifts uncomfortably, less equipped to keep up that fuck you stormcloud persona when he’s at the other end of a focusing lens. Plus, Byers always kind of gave him the creeps. Not to be a dick, but. Here we are. 

Byers, to Eddie’s complete and utter horror, clears his throat and attempts to scrounge up some semblance of conversation. But, of course, it’s Jonathan Byers so it’s not fucking small talk. Any other day of the week, Eddie could get behind the notion of eschewing such how about this weather we’ve been having type social norms but Byers decides to jump in with–

“So you guys are…” he trails, leading the witness. Snap goes his little aperture. That’s unfair. Means he caught Eddie’s immediate facial reaction which, hands up, he has never been good at hiding. 

“Neighbors,” Eddie supplies in a rush, twisting on his throne again. “She can… hear me yelling about DnD from my trailer. S’why she’s here. To shut me up, I guess.”

Byers adjusts his stance, capturing Eddie from a lower angle– a little more badass looking, he hopes. Frame the fucking curls, for god’s sake.

“Gotcha journalism,” Byers quips. Byers quips. 

Eddie’s mouth relaxes and he huffs out a little, “Exactly.”

Byers shifts yet again, clearly covering all wondrous angles with his dinky little thirty-five millimetre whatever the fuck. 

It’s not that this whole sneak attack article for the Streak thing is getting under Eddie’s skin– Eddie didn’t even have a chance to acknowledge it getting under his skin. You just breezed in here and started sticking bamboo spikes under his fingernails, like the little warmongtrix you are. 

And now you’re sitting at the end of the game table, ruby red end of your fountain pen pointing at Gareth, noting down everything he says without even the slightest hint of condescension. These dorks are looking at you in awe and fear, save for Ronnie who just looks smug, and you’re listening to them. Really listening to them. Your face fixed with that hard little glare that tells him you’re recording the minutiae of their answers. 

Eddie digs the pad of his thumb into his lip. Why would you want to do this? Why aren’t you avoiding him at all human cost? What is your angle here?

“She’s cool, y’know.” Click, goes Byer’s camera again. “Lacy.”

Eddie’s voice comes out distant, his focus tugging away from you super, super slowly. 

“I heard you blew it with her.” 

Byers, caught off guard, lowers his lens. “She told you about that?”

Eddie shrugs, like it’s nothing. It’d be easier to pretend like the idea of you and Byers hanging out was nothing if Byers and Eddie weren’t both classified outsiders. 

“Well, uh,” Byers fiddles with something on his camera, shrugging in turn, “It was weird, talking to Lacy back then. You know. She was kind of–”

“She’s different now.” Eddie answers too fast, springing to a defense that didn’t call for him. He sits up a little bit straighter, spine iron-rodding, and tries to recover.  “I mean. She’s retired the whole icy Swatch rat bit. She’s not, like– pretending to be something.”

Jonathan gets this look on his face. One last click of the camera. 

“I wouldn’t know. I blew it, remember?” But you didn’t, man.

Little does he know. 

“Are we done?” Eddie says, launching himself from his chair and slapping palms on the table. His DM screen shakes. Byers steps back with a flared little danger zone! look tossed your way. “We’ve already lost–”

“--fifteen minutes of glorious game time?” you drawl, crossing a final ‘t’ in your notes. “Of course. My apologies. Tight schedule?” 

Your eyebrow arches as you flash your eyes up at him. His jaw flares. You– you’re good. You’re vicious and you’re good.

“Theee tightest,” Eddie grits through the falsest of grins and jerks his head, waves flying and the rest of his little Hellfire sheepies following in motion to take their seats. 

Ronnie takes her time, mumbling under her breath, “You sure this is a good idea?”

And she was right, with what she’d said before. You are using this as an excuse to get in his face–bolstered only by the fact that he had now gotten in your pants, and you weren’t letting him slink off that easy. Especially with the workplace cameo appearance from Al Munson that you had just been forced to live through. 

You’d been looking over your shoulder ever since, expecting to see him leering at you over those sickening aviator sunglasses. 

“Oh, I’m positive,” you assure her, turning to Jonathan. “I need, like, one or two shots of them playing then you can take off.” 

“Waiwaiwaiwaiwaiwaiwait,” Eddie interrupts, an arm raising over his head to signal halt, “Okay, so first, you storm the castle with your little camera boy without my approval, now you think you’re going to stay for the game?” His ire is genuine. “It’s Hellfire Club, Lacy. Members only. We don’t need bleacher bunnies.”

“Oh, come on, Munson!” you lilt, situating yourself on an abandoned desk, away from the game table. “The people want to know how the Satanic sausage is made.”

“The people being?” 

“Your critics and fans. What is this all for, if not to piss off Hawkins’ Presbyterian and garner a whole new legion of Hellfire acolytes, huh?”

“We don’t need any help from the press on that front.”

“Really?” You drag out your single-word answer, using the seconds to count the minimal amount of players in the room. Not even Ronnie could boast 100% attendance, with her marching band obligations clashing with Hellfire sessions. Eddie glares at you. Yeah, yeah. 

“A–actually, Eddie… I think it’d be… pretty cool,” Gareth says, waver slowly fading out of his voice. “I mean, if we’re in the school paper, my Mom’ll be less suspicious that we’re like–”

“--doing k-bombs in the drama room…” you mutter, loud enough that only Jonathan can hear. 

“--and stuff.”

Eddie exhales so hard his nostrils flare, his shoulders tense, he’s about to shit. 

“And who else would like to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Gareth the Treacherous here?” he snarls, looking pointedly around the table, “Jeff? Dougie? Cyrus? Ecker?”

The dorks erupt in yapping agreement, totally swinging for Gareth’s angle. 

“Shut up!” Eddie barks, throwing himself back onto his throne. Ringed fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But this, in the business, is what they call a mutiny. Don’t come cryin’ to me when you’re all gettin’ swirlies with half of the Weekly Streak stuffed in your goddamn mouths.”

That’s creative. He really could have had a fruitful career as a bully if he wasn’t so gooey in the middle. 

“Munson, I promise you can ride circles around me on a motorbike on live TV if this all goes to shit.” 

You make a fluttering hand motion that reads proceed, which he, naturally, hates. He stares at you, like white light white heat searing through stares at you. And then his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath.

What follows is… exactly what you should have expected, actually.

Eddie Munson transports the present-and-correct party of adventurers back into the eye of their campaign. Their mission? Infiltrate a cult of royal knights that have been bewitched by a high priest who is forcing them to sacrifice the kingdom’s innocents in order to fuel his dastardly arcane magic. The plot is… involved. You’d done a light touch of research on how exactly the dragons and the dungeons all worked, so to speak, but it didn’t really seep into the membrane. It’s something you could only really engage with if you saw it in action– you’d have to rely on Eddie and company to fill in the blanks that the extensive lore left. Like, how exactly did these mythical dice come into play? How does a character sheet set you up for success, or failure? What the fuck is a skill check and why does it read so complicated? 

And fill in they… kind of did. 

Aside from the technical aspects, you find yourself suckered into the story. Quite literally, gripping your seat as Ronnie’s character–a highly capable bard, from what you understand–attempts to escape the hateful royal sect and find her way back to her party. They’d taken her hostage, and she’s managed to escape her chains but they’re ruthless, on her like dogs. Eddie illustrates every sweaty, panicky movement as they close in on her, and your fine, painted fingernails are dug into every word.

Eddie weaves these stories like gossamer– both in the sense of delicate intricacy and destructive nature of that big red monster thing from Looney Tunes. Each plot twist is created to elicit a sense of true foreboding, embellishing how effective his storytelling is. It forces each and every person at the table to face fear head on, dig deep and use what they were given in order to prevail, even if they’re shaking in their boots while doing it– shit, this is good, you should be writing this down.

Blindly, you sketch the word gossamer into your journal, not tearing your eyes away from the table. You barely notice the flash going off to your immediate right– Jonathan Byers’ lens pointed right at you. 

“Uh–” you start, Jonathan reaching to grab his jacket from behind you as the game goes on. 

“I’m headin’ out– gotta pick Will up from…” he trails off, but you fill in the blank. Nancy had mentioned that Mike was hosting his friends for a DnD session tonight too, and the party naturally included the most junior Byers. You nod, checking the time– Jesus, where had the last three hours gone?

“Tell Nancy I said hey, if you see her,” you say, “and thank you.”

Jonathan shrinks into himself, bashful. “Don’t worry about it.” A beat. “I still want that Echo & the Bunnymen, though.”

Your face peels into a grin that says don’t worry, I”m good for it! and you wave him off. The Hellfire party don’t even notice his leaving, except for Eddie who, being judge, jury and executioner, notices everything. 

“...and on that sweltering note, germies and Eckermen, we must bid each other good eventide. Until next time.” 

An operatic groan of disapproval goes up from the players, and you realize this must be a regular thing. Eddie always leaving them wanting more. Tease. 

“I know, I know, if you had it your way, you’d be locked in here, pissing in buckets and the show would go on all night,” Eddie jeers, rising from his seat to start collecting his stuff, “but I wouldn’t inflict that on the janitorial staff. ‘kay? Scat. Outta my sight.”

With great indignation that swiftly turns into backslaps of appreciation, the Hellfire Club moves out of the drama room one by one. You stay put, and Eddie avoids your eyes completely.

Folding shit back into that madly overstuffed DM folder, he throws a strained-casual, “Need a ride?” to Ronnie, the last straggler. 

She shakes her head, smile barely contained. “Uh-uh! Two wheeled my way here and I’ll two wheel my way back– you, uh, have fun though.”

“Bye, Ronnie,” you call after her, voice properly piercing through the air for the first time in hours. Eddie reacts like he’d completely forgotten you were there. Which, impossible. It’s also impossible for him to keep up the whole punk-ass overlord act when it’s just the two of you. As it is now.

Alone, together. Again. 

There’s a charge between you, as if that even needs pointing out. Like the electric fences surrounding McCorkle’s farm. 

You and the wagonful of your one-time buddies, Carol and Tommy and Tina et al, used to drive out there more than a little under the influence. Your favorite trespassing activity was reaching out for the electric fence, hooking your fingers around it to feel the darting shock permeating your skin. 

“What the fuck are you doing? Can’t that, like, fry your brain?” Carol’d ask you, slugging back the last of her beer as Tommy and Steve Harrington attempted to tip a cow in the background somewhere. 

“Try it, Care,” you’d giggled, half drunk and half coursing with adrenaline, half alive and half dead, “It feels weird. It feels good!” 

You’d woken up the next morning in your plush bedroom in Loch Nora, two little blisters on your fingers, smarting from all that pleasure seeking. Did you regret it? Or did it just make you want to do it again?

Eddie still doesn’t look at you as he speaks from the opposite end of the table. 

“Get everything you need?”  

“No,” you answer, short. “Missing my key interview.”

Now he looks. Now he has the nerve to. And irises lock on irises, Eddie frozen in place. He knows he’s not getting out of this. 

What’s more, you don’t think he really wants to.

“Pretty controversial subject matter,” he says, tone a whole shade softer than the commanding voice of God he’d used through the duration of the session. A little higher. Nervous. “What with the panic, and all.”

“Me and controversy are bedfellows,” your shoulder darts up, “I’m the big spoon.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod; your tone is as marble-solid as ever, eyes trained and undarting, “Like when I implied the Tigers were straddling a generation-defining line of bold faced failure. I got in a lot of trouble for that.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitch a little. “Define ‘a lot of trouble’ by your standards.”

“They made me print a retraction!” You’re genuinely incensed by the memory, hitching forward in your seat, “I mean, how insane? ‘Bad for school spirit,’ they said. Like I’m some kind of pep exorcist.”

Eddie tongue folds in between his teeth and he turns his head a split second too late. You can see him biting back a snicker, or something, and point to Lacy and yadda yadda yadda—but you smile, and the tension feels like it’s waning. Thank god, because it is suffocating you. You take your in and up you get, moving to the seat closest to his right-hand side.

“Can we get started?” The fountain pen is uncapped, the notebook cracked, your legs crossing. Eddie sinks back into the throne, his face warming up under the yellow stage lights.

“Okay. Hit me with your best shot.” Fire away.

You’re quick with it. “Why this?”

“Really? That’s your first question?” Eddie looks bemused.

“It’s the least rudimentary of all the Ws,” you explain nice and plainly, plucking up fingers to illustrate your points, “People know who you are–against their will, mostly. People can glean what the game is–or will, once I put a fine point on the… everything that just happened there. What people don’t get is why. Why indulge yourself in this?”

His fingers knit together in his lap, nearly shy.

“Because it’s fun.”

“Nope, too vague.”

“Vague?”

You physically knock the notion with a waving hand, leaning closer over the table, errant miniatures and spare pencils still scattered there.

“Basketball is fun. Chess club is fun. Throwing rocks into a rusted can of SpaghettiOs is fun if you can make a case for it. Too vague. Didn’t come here for the everyman answer.”

“What did you come here for?” That’s loaded. The way he’s daring himself to look at you is loaded. How soft his voice turns is loaded.

“The Munson answer.” It hangs in the air like someone dropped off the gallows. “Dig for me.”

A long, metastasizing beat. Resistance is futile, as it is and ever will be with you. Eddie hitches his arms across his chest, hiding a smile in the heel of his palm. Flattery works with him. Even if you'd never call this flattery. 

“Escape,” he eventually tells you.

“Go on,” you press.

“There is this… insatiability when it comes to fantasy. To stories like this, the kind with big, thriving worldscapes. Reading ‘em, even writing ‘em– it’s good, but it isn’t enough sometimes. Sometimes you want to wrap yourself up in the reality of elsewhere. Travel to a world where things are different.”

“But not idyllic.”

Eddie’s eyebrows pull together. 

“No. If these campaigns were just… the bad guys are defeated by a mighty sword that you and you alone always happen to have on you, that’s not a campaign. That’s a circle jerk.”

“The idea is to be challenged. To fight for something.”

“Right. To adventure. Beat the odds.”

“And you can’t do that alone.”

“Well, you can. I think that’s called, like, writing a book.” 

“Ohh-kay, Eddie…”

“No, no, no, I mean,” Eddie shakes his head, planting his elbows on the table top, “Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the thrill of the unknown? Of not knowing what the other characters are gonna do, or what sick twist the dastardly, brilliant DM is gonna pull out next?”

He’s on one now, so you don’t stop him. Eddie’s eye takes on that mercurial shine, the same one he had while he was cruise directing the campaign. You wonder when he got like this—got bit by the God complex bug. Here, he could dare people to defy him when he’d been the defiant one his whole life. 

You think about a littler him, yearning for escape. 

“It also doesn’t work if everyone wants to be a hero. Too many heroes spoil the stew, okay, so you need to find other, y’know, likeminded weirdos who fall into different alignments. Those alignments only work when they’re played off other characters. Your merry band of outlaws or pirates or underdogs or whoever. You work together, or you betray each other, or you come back together because of some mighty sworn oath and you see your mission through. It’s not about winning or losing, y’know? Whatever happens out there,” he gestures to beyond the barricade of the drama room doors, “doesn’t matter. Whether life’s beating the shit out of them or not, my little acolytes, as you call ‘em, sit at this table and they’re part of something bigger. Something thrilling. Magical. Alchemic. They’re part of–”

“--a team.” You think about a littler him, yearning for people to escape with.

Eddie flaps his ever-animated hands. “Not my phrasing. But.”

“That thread runs through it all,” you say, drawing a line down the center of your notes with the inactive end of your pen, “Teamwork. Belonging. Victory– an escape from the mundane to victory, especially when you can’t find it elsewhere.”

Eddie’s chin rests on the back of his hand as he squints at you. “Sounding a little sportsmanlike there, Lacy.”

“And?”

“Thought you weren’t pulling for the everyman answer.”

“A hook’s a hook’s a hook,” you quirk your eyebrows, “–and, when you put it that way—” 

“When you put it that way.”

“—what really makes you any different from, say, the Tigers?”

“Besides the cult of personality surrounding all jocks–”

“As if you don’t court your own little cult of personality—“

“—we actually win our campaigns.”

You start to retort, then stop. Letting that sink in.

“Oh. Oh, that’s good,” you say, sketching it down. 

“I foresee letters to the editor in your future,” Eddie says, and he’s smug about it. Anything to aggregate the status quo, no matter what the blowback might be. 

No one in their right mind here behaves like him. He just… does whatever he wants.

You find yourself wanting to touch the fence. 

And maybe it’s that you stare at him a beat or so too long, but Eddie shifts his gaze down to the wood grain, flexing his hand. Scabs still marring his knuckles and all. 

“It wasn’t broken or anything, then?” you ask, gesturing to his hand. 

Eddie looks back up with a drag. You can feel what’s coming.

“Oh no, it was shattered,” he tells you, eyes-wide earnest and lying through his teeth, “My bones just heal super fast. My mom, she ate a shit ton of canned spinach when I was in ute.”

“Right, the calcium—”

“Nah. Rare botulism side effect,” he shrugs like, whaddaya gonna do!

Dumbass. 

“Rare Botulism Side Effect is a good album title.”

“I’ll tell the guys.”

Silence falls again, and if you reach around, there’s something close to normalcy in there. Among the spikes and confusion. 

“Um,” Eddie’s face contorts into a tiny cringe, “I found out what the… what the prank was, by the way. I obviously wasn’t here to witness the whole masterpiece theater of it all but– but Ronnie told me.”

A tight and ugly feeling constricts your chest. You look away, nodding through a grimace. You’d opened your locker with the practiced caution of someone diffusing a bomb since that whole incident, which sucks as someone who derives real joy from slamming metal doors. 

“Pretty creative bit, huh?” is all you offer. 

“Almost too creative for Hargrove,” Eddie counters, uprighting a fallen miniature with one finger. 

“Are you trying to say I was being hysteric, jumping on his car?” It sounds like you’re offended, but. 

“No,” Eddie meets you right where you’re at with this sparkle framing his stare, “I’m saying it was probably a collaborative effort. You could go seek even more batshit revenge, if you wanted to.”

“And would you be there to stop me before I cut Carol Perkins’ breaks?” 

You can see Eddie biting his tongue between his teeth oh-so-lightly… Saliva catching in the low light. It’s warm in here. Stuffy. 

“Prob–” 

“I miss you.” 

You cut him off in such a harsh, unforgiving way that Eddie feels his words rammed back down his throat. He blinks a couple of times, tempted to shake his head to make sure he heard you right. But there you are, your sight line running clean through him. You couldn’t be talking to anybody else. 

“You do?” His voice is so small that his lips barely move. His lips, teased by his tongue, wetting them. 

“Don’t act brand new. Everything’s harder without you. You have to know that.” 

He gets snagged on the angles in your voice. By without you, he can only imagine you mean since he started giving you the cold shoulder and you started hitching rides in that college dork’s Ford Cortina. And by everything, he can only imagine…

“Lace…”

This is hard. This is horrible. This is uncomfortable and risky and as exposed as you have ever been, but it’s necessary.

“I can’t stand the tension of not being around you,” you say, breath feeling harsher as it speeds past your molars, “And I can’t stand the tension when I’m with you either, with you and wanting to–... so what do I do, Eddie?”

You focus on him, adjusting as if you were looking through the viewfinder of Jonathan’s Pentax. Eddie’s face, bewildered and angelic, with his parted mouth and his honorific glow of the stage lights haloing the frizz in his hair. He looks like something you want to commit to memory, as if to say see?! How could you deny this? 

You rise from your seat, ever the investigator, and bear over him with hands on the table. Cards on the table, too. A genuine question smarts in your mouth, too sour candy you have to spit out. 

“What do I do, Eddie?”

Eddie inhales with a sharp touch as you stand up, inspecting, demanding. He goes to tell you I don’t know… in the meekest of tones but the arch in your eyebrows says don’t you goddamn dare. You terrify him, and you make him dig. 

“Forget it. Forget about all of it,” he breathes, almost tasting your perfume, “We can reset. Blank slate. Pretend like we don’t know each other. Pretend like none of this ever happened. It’d be better. Safer. Easy. Right? We could totally do that. We’ve fooled everybody so far. Even ourselves, into thinking this was… we could...” 

“Fuck you,” you say in a soft rush. 

Eddie only realizes that you’re both smiling when you kiss him. It’s clumsy at first, teeth knocking and everything, your hands winding around his collar and your frigid fingertips finding his neck. The shock of your skin on his, the matchstick crack of your mouth on his propels Eddie onto his motherfucking feet. He leans over you, knocking you into the table as your tongue works its way deep into his mouth. 

You give him an, “Mm,” and if feels like an ascent to heaven.

Sparkles in the static makes the stuffiness evaporate, makes the room come alive. Your legs part to invite him closer to you, your hands faster and more insistent than his are. You pull at the hem of his Hellfire shirt and yank your head back, a string of saliva married between your mouths. 

Fingers are more bold than they were in the nurse’s office, weaving the leather out of Eddie’s belt buckle. A deep ridge etches between Eddie’s eyebrows and his hands are propped in a mid-air surrender. Your eyes, your everything fucking eyes, are weighted with want. And challenge. Because you always do have to get one up on him. 

“Reset this.” You tug at his zipper. “Tell me to stop.” 

“Lacy…” Eddie whispers, watching you pull at the waistband of his boxers with his mouth agape. He’d dreamt about this. Thought about this. His cock about jumps into your hand like you’re Snow White and it’s a goddamned hummingbird. Pen marks on your fingers. “Jesus, y–...”

Eddie’s arms angle up behind his head, like a strung-up marionette, fabric of his shirt ghosting against his nipples in the stretch. This only makes him angle his hips further into you, eyelids flickering and his blood breaking the speed limit on its descent. Fuck, and then you fucking touch him– fingertips along the length of him, featherlight and goading. 

Eddie’s groan is broken, half-caught in his nose. You’re looking at him like he’s a bad puppy, like you’re teaching him a lesson in scolding masking adoration. You’re beautiful and he wants to tell you so, but it all comes out in a whimper. Your hand closes around his cock, thumb brushing rii-iii-iight along the ridge of his head.

“Tell me to stop,” you echo yourself, and you’re fascinated that it comes out sounding like you know what you’re doing. You don’t. You’ve never been thrust into a net of feeling like this, never had anyone look at you the way Eddie is now– like he’d throw himself on a bed of open flames for you, so long as you kept touching him. It’s drunkard-making. It’s a full headrush. The gradual glisten of his reddening head looks delicious to you. 

“Tell me to s–”

Grip tightens around him and Eddie moans from right in his sternum, his arms dropping to cradle around your head. He can’t believe he’s doing this, he can’t believe he’s fucking doing this but–

“Stop,” he gasps, fingers winding in your hair. His entire spinal cord is begging him to buck into your hand, your mouth, your anything, but he steels himself. “Stopstopstop, Lacy. Fuck– fuck.” 

Your eyes widen, cheek in his palm. “Really?” Said in the most painful, the most misread did I do something? lilted tone. Your hand doesn’t exactly go slack right away. 

“Yeah. Yes,” Eddie murmurs, eyes screwing closed and opening again, the most manual effort ever put behind a blink. “I c–I didn’t do this right, the first time. This is stupid. This is so stupid.”

And so your hands go, and you feel the anchor of your heart slowly dropping… But Eddie drops his face right down to yours. 

“You deserve… so much more than giving me a handy on school property,” he tells you, and feels almost coherent about it. “Hot as it is. Right out of my… nastiest dreams as it is.” 

Oh. Oh. The corners of your mouth pick up as Eddie presses his forehead to yours, just about evening out his breathing. 

“Had a premonition about this, didja?” The pressure of his face on yours, his breath on yours, his skin on yours. It’s nice.

“Came to me in a vision,” he grins, crooked. Slides his thumbs along your cheeks and kisses you, slowly and noisily. “I’m a prognosticator.” Tongue half in, half out your mouth. Your heartbeat sinks between your legs. In a good way. “Been known to prognosticate.” 

“Five dollar vocab word,” you mumble into his mouth, can’t help but push your body against him like a cat begging for attention. Eddie’s lips latch to the space right below your ear, a place where his mouth makes you feel like cymbals are clashing in your stomach.

“Come home with me,” he says, the note of pleading in his voice making your legs go numb. His nose and his lips dragging against the side of your neck, begging you to focus on the details and not the bigger picture. “Please.” A swallow. A beat. A ragged whisper. “... I missed you. Too. Y’know?”

“I do…” you sigh into his curls, readjusting his boxers, “actually need a ride… so.”

—

The van ride back to Forest Hills is tight with a tension that makes you both laugh, your mouth still buzzing from the kiss Eddie’d laid on you right before he’d helped you into the passenger seat. Even after he’d insisted you not touch him from the drama room to the parking lot, insisted because, “This thing,” he’d gestured to his crotch, his hard-on painfully zipped into submission, “this thing is gonna get me hauled over by the cops!”

“Don’t laugh!” you scold, mouth straining around the gleaming smile you’re suppressing, body all giddy. Voice ringing clear and high even over the cranked radio. Sabbath, naturally, Vol. 4. Wheels of Confusion sounds like treacle to you, mixed in with his laugh.

“I’m no-oo-oht!” Eddie says, syllables punctuated with chuckles, “I just– I am expressly escorting you back to my place! To, like, have sex with me!” His hands beat against the wheel, teeth sunk into that pretty bottom lip, giddy-upping so hard he actually does swerve the van a little.

“Woah!” you yelp, “Eddie, the road! You should’ve let me drive, you’re feral!” 

Eddie moon eyes at you, reaching over to pinch your chin. “Lace, please don’t get all sore about this, but I will never trust you behind the wheel of this van. She’s a delicate piece of machinery and you would drive her like it’s the demolition derby.”

Narrowed eyes and all, you kind of have to concede. You’ve never been the best behind the wheel, a road rageaholic, and if you were to add feeling as frisky as you do now on top of that sundae… you press Eddie’s DM binder into your lap a little harder. Down, girl. He doesn’t help, thumb stroking your chin and everything. 

“This is suh-rreal.”

“Stop zooming out so hard or I’m not gonna have sex with you!” You’re kidding. You’re so completely kidding. If he doesn’t touch you someplace lower than your neck soon, you’re going to disintegrate. 

But Eddie pauses. “Like, you don’t. Have to.” Panicky, freezy. Hastily pulling on his good guy hat. “You don’t– by the way. It’s whatever you want. Call timeout at any time. I know I’ve been kinda–”

“Eddie.” 

“...you still want to though, right?”

The giggling dies down as you edge closer and closer to your respective trailers, darkness washed over them like a swathe of dark blue paint. The lights in both trailers are out. Nobody home. Wayne, something about the weekend, something about overtime. Your mom… who knew. She’d been moving around in shadows more so than usual lately.

Everything out there is dimmed, except you two. Eddie doesn’t waste a second once the motor shuts off and the radio is silenced; he slams the driver door shut but the teensiest knot of hesitation tightens in your stomach before he reaches the passenger door. 

And then he reaches the passenger door, gathering you out of it and pushing you up against the side of the van. Snapping you out of it instantaneously using the bare force of his mouth against yours. 

“Eddie…” mumbled, your lips barely unstuck.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry. I just really like kissing you.” 

Something pops in your chest; he’s… Jesus, he’s so sweet. Coal-eyed and excitable and lovely, kissing you with nothing left to spare.

“Hey. Redirect,” you shiver, his fingertips pressing into your waist. “Come to my place.”

Eddie casts a wide glance back toward your double-wide. The forbidden castle. “Your… y–are you sure?”

“Sure that my bedsheets are cleaner than yours, yes.”  

He murmurs, “Bedsheets,” with a darkened gaze and a grunt. Bedsheets. You wanted him in your bedsheets. “Get your key. Get your key. Get your key before me and my dick have a shared brain hemorrhage.” 

That new lock doesn’t stick at all, thank god. 

Eddie, ordinarily, would nosily register all of his surroundings– he had an extremely barebones idea of your place, cast mostly in darkness like this, from that first night he’d driven you back from the fallout at Harrington’s. But he’s too busy nosily exploring your throat with his tongue, recording and archiving every breathy sound you make as you tug him toward your bedroom. 

Cardboard boxes still trip you up a couple times. Did you ever unpack, or what?

You break from his heady kiss, vision doubling, taking in a lungful of air as you push Eddie through the door. Spine flattens against it as it shuts, the noise drawing a little bit of sobriety into the room. You reach to hit the floor lamp on and your bedroom is illuminated in a soft, orange glow, a scarf thrown over the bulb to diffuse light. A half-effort to make you forget where you were sometimes. It works; the edges of everything softens, which is such a contrast to the definitive presence that he is.

Eddie’s chest is heaving. He attempts to get his bearings but he can barely get his eyes off of you, squirming ever-so-slightly, ever-so-sexily against the door. Like you’d captured him.

Lips swollen, watching you watch him from the door, he turns a little shy and turns to look at the ephemera around him instead. 

He’s standing in your bedroom.

You’re far more cluttered than he expected you to be. 

He expected pressed sheets and a pristine dressing table, like a prison cell designed by a set dresser from Dynasty. 

Well, that’s wrong, actually. He expected that of the Lacy people thought you were.

On the walls are a couple of tear-outs from the Rolling Stones he’d helped you liberate from your porch in Loch Nora, a mission you’d bought him breakfast for but didn’t have to. But mostly, every surface in the room is covered in piles. Piles of books, records, tapes, pens, jewelry, nail polish. And the clothes. They hung from everywhere, bursting out of your tiny closet space like bodies trying to escape. 

It’s confused in here; feels like someone who has unearthed parts of herself that she hasn’t been able to organize yet. Eddie wants to comb through it like a collector at a rarities market, he thinks, running a finger along the spine of a porcelain cat that sits on your dresser. 

“Place is filthy, cheerleader.”

“You’d know about mess, freak.”

The only really neat, clear space is, fortunate for tonight’s entertainment purposes, the bed. 

As he’s sliding his jacket (jackets, plural) off, Eddie’s eye travels to the window. 

“Did you fix your blinds?” he asks, pivoting back and forth on his heel. 

“My blinds?” you parrot. The blinds that had been broken when you moved in. The ones that sure were shuttered now. You’d made a point to fix them with whatever was left out of your first paycheck from the Bookstore. “How’d you know about my blinds?”

He could’ve lied, if he caught himself quicker. If he didn’t straighten up his back like someone had snapped him to attention. “Uuh.” 

It dawns on you like a flashlight in the eyeballs. “Were you… watching me, Munson?”

Not spying, mind. Not peeping. Watching. Eddie sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, because whether or not he’s ever going to get to be here again kind of hangs in the balance right now. 

“That. Dep…ends. What do you,” Please don’t kick him out. Please don’t kick him out. Look at the line of your fucking body as you round on him, staring him down like you want him for dinner. Christ, he hopes you want him for dinner.

Eddie swallows roughly, tone bumpy, face a dime store Halloween mask of nonchalance. Paper thin. “What do you think about that?”

Fact is, he’d subsisted on a couple of very guilty glimpses of you. Catching sight of the lines of your bare back and taught shoulders would keep him in jerk-off material for a week, just thinking about kneading out your knots and undoing your bra clasp with his teeth. 

Eddie felt positively Victorian about it. Maybe you’d flash an ankle at him next and he’d be institutionalized for hysterics. 

You look at him with the same pinpoint as you did earlier. Like you’re studying him. And then you edge closer, closer, nudging his knees apart. Echoes of the nurse’s office. 

But this isn’t the goddamn nurse’s office. You’re not straining to adapt to the element of surprise. You know that the breath Eddie takes, shuddering and wondrous as you tilt his chin up to look at you, is a sound you want on repeat for as long as you can bear to hear sounds. 

“They’ve blinded men for that, y’know? Before.”

Eddie can’t answer. Just let out a huh! as your fingers trace his jaw, thumb brushes his lip. His hands squeeze the curve of your ass, fingers beg into your thighs as he watches you, dumbstruck. His tongue unconsciously presses to the tip of your thumb and he hears your breath hitch.

A sustained shock travels up your neck.

“I mean, was it worth it?”

“Was it w… Lacy.” Eddie’s hands have breached the hem of your skirt and with a groan, his face burrows into the silken fabric of your shirt, like he’s trying to nudge it off with his nose or his mouth. Fingers are working mindlessly to loosen some article of clothing from your body and it makes you feel buzzy and trancelike. “Don’t ask stupid questions. I might have fuckin’ carpal tunnel because of you.”

Jesus. He makes you feel so…

Desired. Needed. You’ve never felt that way before, and you don’t quite know how to navigate it. So your buttons start coming undone with the work of one hand, the other shoving Eddie by the shoulder to lean back on your bed. 

Eddie, here, among all your things. Disparate in your shabby little dollhouse, looking at you like you just swallowed the sun. 

Your shirt comes off, and Eddie, in a game of match point, tugs his off too. Pause comes over the both of you. You’d seen him shirtless before; shower-bare in his trailer when the first security breach happened, a crack in the containment whatever you were pretending your relationship to each other was–affable enemies, irritated acquaintances. He’d looked at you like an animal cornered, tendons tense under his tattooed skin and you’d wanted to drag a finger or two down the center of his chest. 

You didn’t, though. You’d sniped, asked where the cigarettes were. 

This is all one big case of making up for lost time.

You’ve been looking at him so long, bra strap slipping off your shoulder, that Eddie leans forward. As if to come get you. 

Remember me? I’m real. You can touch me. Touch me, please.

His warm arms pull you to him, pull you onto the bed, pull you against his lips. It’s gentler there; not as furtive. It says, hi, I’m here. Your arms, tugging him closer as he eases you beneath him say, good, I’ve been waiting. Eddie brushes his nose against yours, you laid down with your hair fanned out on the plush comforter. 

Both your pulses must have stuttered at the same time.

His smile is serene but you can feel his forearms trembling. “I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

“Don’t,” you tell him, very quietly while his hand nervously tries to find the zipper on your skirt, “I just got you back.”

Your hips lift to help him and you’re wiggling the thing off and you’re wiggling your tights off and he’s thrashing his jeans off only to land back between your parted legs with bouncing recoil from the mattress. Laughter biting in one another’s mouths. The nerves are teeming off him in waves and it makes you want to kiss him all over. 

The feeling housed in your body is different; not jittery, but struck somehow. This doesn’t feel like the way it usually feels, the way it does when you disappear into spare rooms at parties or the shadow of Skull Rock or hitch your leg up against the center console of someone’s shitty car. It doesn’t feel rote, like you’re doing it to stack up experience points– that is a Dungeons and Dragons term you found particularly interesting. How many bad tongue kisses had you accepted just to feel like you’re progressing, instead of waiting for someone who wants to taste you like Eddie does? 

Your bodies caged together, you feel the eager, hard, tragically clothed line of him rub against your center. Eddie manages to free your bra clasp on the first try, which you almost goadingly applaud him for–but he cuts you short with a bewitched stare, his lovely, hot mouth laving over your nipple as he slips the fabric away. It tears the first real moan from you, your back arching into his kneading fingers as his tongue curves over your tightening bud. 

Eddie can’t believe what he’s hearing. He can barely see straight, but he’s trying to commit every second of this to a glorious Technicolor memory, sound and image capturing working overtime. The sound that comes from your beautiful, balmy mouth sounds fresh out the packet–like you’d never made it for anyone before. The look of suppressed surprise on your face confirms as much and Eddie feels like he might explode. 

He, too, has no idea what he’s doing but he can’t help his hips from jerking into you as he plays on. Playing with your nipples, remembering that making them glisten with his spit will make you whimper, and so will kissing the center of your sternum. He’s watching wide-eyed and fascinated as your brow furrows and your legs tighten around him. He’s a wonderful student, when he wants to be.

Eddie is throbbing, and there’s too much cotton and lace between you. 

There’s also this other thing, and it comes out of him like word upchuck as you try to tease his boxers down around his hips using only your feet. 

“I oughta tell you,” Eddie whispers, voice all raspy, all boyish with his hair tickling your collarbone, “I’m, uh. I’m not good at this.”

“At what?” He’s got one hand roaming over your chest, the other making indents in the meat of your thigh. It feels like he’s holding your breath right in his hands.

A new shade of pink rises high in Eddie’s already straining cheeks. He really doesn’t want to have to use his words to spell it out. “Thiii-iiss.”

Oh. A rivulet of cold realization runs through you. Nicole. Cass. Girls daring themselves to get near to him. Experience points. The great freak experiment project. 

“This isn’t that.” Your hands hold his chin, perhaps a little roughly, to make sure he’s listening. And Eddie is, breath baited. You press your forehead to his like he pressed his forehead to yours. “It’s not.”

He’s really about to ask you, what is it, then? but that feels like something you can work out later. Eddie lets you tug at his lips and you let him tug at your panties, arching up so you can wiggle them down your legs. His eyes cast to the downy hair at your mound, and it’d usually occur to you to apologize for your unshaven legs, as if it mattered. 

But the way he regards you doesn’t call for that; it calls for you to open up for him. Spread.

A rough pad of a finger runs along your slit, feeling the generous drip that’s gathered, and Eddie moans as your breath hitches into an animalistic, “hahh!”-- he’s edging down your body to bury his face there. He wants to feel you, smell you, taste you. You tense at the sudden contact of his palms pressing your thighs open, his nose against your clit and he feels it. A jolt of worry passes through him. Did you not want that? “Sorry–”

“Don’t– no, Eddie, don’t stop,” you strain, laugh a little, “You just… surprised me. Keep– keep surprising me. Please.” 

Shockwaves break through you as he gingerly offers his tongue. And more, and more, until he’s lapping at you with a vigor and no real direction. You dig against him, made speechless by the building ache in your core.

In your fantasies, you hadn’t anticipated him being so giving–so eager to please and explore. Like all things, this moment projected itself in your head with the hard edges of some imagined cockiness, Eddie telling you to spread your legs and you, nymphlike and fluid and still somehow holding all the indiscriminate ‘power’, doing so. 

But this? This is soft and messy and spitty and real. Eddie is drooling and babbling into your pussy with the uncalculated effect of someone who has improvised his whole life and it’s tearing you at the seams. A satisfying little rip, every keen movement he makes.

You know when you’re close to climax, that familiar feeling of your cunt suckling at nothing, but it doesn’t feel as jagged as the first time he brought you there. Urgently, you tug at his hair, claw at his shoulders, begging for his attention. 

“Eddie,” you gasp and his hands flex around your thighs at the sound of his name in your mouth. It’s yours, he wants to tell you, rutting heedlessly into the mattress from his position between your legs, keep it! Please! “Eddie, Eddie– come here, come to me.” 

Your velveteen voice summons him, his face glistening from the exploration of you. Embarrassment threatens to ping at you, but it flames into want, seeing how wet and obscene he looks. That’s all from you? 

Eddie does as he’s told, heart pounding– and the sensation of fabric dragging against the raw tip of his cock nearly makes him pass out. 

“Fuck! Fuck, you–” he stammers as your hand pulls his heavy length free, balls tightening under your firm touch, “N-not fuck you, obvi-ously, but–hunh–okay, kinda fuck you…”

Eddie’s lips fold against yours as he attempts, with shuddering arms, to brace himself over you. He whines at your dexterity, swiping his head against your entrance. The wetness from him, the wetness from you– the sheer impact of sensation slices clean through him. It’s not a tactic, you’re not teasing; you’re angling to get him inside you. You need to get him inside you, your entire body is begging for it. 

“Baby, please, please, I’m not gonna last–”

“Who said you had to?” you ask, voice a drop of dark syrup. Just for him. “Who said you had to?”

The earnestness in your eyes gives Eddie pause– for all of a pulsating second. 

“I want you… inside. Don’t you want to feel me?” you ask with real conviction, thumb swiping over his moistened head in a way that makes his vision go galactic. 

Eddie yanks your hand away, kissing roughly it, nailing it beside your head as he tries to ease into you. 

“Want? It’s all I want–fuck, it’s all I fucking think about, Lacy–huhh–”

His first attempt results in a gasp of pain– the sting, the stretch, it’s a little much a little fast. The sharpness has you wincing and has Eddie searching your face with an arrested kind of guilt.

“Y–shit, baby, are you–”

“I’m okay,” you recover, hand steadying on his flushed cheek. “Just–slower. Ease it in. You’re– you’re pretty remarkable, Eddie.” 

“Remarkable?” he mumbles against your cheek, focused and slowly lining his head against your entrance. “Really?”

“Prodigiou—ss, uhh–fuck!” Whispered swears come streaming from you as he sinks right into the velvety constraints of your cunt. 

Your eyes roll right back, mouth tipping open and the grip of you arresting around him makes him cry out into your chest. 

Eddie’s cock is long and heavy and thick, constricted to the point where you can nearly feel every ridge of him. It hurts, the stretch of him aches, but it’s delicious–pinned and sweetly painful.

“Prodigious–is a five dollar–fuckin’--vocab word–” he strains, lifting his hips ever so slightly– you’re clutched onto him so tight that you move with him. Eddie open-mouth groans against your neck. “Lacy, Jesus, you’re so tight–you feel so good–how the fuck do you feel so good? Who invented you?!” 

There’s a tinge of a giggle in your moaning, which doesn’t let up. Eddie’s voice rings out like a church bell, making one slow stroke inside you, then another. Then another, then another, picking up speed, groans chorusing into the hollow of your neck around the lewd sound of his flesh slapping against yours. The sound alone brings you close to cumming. “Oh, pleasepleaseplease, fuck, Lace, I’m g– fuck, I’m–”

The way Eddie’s hands are carving permanent marks into your hips, the way his movements are halting, you get the idea that… “You holding out on me?” you ask him, short of breath around your panting but demanding still, “Don’t you dare–don’t you dare.” 

“Lacy, uhh– please, ’mgonnafucking–”

“Cum for me? Are you?”

Your fingers tug at his curls so you can look at him as his face tenses. Eddie’s hair is flattened across his head, face glimmering with exertion. You drag your lips against his forehead, the salty flavor of sweat breaking across your tastebuds.

“For you, for you, shit, only for you–only for you, only fucking ever–fuck–”

His dark eyes have been blown out since he pulled you to the mattress, eyelids flickering over his irises as he pistons into you with speed that hurts but you love it. 

You barely hear yourself beginning a prayer of dirty little succors, but there it is, easing him through his orgasm as he shudders a load between your legs. “You feel like nothing on this fucking earth, you know that, you’re so good for me...” The tension breaks with one final rasping cry, his expression dissolving into a softness as he exhales a lungful, neck stretching to lean into your touch. 

A couple of half-cracked dry sobs escape him. 

Looking up at you, cradled against your shoulder, Eddie’s cursing himself for every second he’s wasted not doing this with you. 

And you, looking down, are stroking his damp curls from his forehead and cursing yourself. You’re going to burn the world down for this boy.

“Lacy. You–”

And then, y’know, the fucking front door of the trailer clicks. 

Little too much deja vu for your liking these days! 

Immediately, you seize upwards, jolting a confused Eddie with you– which breaks your heart, in a way, seeing him darty-eyed and shocked out of his bliss so fast. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.” These are not like your prior ‘fucks’, he can register through the haze of his post-nut state. These are bad fucks. So he responds in turn, “Fuck?”

“My mom!” You hiss, naked and scrambling. Panic crests on you like a wave, a wave that should have been an orgasm mind fucking you, and your fingernails tear at the comforter beneath you. 

“Under, under, gogogo!”

Because if there’s one thing your mother, in all her former-center-of-attention glory, loves to do? It’s enter a room uninvited. 

Case in fucking point–

“Lacy?” A perfunctory knuckle rap from the other side of the door, just as you manage to hide Eddie by shoving him behind you and tenting the comforter around you both. You’re praying to anything with a little more gusto than God that it works. And then, enter your mother and her cloud of Shalimar. 

Soon as she opens the door, you can tell something is terribly off. 

She’s smiling, face as serene as the Virgin Mary. Usually she’s got a sharpened dagger of a glare, just for you. Two of you haven’t been spending much quality time lately, see. 

“Lacy! What–” your mom’s brow knits, but it’s a look of amusement. Which freaks you out. She’s looking at your just-fucked-by-Eddie-Munson hair, isn’t she? The mascara that’s surely streaking down your face? Does she know? Can she sense he’s in this very room? “--what are you doing?”

“Napping. Crying. What does it look like?” you snap, hiking the comforter up a little further and begging that she doesn’t notice Eddie’s incriminating clothes strewn across the floor. 

Eddie, for his part, is not breathing. He’s crouched behind your bare ass, a position he’s in no rush to get out of, arms caged around your thighs like a petrified child. This is almost funny–or would be, if he wasn’t scared shitless of everything your mom would definitely do to him if she discovered him buck ass naked in your bed.

Dreamily, Eddie reminds himself that he’s buck ass naked, in your bed. He smiles into one of your cheeks and considers how biteable it is.  

“Well. Wrap it up,” your mom says, tone still light, and you twinge at the irony. At least you’re on the pill. “I have a surprise.”

Slam. Door shuts. Your lamp wobbles with the force of it and Eddie emerges from behind you, like a freshly-fucked groundhog. 

“She sounds happy,” he mumbles, arms sliding up around your waist. 

You want to kiss the mirth out his mouth but you have to shove him back behind you first– cue your mom, doubling back through the door. Jesus!

“What was that?”  

“Nothing!” you say, shortly and breathily because Eddie nips at your fucking ass cheek back there. “Just–you sound happy, mom!”

She shakes her head at you, a smile curving her tulip colored lips, like a mom from a detergent commercial. Y’know, were it not for the whole Italian widow getup she’s alway sporting. 

“Get on with it already.”

You count to a full five before you even let out a breath, snapping your attention back to reality and the fact that Eddie Munson is very naked in your very bed. 

“You gotta get out of here,” you tell him, and you want to kill yourself about it. 

The both of you balance on your knees. Eddie tugs you into him with shining, begging eyes. Standing almost at full attention again, already.

“Jesus, that thing’s impressive.”

Eddie’s fingers wind around the hair at the nape of your neck. Despite the brief jolt of fear from your little interruption just now, he’s all romance–totally suckered, rose-colored glasses, the whole bit. Thoughts not exactly creating a straight line just yet, but he doesn’t care. He’s had his hands all over you for the better part of an evening now, and he doesn’t want to let up just yet. It might kill him. It might kill him. 

There’s no unringing this bell between the two of you, and he knows that. 

And you knew it first, because you know everything first. 

“You sure?” he hums into your sweet lips, “You absolutely positive? Because I could be real, real quiet…”

Eddie’s also thrilled by the fact that he seems to know instinctively what to do to turn you on. 

“What if I don’t want you to be real, real quiet?”

You kiss him back, sighing and sliding a single finger down the length of his cock. 

“Lace…” he whimpers to you, his commandant fantasy of being dominant in the bedroom officially, officially escorted out back and shot. He wants to please you too badly. Be the jester in your court that makes you cackle and makes you cum.

“Lacy!” a shrill yell comes from the hall. Your eyes snap open, Eddie’s dancing with amusement and yours heaving with alarm. 

“Fuck, okay, go! Window!”

Another scramble, you tossing jeans and socks and the rest of Eddie’s uniform at him while you clean yourself off, try to pull a robe around yourself. A stray thought occurs to you as you watch him trip over himself, ripping the hole in his jeans a little further–you hate what he wears, but you love it on him. And off him. And…

You yank up those blinds and unlatch the window with a faint smile. Nothing about you two makes any conceivable sense–

Eddie starts out the window, shirt barely pulled down his torso and his shoes in his hands, then turns to hook you to him by the elbow. Smiling with the full blush of his mouth, he kisses you. Firm and knowing and whole. 

–except that. That makes sense.

The pad of his finger clears a lock of rumpled hair from your forehead. 

“To be continued?” Eddie searches your face, with those crazy dark brimming universes of eyes. 

Your heart is leaping in your ribcage. You nod sharply, gleaming back at him. 

“I’m comin’ back for you, Lacy Doevksi,” he tells you with all the brazen confidence he can muster. “And I am gonna go down on you until I drown. On pain of death, I swear it.”

“Go!” you command, and regret it as soon as he drops out of your bedroom window. Eddie starts a cant toward his trailer across the way. 

“Faster!” you hiss, just as an excuse to watch him. 

He pivots mid-jog, hair swinging wildly, his hand grabbing at his crotch. 

“You try runnin’ with a hard on! Witch!” 

It’s far, far, far too quiet once he’s escaped through the front door of his trailer.

It's not fair, you think. You should be basking in some kind of afterglow, sharing a stupid cliché cigarette, you feel like you should be... celebrating this.

You shouldn't have to keep running away from each other.

The warmth the two of you had created, through mere physical friction or just how much you… you like each other, rapidly dissipated into a chill as you advance through your bedroom door, to deal with the other thing.

Surprise, you thought, What kind of goddamn surprise could mother o'mine have for me? Did she boost a bank? Did she win the Indiana Sweepstakes? I don’t want to know about any g–

“Lorelei.”

The universe has a way of shoving you back in place when you get ahead of yourself.

You don’t just stop in your tracks, you’re repelled a half-step backwards. The centrifugal force urging you away, telling you there’s an immediate threat in the heart of your home. 

No one uses that name anymore. Not even him. Not since you were fourteen.

“Daddy.”

Your father sits at the shabby dinette that you and your mother don’t even share meals at, sits there in the suit he was sentenced in. A rich navy pinstripe, chosen because gray would have been too flashy and black would admit defeat. “Of course!” your mother had said, marveling at his ingenuity. But the pantomime of his defense was wearing real thin on you; whispering at school had started growing louder and louder and you were finding more and more chips in the porcelain of your father’s worldly facade. 

“Why not compromise. Wear charcoal,” you’d said, leaning against the kitchen counter in Loch Nora, drinking orange juice from your parents’ wedding crystal as the movers taped up your boxes, “You can plead guilty and still look smug about it.”

Your father had smacked the flute from your hand and it shattered in forty thousand pieces on the ground. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, because you knew if you did, you’d be next. 

Navy it was. And navy it is. He sits at that dinette like he’s expecting white jacket service. You swear even more gray has started glimmering through his hair. Flashy. 

“Should I ask how you’re here?” you say, stiff and scared. Your mother, standing at your father’s shoulder, tuts and sighs. Can’t you just enjoy this? she silently bemoans.

“Good behavior,” Ray smiles, “Can’t say the same for you. Can I, Lorelei?”

“Principal Higgins called,” your mom chimes in, “Or rather, that odious little secretary called. You think you could get a Saturday detention and they just wouldn’t tell us?”

“That’s why he’s here?” You laugh a little, inwardly. “With all due respect, Daddy, that’s a terrible reason to break out of prison.”

To your surprise, your father chuckles too. Makes your blood run cold, obviously. 

“Y’know, I really didn’t anticipate this for my homecoming, I gotta tell you,” he says, shifting in his seat and plucking a cigarillo from his jacket pocket. “I mean, honestly. I thought, a nice bottle of Beaujolais–”

“We’re fresh out,” you gesture to your cringing mother.

“--a dinner at, Christ, Enzo’s, since that’s where our budget is at now,” his lighter flicks and ignites the end, “But no. I have to sit here and cross-examine my daughter about… fraternizing with the lowest of criminal elements.”

The lack of self awareness here is off the fucking charts. It makes your blood pressure spike.

“Take a seat, Lacy,” your father so gallantly gestures to the vinyl backed kitchen chair in front of him, “and tell me all about Eddie Munson.”

Chair drags aggressively against the linoleum. You sit, and swear that the next time you’re caught off guard by anyone’s father, it’d better be God himself. 

This bit is getting old.

author's notes: so i'm not fucking around when i say i need to hear everyone's thoughts on what just happened immediately. i really do think that happenings-wise, this was my favourite chapter to write thus far. felt cathartic, from the al munson to the hellfire article of it all. anyway. onto the good stuff - like i feel like everyone who reads this series will have clocked this but of course i lifted the garlic slicing right out of goodfellas. i just think it's a perfect al munson attribute to have - al munson kicking out the jams instead of picking up his kid i know that's right - our dukes of hazzard ref is a tribute to my own personal al munson fancast - not that paris, texas but this paris, texas. (and you know when lacy eventually gets eddie to watch it he CRIES. they both cry) - i should probably put the repo man trailer in here as well - speaking of another fancast! the manager of forest hills trailer park is, of course, to me, in my heart, carl rodd. - the best song off of abbey road by the beatles, fight with the wall - SHOULD WE CALL THE MAYOR - lacy promising eddie that he can ride circles around her on a motor bike is a reference to hunter s thompson being ambushed on canadian television by one of the hells angels he wrote about in his book. dude rolls onto set on his hog. it's crazy. - eddie is kinda gossamer coded - cow tipping? at mccorkle's? anybody? our love is god - god wheels of confusion is kinda horny sounding huh i think that this might be the shortest references recap so far in the series?? one of them anyway. probably because i wrote 4k words of FILTH. anyway, thank you all so much for continuing to read this fucking thing. we're almost at the end of this part of the story which is wild to me. now let me get on your ass and remind you that REBLOGGING FICS IS ESSENTIAL TO YOUR FIC WRITERS HEALTH. SO ARE COMMENTS AND SO ARE ASKS so send those pls :) love you hellcats. be well, cats

[gureumz]

Jungwon as your boyfriend who you had a fight with the night before and now here’s trying to make it up to you cause he horny

"baby, please," jungwon breathes next to your ear. you ignore him, continuing your task at hand: making dinner.

you feel jungwon's hands travel lower from where he held you by your waist. his hands smooth over your thighs, then your ass, giving it a squeeze.

you remain unmoving

"i'm sorry for what i said," jungwon whispers against your neck. he kisses over your skin, traveling across your shoulder, pressing his lips longer on your shoulderblade.

"you were right," jungwon continues, reaching beneath your apron, slipping his hand through the waistband of your shorts.

you try to wiggle out of his grasp, but jungwon has a hand cupped over your heat before you can move any further.

you inhale, adamant about getting your food done. the bowl of half-mixed pasta sauce starts to seem uninteresting to you now.

"tell me to stop and i will," jungwon says, voice low.

"or you can say nothing and i'll fuck you over the counter."

you remain silent. a second goes by. then ten.

your voice betrays you as you squeak out in surprise, feeling yourself being tugged back, your midsection harshly shoved against the marble countertop of the kitchen island.

"the counter, it is," jungwon says as you hear him unbuckle his belt.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Omg can we please have more huskerdust babies?? I’m thinking all the things! Possibly more things during the pregnancy? I love the idea that when the hotel is attacked by the monster of the week, Angel gets pissed that they basically have Nifty babysit him ha. Or angsty stuff like, maybe Heaven has taken note that there’s been innocent souls born and they want to take them?? Omg so many thiiiiiings I love this lil world you created <3

Oh my god I absolutely Adore this ask, these are all the things I love talking about the most! <3 I'm so glad you like the AU!

God I love the idea that Angel Dust is very unimpressed at being benched from fights, bitching about it to the point where Charlie has to give him a list of pregnancy dos and don'ts with 'gunfights' on the don't list along with drugs, alcohol and tuna. Nifty gets assigned as his bodyguard whenever they are under attack but her job is far more often to keep him in his room. More than once, Husk has come back to find that Nifty had to pin Angel's jacket to the floor with her knife

Angel is Suffering with two very hyperactive, multi limbed, winged kittens inside him, especially when he's trying to sleep. And he discovers that the only thing that really gets them to settle is the sound of their daddy's rattling, rumbling, car-with-a-busted-exhaust purr. Which leads to many nights where they're curled up in bed and Angel Dust will sleepily give Husk a shove and mumble 'your kids are awake'. Husk knows it's his cue to roll over, shuffle down until his forehead is pressed to Angel's belly and purr loudly until the little ones settle back into sleep. Usually he'll stay there, Angel's fingers stroking through his fur, telling their babies to be nice to their pops, he's doing such a good job taking care of you and keeping you safe. Angel gets to drift back asleep listening to his voice and his purr and feeling so warm and safe

Cravings hit Angel at the weirdest times, often Husk will wake up at 2am with his side of the bed empty but he knows all he has to do is stumble down to the kitchen and his spider will be there, singing to himself and making some pasta dish he remembers his Nona making when he was alive. Husk just presses a sleepy kiss between his shoulders and gets himself on busboy duty. If he's lucky he'll get some leftovers.

Angel Dust does struggle a lot with how Different he looks when he's pregnant, just because he takes so much pride in looking a certain way and he's spent his whole afterlife being told that looking hot and having people want to fuck him is all he's good for. So when he starts showing, there's a few days where he just retreats to his room, under the blankets and doesn't really want to see anyone. Husk understands and doesn't make him feel stupid for feeling that way but he will wait until Angel wants to let him in then get under the covers with him. He promises that he's as beautiful to Husk as he's ever been, he can't believe he gets to be with someone who looks the way he does and, honestly, he's struggling to keep his hands off him most of the time. It does make Angel feel better and he gets to wear his comfier clothes now and gets used to looking at himself in a different way.

And then his hormones hit. Literally no one in the hotel sees them for about a week, Charlie goes up to see if they're okay, hears the noises coming from their room and bolts back downstairs with a bright red face like '....yeah, they sound like they're doing good'. When Husk eventually does emerge, to get some water, he's limping and holding his back, groaning that he's too old for this...

When they're born, as soon as they're able to wobble about on their many limbs, the spider kitties get Terrible zoomies. Half the time there's just these black and pink blurs zipping around the hotel, tumbling into each other and nearly knocking things over. It's good reflex training for everyone in the hotel making sure nothing gets smashed

and it is SO interesting that you mention this whole business with heaven as that is absolutely a part of this AU I came up with!!!! It's long enough to pretty much deserve it's own post but I am so delighted that your brain also went there because mine did too!!

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Loved the 3 part of monet issue❤️. I thought about this. How about the doctor that experimented on reader became obsessed with us, infiltrated the compound as a new doctor and required that we go to observation, there she starts to do things again. I know it’s a little vague but that was what I could come with. See you and I hope you have a good day and take care of yourself.❤️❤️

-💣

My Beautiful Creation

Finally Part of the Monet Issues AU

Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, gun violence, swearing, forced experiment, death, killing, panic attacks, guilt, pregnancy, protective Avengers,

Word Count: 7.3k

New York City was known as the city that never slept. So many people (sometimes too many people, in your opinion) came from so many walks of life. Everyone came to this city to chase a dream. As you walked to a busy sidewalk, you were just another fish swimming upstream and weaving through people on the phone, listening to music, or performing on the street corner. There was always something to look at: massive skyscrapers, fights on the street, or trying to pick somewhere to eat because of the million and one options. So it was odd that you felt eyes on you. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. However, when you turned around, no one was there. It had to be your nerves since you’ve only been back in the city for two months. It would take time for you to feel safe since HYDRA altered your life.

The first step to returning your life to normal was meeting with Taylor and a few other friends for lunch. Opening the door to the small hole in the wall, you welcomed the quiet and peaceful environment. It was a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the sidewalk. You saw Taylor in the corner, and you pointed to the table. The hostess nodded, and you walked over to them. “Look who finally is here to grace us with her presence,” your friend, Brooke, teased. She stood up and did a slight bow. “The princess has returned.” You punched her shoulder at her joke attempt, but it made you smile.

“Leave her alone, Brookie,” Emma said. “She’s been busy being an Avenger or something.”

“More like fucking one!” Brooke and Taylor high-fived across the table.

“Are we done?” You asked. “Because I will leave.” Emma grabbed your hand and forced you into the empty seat next to Taylor. You met Emma and Brooke through Taylor. While you went to college out of state, she went to Columbia. Brooke and Emma were her freshman-year roommates, and they were used to you staying over every weekend.

“We love you, Egghead,” Taylor kissed your cheek.

“And we missed you,” Emma added. You missed them, too. Lunch was spent picking on one another, catching up, and filling your stomach with cheap but good Italian food.

“So, are we going to be invited to the wedding?” Brooke asked, looking at you. You raised your eyebrows. “You and Natasha. Aren’t you guys like engaged?” You chuckled.

“Not even close,” you said. “We only have been dating for a few months officially. I doubt she would even want that,” Taylor scuffed, shaking her head.

“Have you talked about it?” Emma asked before you could question Taylor.

“Well, no,” you admitted. “There has been a lot going on.” Taylor chuckled. “Do you have something to say?” Your best friend pinched your side, and you glared at her.

“Natasha looks at you like you’ve hung the moon and painted the stars in the sky,” you tried to hide your embarrassment by picking at the pasta in front of you. “She would 100% be down to marry you.”

When lunch was over, you paid for the meal at the front. As you waited for your card, you felt that eerie sensation that prickled at the back of your neck. Your gaze darted around the restaurant’s other patrons to find the source of your uneasiness, but you couldn’t figure it out.

“Hey,” you were pulled away by Taylor’s voice. She was holding your card and frowning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled and took the card from her. “Let’s get out of here.” Was it a trick of your mind, or was someone watching your every step?

*

“Get off of me!” You gasped, trying to push Yelena off of you. Her body became dead weight. “You are so annoying,” you tickled her sides, and she quickly got off you. Her eyes were wide in fear.

“That was dirty,” she sat next to you while Kate and Peter joined you on the couch, hands filled with snacks and drinks. You rolled your eyes and stood up to help them.

“I thought you were supposed to help them,” the blonde shrugged and grabbed a beer from Kate. It was routine for you to find yourself with the trio when you were at the compound. You liked training with Wanda and Vision, eating dinner with Tony and Pepper, and cuddling up with your girlfriend. Since the ‘I love you’ confession, you both grew more confident in the relationship in front of the team. Movie nights were spent in each other’s arms. Natasha would grab you by the waist and kiss you, much to the disdain of Yelena and your father. The business was going well, your relationship with your father was better than ever, and life was good.

“You bitch!” You threw a piece of popcorn at Peter. “I can’t believe you stole my star.”

“I picked random!” He defended.

“Kate has four stars?! You stoke from me, and now I have zero.” You heard laughter from the kitchen and saw Tony. “I’ll be right back. Don’t start the mini-game without me,” you climbed over the back of the couch and walked over to him. He was in a meeting when you arrived at the compound.

“Hi, squirt,” he hugged you. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you watched him fill a mug with the leftover coffee in the pot. “You should cut back on the caffeine.” He shook his head.

“You should like Pepper.”

“The woman in your life is usually right,” the CEO squeezed your shoulder as she walked past you. Accepting Pepper as your father’s girlfriend turned-wife was hard for you. You saw her as someone that was trying to replace your mom. Another person is stealing Tony’s attention. So you treated her as a business associate but ran in the same circle. It became impossible to ignore her, and soon, you began to look for her at every Gala or event, finding a strange sense of peace from the older woman. “Have you asked her yet?”

“No, I was busy getting yelled at by my questionable habits,” you and Pepper rolled your eyes. “Are you free to have dinner with us?”

“Of course,” you smiled.

“Mini game time,” Yelena yelled from the couch. “Get your ass over here.” You flipped the blonde off, told the couple you could see them later, and joined your friends back on the couch.

*

“You’re pregnant?!” You gasped, putting the glass of wine that Pepper paired with the dinner she made. It was just you, Tony, and Pepper in their section of the compound. “Have you told anyone?” Pepper shook her head.

“We wanted to tell you first,” your father took his wife’s hand.

“And you are okay with this?” You heard the worry in his voice. Why wouldn’t you be okay with this?

“I mean, the idea of you having unprotected sex kind of gives me,” you faked a gag. Tony glared at you, but Pepper covered her mouth as she laughed. “But I’m so happy for you! I can’t wait to be an older sister!” When dinner was finished, you helped Pepper clean the dishes while Tony took a phone call from Rhodey.

“He was worried,” she glanced at him to ensure he was still on the phone. “About how you would reach the news.

“Really?” You questioned, drying a few plates and putting them away. “Why?” She sighed.

“I think he was worried you would feel like he was replacing you,” you frowned. “I know it’s not ideal timing, especially since you still trying to build your relationship with him. But-”

“Pepper,” you placed a hand on her arm, promptly cutting her off. “I’m happy for you both. You are going to make a great mother, and I know from first-hand experience,” the CEO smiled, kissing your temple. Suddenly, you felt arms around your waist, and you were lifted off the ground.

“Are you trying to steal my wife?” Tony asked. You squeaked as he spun you around. “Don’t you already have a girl to call your own? Or are you trying to get all the women in the compound?”

“It’s the Stark charm,” you laughed, a little out of breath from his tickling assault. “It’s hard for a woman to resist it,” he let you go, and it took a moment to gather your bearings.

“Ain’t that the truth?” He whipped a fake tear. “I’m so proud of you,” you saw Pepper pick up the drying towel, twist it, and snap it at Tony’s back. He yelped and jumped around to face Pepper.

“You sabotaged my help,” she handed him the towel. “Dishes are your punishment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you giggled as Pepper linked your arm with hers.

“Stark charm,” you said, looking over your shoulder. The pout on Tony’s face made you laugh. “Ladies can’t resist it.”

*

“There you are, malyshka (baby girl),” you looked up from your laptop and saw Natasha standing in the doorway. Her arms crossed against her chest, and her long-sleeved shirt came down to her thighs. “Where have you been?”

“Planning,” you said, closed your laptop, and put it on your nightstand. She raised a questioning eyebrow as she walked over. “I’m just trying to move some meetings around and delicate responsibilities.” Your girlfriend climbed onto the bed and swung her legs over to sit on your lap.

“Are you leaving the company?”

“I would never. I want to spend more time with you, my dad, and the team,” what you wanted was to be here at the early stages of her pregnancy. With the father being Iron Man, it was uncertain how often he would be around when the world called for him. You told Pepper you had no problem with being there. The CEO wasn’t ready to tell the team yet, so lying to your former spy girlfriend was challenging. You knew she wasn’t buying your story. “Everything is fine,” you squeezed her thighs. “I promise,” you leaned forward and nudged your nose against hers. “Can I kiss you?” You asked. The Black Widow chuckled.

“You never have to ask,” you kissed her, taking in the taste of Natasha. It was addicting. You felt her smile in the kiss and soon pulled away.

“Movie night. What do you want to watch?” You asked, moving your hands up and down her back.

“Moonraker,” you huffed. “Please, sweetheart,” she gave you her best puppy dog eyes that always seemed to melt you.

“Put it on,” She grabbed the remote and fell to your side. As the movie began to play, Natasha curled up into your side, and you wrapped your arms around her. “I love you,” you mumbled.

“I love you too.”

*

“Ooo,” you looked at Pepper as she rubbed her stomach. She was three months pregnant, and every sound of discomfort sent you and Tony into a fit of anxiety. “Come here,” she held out her hand, and you were quick to your feet. She took your hand and placed it on her stomach. “Just wait,” you waited and soon felt the small kicks.

“Holy shit,” you sat down next to her. “That is so weird.” Pepper chuckled.

“It’s even better when she wakes you up at 2 in the morning,” she sarcastically said.

“Can she hear us?” You looked at her.

“Doctors say once they are about 23 weeks, they’ll be able to make out voices outside the womb, but that hasn’t stopped your father,” she explained.

“Can I?” She nodded. “Hi, little one,” you spoke to Pepper’s stomach. It was a little strange, but a weird emotion bubbling in your chest. “I’m your big sister, and I’m so excited to meet you, spoil you, and fill you with all the sweets in the world,” you glanced up at Pepper as she laughed. Tears were forming in her eyes. “But,” you continued. “I’m going to protect and love you with every fiber of my being.” Pepper kissed your forehead and brought you into her arms.

“You are going to be a great sister.”

“I agree,” you looked at Tony. His facial expression was hard to read. “I need you to be part of this meeting, squirt,” you said. You looked at Pepper, and she had a reassuring smile.

“Okay,” you whispered. Why was there a knot in your stomach?

*

“She escaped,” was the only thing you could comprehend as you sat in the meeting room with the Avengers. There were a few here. Clint retired to Iowa with his family, Bruce and Thor were off-world, and Steve, Sam, and Vision were on a mission. Natasha held onto your hand. “I don’t understand. How did she escape?” Maria explained that the doctor responsible for your newfound ability escaped the prison. Unlike her boss, she wasn’t sent to the RAFT. The jury found her guilty but believed her actions weren’t entirely her doing and that HYDRA brainwashed her. Stockholm Syndrome was what they called it. So, she was sentenced to a medium-security prison.

“She got help from a guard that worked there. His name is Johnathan Anderson,” Maria brought up a picture of him. His black hair was closely chopped, and he had a beard. His blue eyes had a no-nonsense expression. Starring at this picture, you felt that eerie sensation on the back of your neck. Subconsciously, you grabbed the back of your neck. “When his supervisors searched his lockers, they found love letters between him and her.”

“Do we know what she wants?” Wanda asked.

“Me,” you whispered. Their heads snapped to look at you. “I-I was her only success. All the others died, so it makes sense that she would be after me,” Natasha squeezed your hand, and instead of looking at her, you placed your head on her shoulder.

“We won’t let that happen,” Tony firmly said. “We’ve been tracking Anderson’s movements. When he’s not at work, he frequently visits two locations. A home in Connecticut and a warehouse in PA. She has to be there,” you’ve never seen him this determined. “We find her and lock her in the RAFT like she should have been in the first fucking place.”

“Language,” Natasha gasped. Tony glared at your girlfriend, but a smile crept onto his face. She attempted to lighten the mood of the situation, but you knew the redhead better than anyone. She was scared, terrified of the prospect of losing you. You were terrified yourself.

*

“I can stay,” Natasha said for the 10th time. You were in the kitchen, busying your hands and making you and Pepper a small snack. “I’ll stay if you want me to,” you wanted her to stay and feel safe in her arms while the rest of the team went off to fight the bad guy. A clash of thunder caused you to look out the window. Even the weather seemed to know you were in a mood.

“You can’t,” you dropped the knife and cupped her cheeks with your hands. “The team is far too thin to search 2 locations, and Tony is making last-minute adjustments to FRIDAY to keep me and Pepper safe.” She turned to kiss each of your palms.

“I hate this,” she admitted.

“So do I, but you will stop both of them, and I’ll be safe again,” Natasha moved her arms around your waist and pulled you flush to her. You could feel her heartbeat, the organ rattling in her rib cage. Her warm breath caused goosebumps to cover your skin as she burrowed her face deeper into your neck.

“I love,” she mumbled. It was barely audible to your ears.

“I love you too,” you kissed her head. “Go get ready, baby,” you squeezed her. “I’ll make you a peanut butter sandwich,” she huffed, removed herself from your arms, and sighed when she was out of sight. Thunder shook the compound, and you wondered what Thor was up to that was causing this storm. You loved rain storms, listening to the rain hitting the roof and the lightning that brightened up the sky. Now, it filled you with dread, an omen for darker times ahead.

*

As soon as the team left, Pepper asked if you wanted to help her paint the nursery. You agreed right away, hoping to find a helpful distraction. Soft music was filling the comfortable silence. They chose a light lilac for the walls; well, you figured Pepper picked it, and Tony swiped his card. There were boxes of furniture that still needed to be put together and clothes that were ready to be folded. Oh, you could not wait to spoil her. “How are you?” Pepper asked. She was taking a short break, resting in the rocking chair that Clint made. Sighing, you placed the paintbrush on the tray and looked at the half-finished room.

“I’m okay,” you said. “I feel like I finally have my footing, you know?” You looked at the CEO. “I just don’t want to lose the momentum I have.”

“You won’t,” she stood up and made your way over to you. She is quick to pull you into a hug. You slumped against her, desperately missing your mother’s hugs. “You are so courageous and strong. Your father and Natasha won’t rest until you are safe.” You knew that, so you nodded against the CEO.

“Miss. Stark,” FRIDAY said. “I do apologize, but your presence is being requested in med bay. It is time for your monthly check-in.” You groaned, stomped slightly, and pulled away from the CEO. It was Tony’s doing. He wanted to make sure the powers given to you weren’t causing you any problems. Pepper chuckled.

“Do you want me to come with you?” You shook your head.

“It won’t be long. I’ll be back, and we can finish painting, maybe tackle some of these boxes.” Pepper smiled, kissing your forehead. It was rare that you used your powers outside of training. Sometimes, you could use it to warm your body temperature and cuddle up to your cold girlfriend. Or you could create a small fire for Yelena to cook smores. Fighting wasn’t your thing. When you were younger, you hated the Avengers. It was another thing that took Tony away from you. When your mind was busy, you forgot about the power you could wield, forgot what happened to you. Sighing, you stretched your arms and opened the door to one of the medical rooms.

“Doctor Cho-” your voice trailed off as you stared at the woman in front of you who was not Helen Cho. “Who are you?”

“Doctor Cho is busy with other matters,” that voice. A chill went down your spine. The doctor spun around to face you, tablet in hand. “I will be conducting your exam today.” Charlotte Williams is the woman responsible for your newfound ability. You turned to leave, but the doors slammed shut and locked. No amount of pulling on the handle made the door move.

“How did you get in here?” You asked, facing her.

“You silly girl,” she laughed. “I gave you the ability to manipulate fire. do you not think I can hack your daddy’s AI?” You could fight and defend yourself and Pepper. With a flick of your wrist, fire engulfed your hands. “Not so fast,” she clicked a few buttons on the tablet, and the fire went out. You fell to your knees; a pained groan barely left your lips.

“What did you do to me?” Her footsteps echoed in the quiet exam room, closing the distance. She stood in front of you.

“I like to call it a fail-safe. With powers like yours, they can be unpredictable; I had to ensure you are under my control,” she ran her hand over your hair. “But it’s smart to have collateral,” she turned the tablet to show you security footage of Pepper. Johnathan Anderson had a gun pointed at her. Your eyes flickered to her, then the screen.

“What do you want?” You whispered.

“My beautiful creation,” she softly spoke. “I have missed you so much.”

*

Charlotte had you chained down to the table, an IV in your arm, and a nasal cannula for oxygen. She moved the security footage of Pepper to a bigger screen, a reminder that she was in charge. “Can I ask what you are doing to me?” You questioned. She ignored you and focused on your vitals. You sighed and looked up at the ceiling. There had to be a way out of this, but she had you under her control with whatever she typed on her tablet. Your attempt to escape had to be a surprise, so you had to wait. Wait and have some patience. Charlotte placed a warm towel on your veins. Once satisfied, she removed the towel and gently messaged the area to draw out your veins. Doctors always had difficulty finding an excellent place to draw blood. She tied a tourniquet around your arm and cleaned the spot. There was no pain when she pricked you with the needle, and the syringe filled with your blood.

“Have you experienced any fatigue? Headaches? Fevers? Insomnia?” She asked, taking your blood over to a microscope. The fact she had your blood didn’t sit right with you. You tugged on the chains.

“No,” you answered her.

“Have you felt any pain when using your powers?” Her back was still facing you.

“No,” you spoke.

“Any extreme mood swings?” She faces you, hands behind her back. “Anger? Jealously? Depression?” You shook your head now that she was facing you. She brought over a chair and sat down. “Do you know why you were chosen for this?” She questioned.

“Because I’m a Stark,” you whispered. It was the only reason that made sense. You were a Stark, a connection to Iron Man and the rest of the Avengers. Charlotte scuffed, shaking her head.

“You are more than a ridiculous last name. You and I both know that” she trailed her fingertip up and down your veins—goosebumps formed under her touch. “So sensitive,” she giggled. “I wanted you because you are resilient. You overcame so much to get where you are. I am in awe of that raw strength,” you weren’t sure if you could take what she said as a compliment. You’ve heard those exact words from close friends and Natasha, who understood the truth behind your relationship with your father. It didn’t sound enjoyable coming from her. “My beautiful work of art,” your stomach dropped. Bile filled your throat at the name. “We are going to do amazing things for the world.

*

You were tired, even though you were laying in bed and watching her take more of your blood, took a hair sample, and swapped your mouth for your saliva. Whenever she took something from you, she turned her back and worked on whatever she tried to figure out. It wasn’t proving easy. There were subtle changes to her behavior. Shoulders were tense. There was mumbling under her breath. Her eyebrows were pinched together. She was growing frustrated.

Charlotte had a stethoscope around her neck. The cold metal made you jump. “What are you trying to figure out?” She ignored you. “You are running out of time,” she grabbed a needle and filled it with a liquid from a small bottle. You caught the name: Gadolinium. It was a chemical dye used in MRI scans to help improve and enhance the quality of the image. Why would she need that? Unless… You laughed.

“What’s so funny, Stark?” She asked, injecting the dye into your veins.

“You don’t know, do you?” You asked. “You may have selected me, wanted me for my raw strength, but you don’t know how I survived. If I were to guess you expected me to die in that chair,” her silence was all the answer you needed. “I bet your little trick earlier was nothing more than a placebo. You know nothing about what you created,” you focused your power on increasing your body temperature. The metal chains that once held you down melted on your skin. There was pain, but the adrenaline that was moving through your veins overpowered it. Charlotte grabbed a scalpel as you jumped out of the bed, ripping the IV out of your arm. You reached for the tablet she had, and she swiped at your hand, but you were fasted. Grabbing the tablet, you threw it to the ground. The last thing you wanted was for her to contact Anderson.

“I understand you completely,” she slashed again, but you jumped back. “You want approval,” she attacked again. “You want acceptance.” Again, you dogged her. “You want love, and I can give you all of that.” You understood how she was able to convince Anderson to help her. Her words were sickly sweet, and she knew what insecurities to target. There was a part of your brain that wanted to give in. To believe her. Your eyes glanced at the security footage. There were others you had to think about, such as Pepper, your unborn little sister, and your friends back in the city. You had Yelena, Kate, and Peter. Most importantly, you had Natasha and Tony. They gave you love. They accepted you. You would never need her.

Charlotte lunged for you again, and you grabbed her arm to disarm her. However, being without a weapon didn’t deter her. She threw her body at you, and you tumbled to the floor, both fighting for control over the small metal knife. In the end, you were strong. It was a gut instinct as you drove the blade into her stomach and twisted. You were above her and watched her eyes fill with panic and her mouth pool with blood.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “But I can’t allow you to hurt me and my family anymore. You understand that, right?” She nodded and shakily put her hand on your cheek. You allowed her to have her moment. “I hope you find love and acceptance in the next life.” Her hand fell from your cheek, and you watched her breathing stop. Biting back your tears, you closed her eyes. On shaky legs, you left the room. You couldn’t take your eyes off her body until the doors closed.

The hallway was spinning. Your chest was heaving. You pressed your palms to your eyes. “Stop, stop,” you mumbled on the verge of a panic attack. “Breath. Just fucking breath.” You heard a muffled scream from the hall closet, and it pulled you out of the panic attack. “Helen!” You called out and ran towards the noise. Another muffled yell and you open the closet. Helen was gagged and bonded with rope. “Helen,” you removed the towel from her mouth, and she took a gasp for air. “Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” she said, and you began to undo the rope around her wrists and ankles. “Where is she?”

“She is,” you trailed off. “She’s been dealt with.” You killed her. Her blood stained your hands. “Look, Pepper is still in danger, and I need to get to her. Can you call my dad? And don’t use anything that has been connected to FRIDAY.” You weren’t sure how far her reach was. Once Helen was standing on her own two feet, and she reassured you that she was fine, you took off with one of the ropes in your hand. Pepper was on her and Tony’s section of the compound. If the feed was accurate, Anderson had her on the couch. There was a door behind him that you could use, and it was hidden by furniture and a wall if you were fast enough.

*

Quietly, you closed the door behind you and were covered by a bookshelf. You heard footsteps, pacing back and forth. “I don’t get it,” Pepper spoke. “Why are you helping her? You must know what she put my daughter through.” Your heart skipped at the term Pepper called you. You saw her as a mother figure these past few months, but hearing her call you her daughter made your stomach flip.

“She’s not your kid.”

“She might as well be. I didn’t give birth to her, but I love her as my own,” you let out a shaky breath and heard Anderson’s footsteps stop.

“Then you must understand why I’m helping her,” you moved closer, now covered by a small wall. You peeked your head out, and Pepper’s eyes darted to you. Her expression never changed. “I love her,” he kept talking, unaware of what was happening behind him. “And she loves me.”

“Are you sure?” Pepper questioned. “I sense some hesitation.” You let out a shaky breath and wrapped the rope around your hands to create a taut line. You could do this; using your powers was too risky with how close Pepper was.

“She loves me. She’s just busy. Once her experiment is done, she will be mine,” he was obsessed with her, and you weren’t sure if she felt the same.

“I get it,” Pepper whispered. “We do crazy things for the ones we love,” you slowly stood up. “Even putting our own lives at risk.” It was your cue, and you moved quickly to wrap the rope around Anderson’s neck. He struggled against you, but you kicked in his knees. His legs went dead, and he fell. You pulled tighter.

“Sweetheart,” it was a mistake to look at Pepper as Anderson took the pause and flipped you onto your back. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Pepper stood up, picked up the gun he dropped, and helped you up. The guard was coughing and rubbing his neck.

“Get somewhere safe,” you told her. “Tony should be on his way.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he was slowly standing up.

“Go! Now!” You punch him, making contact with his nose. A horrible crack filled the silence, and pain radiated through your fingers, but you refused to let up. You were tired of these people having control over your life. You were supposed to be safe here, and they went and ruined it. Why was this happening to you? Why? Why? WHY? You weren’t sure when you straddled Anderson; each punch you threw was more brutal than the next. His bloody face began to blur with tears that formed in your eyes. You were exhausted and drained, and the adrenaline was running its way out of your system, but a burning rage kept you going until solid arms wrapped around you. “No, no, no,” you struggled against the hold. Were there more? Did Charlotte have other people under her control? How did you miss that? You needed to find Pepper and fast. But they wouldn’t let go of you.

“Hey, malyshka (baby girl), it’s me,” Natasha held onto your face and forced you to look at her.

“Natty,” you whispered; your eyes must have given away your frantic state because her green eyes filled with concern.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re so safe,” she repeated. You numbly nodded, burrowing your head in her neck. Your whole body shook as you looked over her shoulder and saw Tony checking on Pepper. His eyes locked on yours, and you had to close your own. There was a quilt filling his own. It was too much too much.

*

“You wanted to see me,” you stood in Tony’s lap. After you were treated with your wounds and a long shower, Wanda told you that Tony wanted to see you. You didn’t trust FRIDAY’s announcement. So you scrubbed and scrubbed your skin raw until you were happy with how clean you were. Until you no longer saw the blood on your hands. Tony looked up from his computer; there were bags underneath his eyes.

“Hey,” he smiled. “I wanted to see how you are doing,” you shrugged and walked over to him, arms crossed against your chest.

“Can I stay in here with you for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he went to put his hand on your shoulder but hesitated. When you nodded that it was okay, he hugged you. You felt him release a shaky breath, which told you how much you needed a hug from him. Your hands gripped him tighter, and the faint scent of coffee filled your nose. It made you feel safe. Finally, you ended the hug, whipped a tear that fell from your eye, and crawled into the bean bag he held in his lap. He watched you settle and turned his attention back to what he was working on. A hologram appeared before him, and he began moving different components. They were moving so fast you couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was trying to do. Soon, the items flashed red. He grabbed his coffee mug and threw it against the wall. It shattered on impact, leftover liquid staining the wall. You let out a squeak, surprised by his sudden outburst. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” he began to pick up the porcelain pieces, but you saw his hands shake. Quickly, you stood up from the bean bag and grabbed some paper towels before walking over to him. You heard each hitch in his breath.

“Tony, it’s okay,” you spoke softly. “Let me take care of it.” He rapidly shook his head; breathing became shallow and erratic as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. “Dad,” he looked at you. “I’m going to hug you now, okay?” A simple nod was all you got as you sat up on your knees and brought him into a hug. His head slumped against your chest, and his body was tense with panic.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped.

“Sh,” you told him. “Just follow my breathing. Nice and slow.” You saw his hands release the shards of the cup. Red patches of blood appeared on his palm. The cuts weren’t life-threatening, so you could attend to them later. Soon, his body relaxed against yours, and his breathing was under control. “Good. Let’s move to the couch, maybe a little more comfortable.” He had no fight as he allowed you to stand and move him to the couch. He refused to look at you, not even when you cleaned up the mug or brought a first aid kit. You knelt in front of him, carefully cleaning the minor cuts. You were familiar with panic attacks, having many yourself, and helping your friends through them. “Are you with me?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, licking his lips. “Yeah, I’m here.” You sat beside him on the couch, knocking your leg against his.

“Do you want to talk about what caused the panic attack?” He sighed, opening and closing his hands.

“I was trying to figure out how she did it,” he gestured to the still flashing red items. “She beat me. She was better, and I can’t let that happen and risk you and Pepper’s life. But I can’t fucking figure it out,” he slumped back. “How can I protect her when I keep failing to protect you?” You stayed quiet, tapping your fingers against your thighs. You stared at the blinking hologram. “I am Iron Man,” he mumbled.

“Yes, you are,” you spoke. “You are Iron Man, a part of the Avengers, playboy, genius, billionaire, and philanthropist,” he chuckled. “But you are human, and we sometimes get it wrong. We make mistakes and can’t find the answers to everything. That’s life,” you said. You looked back at him, and he was already looking at you. “The human existence is so uncertain, but that is one thing I know. You will love and protect that little girl and aren’t doing it alone.”

“Morgan,” he said. You whispered it back to him. “It’s the name we decided. Pepper wanted to wait, but I wanted to tell you.”

“I like it,” he held out your hand, and Tony took it. “What happened to me and Pepper was not your fault. Sometimes things happen a little out of our control,” he pulled you into a hug, kissing your temple.

“I’ll never get over how lucky I am to call you my daughter,” you leaned into the hug more and felt your body warm up at the praise.

“I’m pretty lucky I get to call you my dad,” you said. “Do you want some help on that?” You gestured to the hologram. “Two eyes are better than one.”

“Yeah, I’ll take you up on that.”

*

You found Natasha in the training room past midnight, and she wasn’t slowing down anytime soon. Only wearing a sports bra and leggings, she punched and kicked at the sandbag in front of her. Her body was glistening with sweat. Any other time, you would spend the time ogling your very sexy girlfriend, but she was hurting. It was different from seeing Tony’s panic attack or how Pepper hugged you tighter. She was more subtle, but you knew Natasha well. “Hi baby,” you made your presence known, but she kept punching harder and harder. “Do you want to shower and go to bed?” Still no response. You sighed and walked over to her, keeping your footsteps slow but loud. You felt her gaze on you, analyzing your next move. Instead of stopping her, you stretched, crumbled up her shirt, and she took off and lay on the ground. The shirt wasn’t a great pillow.

“Go to bed,” she said.

“Not without you, and you are going to be here for a while, so I’m going to be right here,” you closed your eyes. The rhythmic sound of her punching almost rocked you to sleep, but the sudden quiet pulled you awake. Opening your eyes, Natasha was sitting in front of you. “It’s rude to stare, you know,” she smirked.

“I just like looking at my beautiful girlfriend.”

“Creep,” she laughed, and you knew it was the most beautiful sound in the world. “Are you alright, my love?” She scuffed.

“I feel like I should be asking you,” you said, sitting up and intertwining your legs with hers.

“It’s okay to not be okay with all this. I mean, someone broke into our home,” she looked down, and you forced her chin up to look at you. “Talk to me, beautiful.”

“Do you like living here?” You were stunned by her question. “Your home is here and the city, but do you like both places.”

“Where are you going with this, Natasha?” You asked.

“Sometimes I just want to walk away from this. I want to live where no one can find me and take you with me because I can’t stay somewhere you could be in danger.”

“What about the team? Yelena?”

“Fuck them,” you glared at her knowing she didn’t mean that. “I’ll miss them and this life, but they could come and visit. You are more important than any mission I fight,” she moved closer to you, carefully laying you down on your back. Her body covered yours. “Would you go with me? You could still work, and we would wait till Pepper gave birth. I’d leave this to start a family and keep you safe.” You ran your fingers through her red hair.

“This sounds like a marriage proposal without a ring,” you teased.

“Who said I don’t have a ring?” she kissed your cheek and lingered above your lips. “So what do you say?”

“Show me the ring, and I’ll say yes,” you forced her down, lips colliding into a messy kiss. She tasted mint and a hint of strawberry from her electrolyte drink, and both covered her natural taste. But you couldn’t care less. You kissed her as if your life were dependent on it because, at that moment, it was.

*

“Auntie Nat!” Your five-year-old sister’s side, rushing out of the car and sprinting up the stairs of your log cabin home. Morgan pushed past you and jumped into the arms of your wife. The ex-Avenger dramatically kissed the girl’s cheek, which caused her laughter to fill the quiet space.

“What am I, chopped liver?” You asked.

“She wouldn’t stop talking about spending time at Auntie Nat’s house and playing with Liho,” Tony laughed. You met him halfway to grab Morgan’s bags.

“Unbelievable,” you mumbled, hugging your father and Pepper. “Betrayed by my sister.”

“Thank you for watching her. We appreciate it.” They were leaving on a week-long, no-kid vacation to Europe. You loved watching Morgan, and it seemed only fair since they gifted you this property up in Maine as a wedding gift. Natasha stepped away from Avenging, and you delegated more responsibilities to your company. It was strange at first not having a meeting to attend or waiting by the phone when Natasha was away on a mission. You could relax. You found your sister in the living room, with her toys scattered on the ground, and captured Natasha’s attention in whatever game of make-believe she created.

“I see what you’ll be doing for a week.”

“Can I come to Italy with you and leave them to their devices?”

“Maybe next time,” Pepper laughed, squeezing your shoulder as she walked over to where Morgan was sitting. You placed her bags on the foot of the stairs.

“This looks good,” you hummed in question. “This life away from Avenging and the spotlight. It looks good on both of you,” you smiled as you watched Morgan rope her mother into whatever story she was spinning. “I was hesitant when you said you wanted to move,” you knew he was. “But I’m glad you did it, squirt.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Suddenly, you felt a little body run into your legs.

“Mommy said you were upset because I didn’t say hi,” you picked her up with a slight grunt.

“Hi, Princess Morgan,” you kissed her cheek.

“Hi, sissy,” she wrapped her arms around your neck. “You’re my favorite sister.” You looked at Tony; his mouth hung open slightly.

“Do you have more of us running around I don’t know about?” He shrugged. “Alright, say goodbye to your dad,” you weren’t sure how well she would take being away from her parents for so long. So you and Natasha planned a week filled with fun. Tony took his daughter from you and squeezed her tight.

“Gonna miss you, princess.”

“Miss you too, Daddy,” she whispered. “Are you going to bring me something back?” You chuckled and shook your head. She was a firecracker, always keeping you on your toes. Once more goodbyes were said, and you watched their car drive away, you looked at Morgan.

“Ice cream time?”

“Ice cream time,” she repeated and returned to the cabin. Before you could follow her, Natasha’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close. Her hands rested on your stomach; they seemed to find their way there a lot.

“I love watching you with her,” she kissed your neck. “Makes me excited to meet our little one,” you giggled and turned to face her.

“Are you excited to tell Tony and Pepper when they return?”

“Hopefully, he doesn’t threaten me like when I asked for his blessing.”

“Auntie Nat! Sissy! You said ice cream time!” Morgan’s voice called out.

“Duty calls,” you stole a quick kiss from Natasha and ran into the house, where Morgan waited patiently in the kitchen.

You were married, expecting your first child, and your home was filled with laughter, happiness, and warmth because your life didn’t end when you were trapped in that chair. The doctor was right you were reborn into something beautiful but it wasn’t what she had in mind.