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quixoticall · 2 months

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This Could Get Ugly Track 5: The Beginning of the End

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w.,

warnings: ANGST, drinking, drug use, smut, oral and fingering f receiving, p in v sex, the Harringtons make an appearance.

a/n: It has been a while my loves! If you've been following me at all, you know I've had a rough month. I really, truly appreciate every single one of you who has reached out and checked in! I appreciate you! This chapter is extra long to make up for lost time and it contains smut. It's my first time writing smut, so hopefully, I did not disappoint.

wc: 11.2K

MASTERLIST🎸

PLAY PREVIOUS TRACK 🎵

APRIL 28th, 1984 PHILADELPHIA , PA—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

If you wanted to be technical about it, the whole thing started with Argyle.

The two of you were backstage, sitting outside the dressing rooms killing time during the opener—some local band that you weren’t previously familiar with.

You had always appreciated Argyle’s ability to be friendly with everyone and float above the tensions, that was the case especially now when things with the others seemed to have fallen apart a little.

You were sitting next to each other on the floor, backs against the wall, as you were running him through some of the songs that had made the preliminary list for the next album and asking for his input while he threw a bouncy ball against the opposite wall. You liked working with Argyle, he was out of the box, creative, and one of the most technically skilled band members. You had been sitting with him for only 30 minutes and he had already made one of your songs infinitely better.

“What’s the move tonight, dude?” he asks you, nonchalantly as you scribbled down some of his suggested changes.

You shrug in response, “I dunno, I might just go home and sleep after this, maybe work on the arrangements for this—” You wave your beat-up notebook in the air, and he scoffs.

“You like never come out with us anymore,” he exclaims, “I miss when we all used to party together, dude. Now you are all dropping like flies and it’s not as fun anymore!”

It was your turn to scoff at him, “Please, I was never the life of the party, Argyle, c’mon.”

“Are you kidding, dude? People would always show up in droves to see you. Plus, you’re like totally fun. Remember when you and Steve did karaoke in Austin and you both got on the bar? That was totally cool.”

You chuckle at the memory and concede, “Yeah, that was pretty fun, but you still have everyone else!”

“Well, you took my dude Eddie too,” he points out without malice.

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t come out since St. Louis—keeps saying he’s gonna stay in just in case you want to write with him.”

Of course, this is news to you. You hadn’t taken up Eddie’s offer to write together since he had spurned you in Missouri (and since he starred in a very vivid dream of yours). It wasn’t that you didn’t accept his apology (presented in the form of a ridiculously large flower bouquet) it was that thing would have been far too awkward at this point.

It wasn’t that you had a crush on him necessarily, you were pretty sure that mantle was still taken up by Steve to some extent, it was more that there was an undeniable sexual something between the two of you below the surface that your dreams had made obvious and you didn’t trust yourself to be alone in a room with him without wanting to rip his clothes off.

Obviously, giving in to your desires was a bad idea for a multitude of reasons but chiefly, because:

a. It would wreak havoc on the band.

b. You were certain Eddie wouldn’t reciprocate your advances.

But then… you had heard what Argyle had said.

“Wait, are you saying Eddie has been hanging out after shows just on the off chance that I may call him?” You confirm incredulously.

Argyle nods in response, “Yeah. Did you put a spell on him or something?”

“No,” you respond wryly, “I’m not that type of witch, I’m the bad kind of witch.”

“Well, you definitely did something to the dude, he’s been obsessing over whether or not you hate him and keeps trying to get me to ask.”

This takes you aback completely. Eddie caring so much what you thought of him that he’d be willing to ask Argyle, of all people to discreetly scope that out seems improbable so you continue to probe.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, he obviously thinks you’re pretty and he’s just been waiting around for you to call him up, and he cares a lot about what you think of him, which is weird because last time I checked he kinda hated you—no offense.”

“How do you know all this?” You ask, ignoring the offense.

“He told me, duh.”

“Have you told anyone else this?”

“No one else has asked,” Argyle says plaintively.

“Well, how about we keep all of this between the three of us, then?” You propose.

Before the drummer can confirm, the thundering applause signaling that the opening act had wrapped up cut the conversation off.

Neither of you has the chance to continue the discussion before being rushed onto stage by a harried and high-strung stage manager.

Without knowing, Argyle had invertedly changed the course of everything.

***

EDDIE: We were in Philly. It was a great show—probably one of the best of that tour. The audience was feeling us the opener was sick and we were just gelling for what felt like probably the first time. It was like we were all finally on the same wavelength if that makes sense. No more guessing what the next move was or fighting to keep up. It was like we were finally learning to trust each other.

***

The Philly show was electric, all the elements had come together perfectly. You and Steve were particularly reveling in it. You spent most of the night singing into the same microphone, lips inches from one another, your hand grasping the back of his neck, fingers carding through his hair, and eye contact unbreaking. At one point, you were certain by the way he had captured your bottom lip under the meat of his thumb, that he was going to lean in and kiss you on the mouth, a barrier that the two of you had managed to maintain this whole time.

The audience must have had a similar thought by the sounds of their cheers—a sound that seemed to have shaken both you and Steve from whatever spell you had been under because the next thing you know the pressure of his thumb was gone and his eyes were turned away from you and towards the crowd.

The rest of the show was spent similarly—the two of you toeing the line and the audience following your every move. It was easy to get addicted both to the applause and the intimacy.

After the encores were sung and the last bows were taken, though, Steve was back to barely being able to look at you.

The only time his gaze does flit to you, ever-briefly, is when you politely decline Argyle’s invitation to go out after the show.

“Come on dude, you said you would come if I looked at your song,” the drummer gives a half-hearted attempt at bargaining which only makes you giggle.

“I never said that Argyle,” and truly you hadn’t, “I said that I couldn’t go out because I had to make those changes you suggested.”

In response, Argyle begins to boo you, loudly and the others join in eagerly.

You roll your eyes playfully and bid goodbye to Argyle and the rest of the band when you part ways for the night and you notice that other than yourself, Eddie is the only one missing from the boisterous group but you try not to think too much on it.

Your efforts to push all thoughts of Eddie out of your mind seemed to have the opposite effect and it was like the thoughts themselves were digging their heels in and had found your mind to be a welcoming home.

You had made the song changes you had told Argyle you would and even tried to make some progress on your plethora of unfinished songs. As it turned out, you worked slower when you wrote alone.

You knew that as the remaining tour dates dwindled and the band’s return to LA drew closer, you eventually would have to approach Eddie again to write together. It was indisputable that whatever the two of you produced together was almost always better than what you accomplished alone.

How could you possibly approach him when you could barely look at him without dying of mortification? With Steve, at least, you could get some of the sexual energy out on stage, but with Eddie you didn’t have the same luxury and it stayed bottled up.

All of this, along with Argyle’s words from earlier in the evening made focusing nearly impossible and you gave up on writing all together, deciding to call it a night and head to bed. To your chagrin, the better part of the night was spent tossing and turning trying to evict the thoughts and ideas that had begun to formulate in your mind fueled by a lack of sleep, stress and desperation. And suddenly, you had an idea.

Admittedly, it was not a very good idea. It was actually probably a very bad idea. A ruinous idea even. And yet, you found yourself pulling the covers off yourself and stumbling into a pair of slippers, perplexed by your actions. You wondered, as you blearily shuffled down the identical hotel halls why you weren’t trying to talk yourself out of this idea—one that you were certain was going to change everything. Perhaps you were itching for a new thrill. Or maybe you were as selfish as everyone seemed to believe. Maybe it was the poison that had settled in your heart before you were old enough to know better, insisting that there was no other option for you. Or maybe you were giving yourself far too much credit and you were simply horny.

Whatever the reason, it brought you directly to Eddie Munson’s door.

***

EDDIE: I swear I thought I was dreaming when I saw her there, standing outside my door in this tiny pajama top and even tinier short. They had little cherries on them. I remember thinking they were so cute. Her hair was all a mess. I thought that was cute too.

After probably 5 minutes of us standing there in the doorway, I finally got my brain to work enough to invite her in. She seemed nervous at first. Sort of paced around the room, not saying anything for a while and then—I swear to God—she asks, “Do you want to sleep with me?” out of fucking nowhere. If I hadn’t been there myself, I would’ve never believed it. Hell, even telling you now, part of me thinks I made it up.

My brain short-circuited because I couldn’t even respond. I just stared at her with my jaw on the fucking floor, trying to remember what the signs of a stroke were.

***

“Are you serious?” Eddie spits out, voice hoarse with shock at your overly-direct question.

You nod, wordlessly, trying to ignore the panic that has begun to set in.

“Why?” he presses.

You shrug, which he doesn’t find sufficient because he nods along, trying to draw the reasons from you.

“We both like sex,” you explain, clumsily, “and I find you attractive and I think you find me attractive, too—” he nods feverishly at this—“so why not have some fun?”

You try to say this last part enticingly but aren’t sure you pulled it off until you see a flush play itself across his pretty features.

“Why me? Why not Harrington?”

Even though you had anticipated the question, you can’t help but steel yourself as you respond, “Because we like each other enough for it to be fun but not enough for either of us to get attached.”

You watched, with bated breath as the thoughts played out over Eddie’s features and when you see a flash of what could be hurt you entertain for the briefest moment, the idea that maybe someone could get hurt but the thought is pushed away as a lazy grin begins to spread over his face and a newfound cockiness color his features.

Suddenly, he is much closer, and the space between your two bodies draws thin.

“Now?” he asks.

“Yes, now,” you squeak out as he encroaches in on you, fingertips grazing the bare skin on your hips.

You take a step towards him, moving to stand flush against his hip, invitingly and weave a hand through his unruly bed head curls. You want him to know how much you want this—how much you’ve wanted this. It was inevitable really, there had always been a tension between the two of you. Whether it was the hot friction of dislike , the bold spark of creative partnership or the hot embers of sexual tension, the two of you burned for one another just the same.

He leans in for a kiss when your impatience gets the best of you and you rush to meet him halfway.

He tastes like cigarettes and cherries, a taste you revel in as his lips move languidly over yours. Suddenly, he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and lightly tugs, and a moan tumbles out of you.

“We can’t tell anyone,” you mutter into the kiss and it goes unacknowledged.

The cold of his rings meets your nipples through the thin fabric of your strappy pajama top and your body arches in response.

The kiss is broken you are left gasping for air. Eddie wastes no time in attaching his lips to your neck, his tongue tracing over your collarbone hotly.

The straps of your top are shucked of your shoulders and the fabric bunched down towards your middle and a trail of kisses following in its wake.

Your knees hit the edge of the bed, and the hands in your waist guide you down in a fluid motion.

Your eyes flutter as wet kisses are peppered over your breasts.

“Come on princess, let me hear those pretty noises,” Eddie murmurs into your skin, his hot breath covering you in goosebumps.

A heady moan escapes you, almost on command. It would’ve embarrassed you if you still had the decency to care.

A trail of kisses and suddenly Eddie is thumbing at the waistband of your shorts. You nod fervently when his eyes suddenly trail up to find you, but that’s not enough for him.

“Come on, baby,” he teases, “tell me what you want.”

You throw your head back in frustration and want and Eddie takes this lapse in response to run his hand sloppily over your clothed core.

“So wet,” he murmured, “so pretty.”

You let out a desperate laugh at this and his eyes are back on you, expectantly and any resistant you have dissipates.

“Touch me, please,” you sigh, half plea, half demand.

It’s not a hard sell because your shorts and underwear are gone in a flash and cold rings are pulling your thighs wide open.

You reach out towards Eddie’s curls for purchase, gently tugging him closer to your core, hoping he’d get the message.

A moment of clarity cuts through your haze and suddenly you’re pulling him up by his hair, forcing eye contact.

“No one can know,” you insists.

He’s all half-lidded eyes and dazed smile when he’s looking at you.

Leaning in to grab his jaw in your palm, you pull him close. This is important.

“Eddie, no one can know. Promise me,” you repeat again.

He nods in agreement, even though his expression leads you to believe you could’ve asked anything in that moment and he would’ve readily acquiesced.

“No one can know,” he affirms before hitching your body closer with a harsh tug on your thighs and disappearing in between your legs, mouth latching hotly to where you need him the most.

***

EDDIE: We started sleeping together that night. A no strings attached type thing. We had to keep it a secret. She didn’t want to hurt Harrington’s feelings which I understood. He was a good guy and anyone could tell he was head over heels for her.

And she was just… well, I guess she was just afraid. We were kind of the same in that way. Couldn’t hold onto anything without crushing it into dust.

***

MAY 1st, 1984–STATEN ISLAND, NY—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

Eddie’s hands are curled around your thighs, keeping your body balanced on the flimsy tour bus bathroom sink. His silver rings dig into the soft flesh of your thigh in a way that you are certain will leave bruises in their wake.

You have to be quiet, you know that. Even if the rest of the band had taken a quick pit stop between Philly and New York to explore the Staten Island Zoo and the likelihood of them coming back this early was low, it wasn’t non-existent . This left you stifling your own moans into the back of your hand as Eddie rocked into you languidly and delicious.

Your hand moved to steady itself behind you as he lets go of your left thigh and places the pad of his thumb on the soft flesh of your clit, causing you to forget nearly everything.

He seems to anticipate your next move though, because his mouth is quickly on yours, tongue gliding over your bottom lip and effectively keeping you quiet.

The angle of his hips meeting your core and his nimble fingers worked together to bring you closer to your release.

“I can feel it, baby, you’re close aren’t you?”

You nod feverishly, eyes screwed shut, “Yes, so good Eds. I’m gonna cum,” you manage to squeak out.

“C’mon pretty girl, look at me,” Eddie instructs firmly, but you can tell by the strain in his voice that he’s not too far behind, “wanna see you when you cum.”

You force your eyes open and he rewards you by pressing his unoccupied thumb into your bottom lip which you greedily take into your mouth.

Your release washes over you in a wave and you watch moments later as Eddie finds his own.

The two of you are left panting for a few moments as you try to steady yourselves. Once you find your bearings, you lower yourself from the sink and adjust the sundress that was so carelessly shucked to your hips and Eddie busies himself with disposing of the condom discreetly.

Turning to the bathroom mirror, you make an attempt at taming your haphazard hair and fixing your smudged lipstick before making a move for the door.

“Well, that was nice,” you offer before spilling into the tour bus’s common space.

“Wait,” Eddie cries out as he’s still adjusting his belt, “where are you going?”

You shrug nonchalantly in response but don’t turn around, “Back to the girls’ bus.”

“You don’t want to… you don’t want to stick around maybe? We could do some writing?” Eddie sounds out of breath when he asks but you chalk it up to the sex.

“Better not. It might look suspicious,” you explain as you take the stops down from the bus, two at a time.

“Right, wouldn’t want that,” Eddie squeaks out and you smile back at him, grateful for his understanding.

“See you later, Eds.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything back, but when you look back after having boarded your own bus, he’s still standing on the bottom step, eyes still on you.

***

EDDIE: Let’s get the record straight about something though, I didn’t steal her away from anyone. She is her own person first of all, not some thing to be stolen. And second of all, she came to me first. Not the other way around. And! She and Harrington weren’t even really seeing each other. So, other than the lying, it truthfully wasn’t that bad.

But then again, does the truth even matter? Especially now? After everything?

INTERVIEWER: It does to me and to you too, I think, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.

EDDIE: Has anyone ever told you you’re too smart for your own good?

***

MAY 3rd, 1984–NEW YORK CITY, NY—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

It was easy, really, to keep your fling with Eddie a secret from the rest of the band. Most of them were barely paying attention to what you were doing anyway.

Nancy and Jonathan were once again preoccupied with waiting by the phone to hear from Jonathan’s mother, Joyce. Will’s condition had once again worsen and the two were on high alert.

Robin and Steve were busy sightseeing and pointedly only talking to you when necessary. They weren’t hostile, per se, (or at least, Steve wasn’t) but they also made a point to not invite you to their outing. You want to tell them to be wary of the paps since the city is crawling with them in a matter akin to cockroaches but you know better than to try to tell Robin what to do.

Argyle, for his part, is in his own world.

The two of you were essentially in the clear barring rehearsals, shows and any stray public appearance. Still, you couldn’t help but want to take precautions.

***

EDDIE: She would never sleep over. You know, after. She was too worried about what would happen if Steve or anyone else went looking for her.

It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did, she—we had made it very clear that this was a purely physical thing but, well, between you and me kid, I always knew it was never gonna be like that. At least not for me. I was in deep for way longer than I had realized.

***

Long, skilled fingers trace patterns along your naked spine. The movements are comforting, calming, you almost find yourself lulled to sleep. Except you know you shouldn’t—that you can’t.

Your eyes flutter open as you fight against the sleep that sets in. This isn’t your bed, you remind yourself, and you feel that in the brush of the sheets against your naked body that definitively do not feel like the sheets of your bed merely a few doors down. It’s a silly thought, truly, these sheets are probably the exact same as the ones on your bed and more so, you haven’t slept in your bed, a bed that is truly, strictly your own in years . Still, this does not feel quite right.

You will your body to stir, working actively against every nerve that is telling you not to move from the warm, comfortable haven you had found and the warm body next to you but you know better. This is a dance you’re familiar with: they ask you to stay but don’t really mean it and if they do it’s only to squeeze another quick fuck in.

“Why don’t you stay?” Eddie grumbles into your shoulder even though both of you already know the answer.

“What if someone comes looking for me, huh?” A question for a question, “it’ll be hard to explain to Hopper why I’m naked in your bed.”

“Bullshit. You’re one of the only ones Hopper doesn’t have to keep tabs on,” Eddie’s only partially playful in saying this.

“I miss my bed,” you rebut, plainly and the guitarist pouts in response.

“This is like the same bed, dude.”

“ ‘Dude’? You’ve been hanging out with Argyle way too much.”

“Whatever,” Eddie dismisses as his hand travels down along your spine to circle around the rise of your hip to the front of your body to pull you closer against his chest and you squeal.

His skilled fingers travel down to the apex of your legs and two of them swipe through your still-wet heat making you jolt. You’re still sensitive from earlier in the night and Eddie is using that to his advantage as he swipes over your clit.

You moan at the contact and your hips canter forward embarrassingly quickly.

“Don’t want to leave now, do you?” Eddie teases as he moves away from your clit to tease your entrance and you mewl in response. Before you know it a pair of lips are attached to your neck and two fingers are slowly, deliciously rocking in and out of your core. A hand moves up to grip Eddie by the hair as you moan.

“Just like that, please keep going.”

You feel Eddie’s length begin to harden against your back as his pace quickens and his thumb circles your clit bringing you closer to your third orgasm of the night.

“No fair,” you pant, as you feel a tightening in your lower stomach. “You can’t keep me around by giving me orgasms.”

He laughs at this, full-blown guffaws. “There’s no rule against it,” he says as his tongue slides over the shell of your ear. His fingers curl inside you and you gasp at the sudden pressure before succumbing to the feeling. Your release washes over you, unexpectedly and you cry out.

A few seconds reprieve give you a moment to come back to earth. You sigh contently feeling Eddie’s harden length against the swell of you ass.

It would be impolite to leave him hanging.

***

EDDIE: Not that I could complain about our arrangement.

***

You had fallen asleep. Accidentally, of course, but erroneously still. You realize this far too late as the harsh red numbers of the hotel room alarm clock blare at you angrily: 11:52 AM.

You scramble out of bed, covers flung in the process and you make a grab for your clothes that litter the floor. The sudden, frantic movement had inadvertently awoken the man sleeping next to you and you could hear the sleep in his voice as he tried to grasp the situation.

“Woah, woah where’s the fire, princess?”

“It’s nearly noon!” you respond, panic clear in your voice. “I accidentally fell asleep and now it’s almost noon!”

Your mind is overcome with worst case scenarios and conclusions that are easily jumped to as you imagine how this late morning can turn into your downfall.

Eddie tries valiantly to calm you down to no avail. You had done the one thing you said you never would: you stayed the night and now you didn’t know what to do with that other than panic and rush out the door half dressed and fully angered with yourself throwing a paltry goodbye to a very disoriented Eddie over your shoulder as you did so.

You try to fix your hair in the elevator along with your harried breath. Most of the band wake up late into the day, you try to remind yourself, especially after a night out.

It was not unusual to be walking the halls of your hotel room at this time, but you still felt overwhelmingly nervous walking back to your room in a way that you felt obviously gave away that you were coming back from a night of raunchy sex.

Your heart dropped to your stomach as the elevator doors slid open to reveal Steve Harrington waiting outside your door. This is what you were afraid of. Certainly one look at you and he’d know exactly what you were doing and probably with who and that would spell the end of the Downsides, you were sure of it.

You didn’t say anything as you exited the elevator and slowly made your way over, hoping to prolong the moment before everything came crumbling down as much as you could.

A few steps in and you had caught Steve’s attention. When he looked at you though, it wasn’t with anger or disappointment but with nerves.

***

STEVE: My parents moved around a lot after I left home. Indianapolis, Chicago, Phoenix in the winter and Bridgeport in the summer, you know, regular rich folks shit.

It’s not like I could ever go back home but when they heard the band was planning on making the stop they wanted me to visit them and they wanted me to bring my girlfriend to meet them. I hadn’t wanted to ask then, things were kind of awkward between the two of us, but they kept insisting. It’s like they didn’t believe I could’ve bagged a girl like her and they were willing to call me on it. So, I had no other choice but to ask.

***

You understood where Steve was coming from, truly, your own parents were rich and demanding. Plus, something about seeing your fake boyfriend waiting at your door after a night sleeping with someone else really made you susceptible to his request.

And really, there wasn’t a universe where you would say no to a request from Steve Harrington, so of course you were going to meet his parents.

***

MAY 6th, 1984–NEW YORK CITY, NY—30 ROCKEFELLER PLAZA

“So I heard you’re meeting the in-laws,” Eddie plops down in the makeup seat next to you

You’re backstage at The Nightly Show with Chris Palmer, getting ready for one of the few media appearances Hopper had managed to schedule during the band’s short stint in the city.

You can tell by the pinching between Eddie’s eyes and the snarl in his tone that he’s not in a good mood. You chock up his demeanor to the same thing that has dampened yours: the upcoming interview.

The lack of media appearances had been a welcomed change during the band’s time on the road and the adjustment back to them have been rocky. You, for one, are on edge at the idea of having to sit down with the smarmy, sexist, Chris Palmer who, on his late night show, had already taken a few swings at you for laughs and the thought of him having the chance to do so to your face, made you sick.

Which was why you barely responded to Eddie’s attempt t goading you and instead, shrug in response, tightly, “I guess.”

His eyes flit over you and his demeanor shift to one approximating concern. “Hey, you doing okay?” He moves closer, but not enough for it to be noticeable to anyone but you.

“Yeah,” you try to smile but it comes out a grimace, “just out of practice I guess.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I have an extra copy of Baldwin that I brought on accident if you want a distraction,” the book flashes in your periphery and this time your smile comes out genuine and unprompted.

While you can’t be one hundred percent certain, you’re familiar enough with the guitarist’s ways to know that this was no accident—he brought the book with you in mind.

You make a grab for it but have to keep yourself from leaning in for a hug at the risk of the others’ scrutiny and your makeup artist’s ire. Not knowing how else to communicate your appreciation, you give his shirt a quick—and hopefully discreet—tug. He seems to catch your drift because his fingers graze yours purposefully as you move your hand away.

The brief touch shoots electricity through you.

“Thanks,” you murmur before watching him jaunt away to his spot between Argyle and Jonathan, both of your moods seemingly lifted, if only for a moment.

You’re grateful for the distraction although it barely keeps your attention and instead end up thumbing through the pages anxiously to the chagrin of your makeup artist who is clearly relieved to pass you onto hair once the final touches of lipstick are applied.

You thank her profusely before moving next door where, to the surprise of exactly no one, you’re sat next to Steve. Or at least you think it’s Steve you’re sat next to given how little you can see through the thick mass of hairspray clouding the air.

“They don’t call me ‘The Hair’ for nothing, right?” He says when you catch his eye through the fumes.

His hair stylists laughs a little too hard for your taste and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I thought you hated that nickname,” you say, settling into your chair, ready to play your part as the doting girlfriend.

He shrugs nonchalantly, “there are worst things to be called.”

You scoff in response, your previous concerns regarding tonight’s host bubbling up again, “I am sure there are.”

Steve turns to you fully now, offering a charming apology to his stylist that leaves her a giggling puddle, and you can feel his eyes scanning you in assessment.

He suddenly reaches over to the vanity in front of him, “The vending machine in the hall is totally broke, it gave me four candy bars. Do you want one?”

You look over at the bars in his hand which he has fanned evenly and is waving as if they’re a wad of cash and you grab one out of his reach.

“These are my favorite,” you point out as you smooth a hand over the wrapper, remembering all the times you would raid the vending machines at venues or backstage before an interview for them.

“I know,” he says, impishly.

“Harrington, be straight with me, is the machine really broken or did you get me my favorite candy bar just to butter me up?”

He nods, self-satisfied, like a little kid happy to be caught doing something that they’ll know they’ll get away with. Your joint hairstylists coo in adoration at your dotting “boyfriend” and you can’t help but roll your eyes affectionately.

“You seem a bit nervous,” he explains, “and candy usually helps.”

You exhale a laugh at this and admit that he’s right, “candy usually does help,” before nibbling on the bar carefully for the sake of your lipstick.

“So, what’s up?” He asks after a beat, while the hairstylists are preoccupied cleaning their tools, “are you nervous about doing our thing again?”

He says the last part with an overly-dramatic eyebrow waggle and you giggle.

What do you mean?” You ask, avoiding his glance.

He almost rolls his eyes at this but catches himself, knowing better.

“You just seem off, like nervous almost? But not in the usual way you are nervous about interview, but like different. Normally you’re just nervous because you overthink it but now it’s like you’re dreading it.”

You snort at the way he saw right through you.

“It’s stupid but, Chris Palmer has made jokes about me in the past, you know, about my dating history and things like that and I’m not really looking forward to hearing what he has to say tonight,” you explain, bashfully.

“What do you mean? Do you and Chris know each other?”

“No,” you respond, shifting uncomfortably in your seat, “he just is, you know, one of those comedians who pokes fun at celebrities and he loves making fun of women who ‘get around’ or whatever and well, that was my reputation before you… and the band.”

You see realization dawn on Steve’s features, it’s almost like he doesn’t believe anyone could ever be mean to you. Realization quickly turns to anger.

“And you think he’ll make fun of you tonight in the same way? In front of everyone?”

You shrug at this, “maybe, he’s not exactly known for taking it easy on his guests, but I’m used to it, it’s annoying though.”

Steve shakes his head aggressively at your dismissal and bolts up from his char, “No, I’m going to go talk to Hopper or something, have him tell Palmer’s people he needs to cool it or we won’t perform.”

He’s marching down the hall now, purposeful and quick. You make a beeline after him running ahead to cut him off.

“Woah, hey, Steve, you do not need to do that.” The last thing you want is the band being labeled as difficult to work with this early on.

Standing in front of him with your hands flat on his chest, you suddenly become very aware of all the eyes peaking out of the different green rooms to watch the exchange curiously, band mates and crew alike.

Steve grabs one of your hands lightly in his and gives it a tepid squeeze.

“I’m sorry but I am not sitting up there tonight and listening to anyone say anything bad about you. That’s just not going to happen, okay? Please trust me, I won’t do anything crazy, I’ll just talk to Hopper and we’ll figure this out. I have your back, remember?”

You study his face as he says this and are caught up in the earnestness etched into every corner of it.

“Okay,” you finally say, softly and back away from his path, “thanks.”

And you watch him go.

***

STEVE: Hopper hadn’t known about the Palmer thing. He wouldn’t have booked us if he did. When I told him, he was pretty peeved and we immediately went to go talk to the stage manager—some smarmy guy whose name I don’t remember.

Told us essentially, that it was no use, that Palmer wrote his own material fresh before each show.

Well, after that, Hopper and I track down Palmer in his dressing room and, you know, we give him a shake down. Old school style. Like back when Hopper was on the force. … he did most of the shaking down, don’t get me wrong, I was definitely going to get in there, but he seemed to really enjoy it. Plus I had just gotten my hair done.

***

When Steve reappears in the green room half an hour later, Hopper is trailing him smiling giddily.

Coming up to your side, Steve wraps an arm around your shoulders and leans into your hair to murmur, “We took care of it.” The giant grin Hopper is sporting lets you know that they had and you exhale a sigh of relief, curling a hand against his bicep gratefully.

You spring back a few seconds later when you feel Eddie’s heavy gaze from the spot he occupied next to you, eyes boring into all the places your body is touching Steve’s.

You can sense Steve’s confusion at the lost contact but before anything else can be said or done, the stage manager appears to move escort the band to the sound stage saving you from having to navigate the complex social dynamic of interacting with your fake boyfriend who wants to be your real boyfriend and your band rival turned friend-with-benefits. Gratefully, you allow yourself to believe for the first time, that maybe luck would be on your side and tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

***

NANCY: Do I think Chris Palmer had a personal vendetta against her? No, not going into that night, anyway. I think he was just a misogynistic idiot who didn’t know what to do about a talented and beautiful woman who also did whatever she wanted. His mind couldn’t wrap around that.

That was true for a lot of men back then. And now too.

JONATHAN: It felt like Chris had a personal vendetta against her.

***

The first half of the interview went well enough.

The band was welcomed with great fanfare and everyone filed towards the couches in the center of the stage next to the large mahogany desk Chris sat behind. You and Steve were, of course, together at the forefront and you could hear the collective cooing when he helped you down the platform.

The interview started out mild, questions about the tour and being on the road. Thankfully, Steve took the helm for most of them with the band weighing in throughout.

To your surprise, Chris directs his next question to you and Eddie.

“You two are the newest additions to the band, how has the transition been coming from working as a solo artist and from a band of a whole different genre to the Downsides and what made you want to make the change?”

The question was surprisingly insightful which took you a second to process and come up with an answer that wasn’t “Well, Chris, we were forced to join The Downsides at the risk of our careers ending completely.”

Eddie beats you to it, “The royalty checks are better than they are when you’re in a metal band for one—“ it takes the audience a second to realize this is a joke, but when they do the laugh pays off— “but honestly, I like the stability. What they don’t tell you, kids, is that too much rock and roll can be bad for you.” He says this part directly to the camera with a devilish grin.

“What about you?” Chris turns to you once the laughter subside, “do you miss being a free agent?”

You ignore how pointed that feels and smile in response.

“Not at all, the band has been super welcoming and there’s something really rewarding about working together to make something great happen.”

“Don’t miss your old duet partners at all?” The host needles.

“No, not really. At the risk of sounding cheesy Chris, I think I found my forever duet partner,” you punctuate your response with a pointed smile at Steve.

The audience eats your response up but you can tell that Chris is not ready to let it go. Luckily for you, a well-timed commercial break saves you from further questioning.

When the cameras start rolling once more though and the segment is reintroduced, Chris flashes you a wolfish smile.

“So, does this mean you’ve settled down a bit more, now that you’re a one-duet partner type of gal?”

The question makes your throat run dry because you know that there’s another, much tricker question behind it.

“No, not at all. It’s nice to be a part of something,” you respond placidly.

Chris barely lets you finish before launching into, “well the press sure does miss writing about you! Did you know that, in the last year, you were one of the most mentioned stars on Subrosa, popping up a total of 65 times only rivaled by one Evelyn Hugo in 1967.”

You don’t really know what to say or where this is going but the feeling of dread in your stomach grows.

“In fact,” he continues, “why don’t we play a game that we cooked up with the help of your Subrosa mentions?”

Games were something Chris did with his guests pretty frequently and they varied in execution but in nature there was always something a bit embarrassing to them and tonight was no exception. But instead of going after the band as a whole, this game was targeted specifically at you .

It was a guessing game, “Simple enough,” Chris touted as his assistants bring out giant blown up headshots of various male celebrities, guess which of the men you had been involved with according to the media and which ones you hadn’t been. The joke of course was that you had been linked to all the men whose pictures had been provided.

The looks of shock on your bandmates’ faces perfectly countered the one of self-satisfaction painted on Chris’s smarmy face.

You felt Steve stiffen beside you, leg twitching as if he was getting ready to stand up and leave. Or punch Chris. Before he can, you place a stabilizing leg on his thigh and giving a squeeze. You didn’t want this to diverge into a fight and you refuse to let this vile man make a fool of you on live television.

“Well, this won’t do,” you smirk at Chris. “You only have half of my list out here, Chris! You’re missing quite a few other fellas. I thought you wanted to make this difficult.”

“Oh?” The host is clearly not expecting your response but has no choice to lean in since you clearly have the audience’s attention, “and who could we possibly be missing?”

“The crown prince of Monaco, for starters,” you respond, evenly, “and the entire Harlem Globetrotters ‘83 starting lineup—“ the crowd guffaws at your clear exaggeration, “—and most importantly, this guy,” you reach over to grab Steve’s chin and affectionately squeeze his face. At this, laughter turns into applause and from where you are sitting on the shared couch, you see Chris’s jaw tighten.

“Is there anyone who’s hasn’t made the list?” he cries, trying to turn the joke back on you.

“You, for starters,” you respond playfully, and then add before he can say anything, “but who knows? Maybe this band thing doesn’t work out and in a few years time I’ll become washed up and lower my standards and you and I can give it a shot.”

Before Chris can retort, Steve cuts in with an over-exaggerated, faux-jealous, “what about me?” That kicks off a jokey bit of banter between the three of you that takes the show all the way up to comercial.

***

NANCY: There was a second part to the game.

ROBIN: Yeah, that second thing was just mean. It was essentially the same premise as the first guessing game but instead of guessing different men she had been associated with, it was different nicknames she had been given by the media. They were not very nice names either, “Siren of the Strip”, “Heartbreak of Hollywood”, “Pop Music’s Maneater”, you get the gist.

Of course, like with the last “game” the joke was that it had been all is them.

***

The names had been a surprise. You didn’t know how to react and neither did your bandmates although you’re pretty sure you can feel the heat from Eddie’s glare from the other end of the set.

Still, you kept your cool and immediately admitted that all of them seemed familiar and instead turned the conversation into criticisms of each of the names, which was gaining too many laughs for Chris to try to stop it.

“See this one I don’t like at all,” you say, pointing to Malibu Minx that had been professionally printed on a giant poster board in newspaper font.

“Whys that?” The host asked wolfishly.

“Malibu Minx? Are you serious? Anyone with half a brain knows I’m from the Hills, not Malibu. Honestly, it’s a little insulting.”

“Come on, they can’t be that different,” Chris still plays along, even though your comment did not go where he wanted it to.

“Not at all! The Hills is where all the directors and actors live, Malibu is where divorced dads take their kids during their monthly weekend visits. It’s like, here on the east coast… well, I can’t think of an East Coast equivalent. Chris, help me out, where do you take your kids during your monthly visits?”

***

ROBIN: You should’ve seen his face when she said that.

NANCY: His first divorce had just gone public a few weeks prior. Guess it was still a sore spot. Not that he didn’t deserve it, he did, but he wasn’t used to his guests fighting back like that. The rest of the show was… tense and then after the show ended Palmer lost his cool.

STEVE: Honestly, I wanted to punch the guy since he brought out his stupid little games, but I was willing to leave things as they were that night, especially after she had put Palmer in his place, but we get backstage after the show and he starts yelling at her about having “embarrassed” him or something like he hadn’t essentially called her a bunch of names on live tv. Before any of us could even do anything though, Hopper had him pinned against the wall, saying stuff like “I thought we had come to an agreement about the jokes, Palmer.”

He gave him a good shake down, you know how intimidating Hopper can be. Plus Chris looked like he had never been in a fight in his life so he was shaking in his boots immediately. Security had to come to get Hopper off of him and we were all thrown out after that.

ROBIN: Yeah, we were never asked back after that not that we would’ve gone back.It was a shame for him, really, that 1984 episode of The Nightly Show with Chris Palmer was one of the most viewed episodes in the ten years he was on the air.

***

You return to your hotel room in the early hours of the morning, after having gone for celebratory drinks with Hopper and the rest of the band. Everyone had been thoroughly impressed with the way you had held your own against Chris and even previously-icy Robin seemed impressed and warmed by you.

You hadn’t had much of an opportunity to talk to Eddie throughout the night, something about the undecipherable expression he wore most of the night had left you curious and you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe hearing your entire history splayed out like that in front of him and the rest of the world had soured you and he no longer wants anything to do with you.

As you’re getting ready for bed, the ringing coming from the hotel phone jolts you.

“Hello?” You breathe out, harried and confused into the handset.

“Hey, I didn’t wake you did I?” Eddie’s concerned question statics over the line.

“No,” you respond, relief coloring your tone, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, really, I was just thinking how hot it was when you told that dickbag off and I was wondering if you’d be up to me showing you that.”

“Showing me what, exactly?”

“Showing you how hot I think you are. If you’re up for it, of course?”

25 minutes later, with Eddie’s face buried messily in your pussy you’re near inching closer to release when you hear him muttering into the soft skin of your thigh while two of his skilled fingers begin pumping in an out of your tight heat.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, seeing you all hot and desperate to come on my fingers like this would make me think you are a minx.”

Hearing him call you that so low and growly, left you burning all over and you keen into his hands. Knowing his words had the intended effect, Eddie smirks into your thigh and speeds up his fingers.

“Only for you,” you respond once you can find your voice again.

Eddie give a low moan at this and in an instant he clamors up onto the bed and moves to replace his fingers with his dick.

“Say that again,” he challenges as he swipes his tip through your folds and you cry out.

“I’m a minx for you,” you nod along to what you’re saying, hoping that it makes him more eager to stop teasing and finally push inside you.

He does exactly as you hoped and pushes his hips into you hungrily, setting a punishing pace, “Only for me right?”

You nod along, fucked out and on the verge of coming agian, “Yes, only for you, Eddie.”

You don’t make it back to your hotel room that night either.

***

MAY 11TH, 1984–BRIDGEPORT, CT—THE UPSIDE DOWN TOUR

“Are you sure the’d still want to meet me?” You ask Steve one evening, brushing your hair standing in the doorway of the door that separated your hotel room from his.

“Yeah, of course! Why do you keep asking that? Wait… do you not want to meet them anymore? It’s okay if you don’t,” Steve is already trying to hide his disappointment.

“No,” you rush to correct as you follow the sound of his voice to the bathroom, “it’s not that at all it’s just that, well with all the Minx stuff in the news, I worry that maybe they won’t think I’m worthy of the Harrington brood or whatever.”

You’re of course referring to the drama that had followed the band’s appearance on the Chris Palmer show where Chris had given an interview to Subrosa after you had affectively embarrassed him on his own show calling the band talentless and you worthy of every bad name that the press could call you and more.

In response to the interview—and partially inspired by your encounter with Eddie following the interview— you had gotten the word ‘Minx’ embroidered on the back of your favorite suede jacket which you made sure to wear to all of your subsequent interviews and media appearances for the rest of the band’s time in New York.

“First of all,” Steve begins, rubbing shaving cream over his chin “neither of my parents would ever dream of reading a gossip magazine and even if they did, they hate Chris Palmer, always said he was too ‘blue’ whatever that means. Plus, historically, dinners with my parents haven’t been the most enjoyable affairs, so having you there would really mean a lot to me.”

You smile understandingly at him through the mirror and suddenly the whole domesticity of it all strikes you. In another life, the two of you could’ve simply been a couple discussing meeting one another’s parents in the bathroom of a shitty apartment the two of you shared.

The fantasy is interrupted abruptly by a bright cacophony of knocks at your door.

“That must be Eddie,” you explained, “he’s coming over to write.”

(He really was.)

With all the fucking the two of you had been doing, writing music had fallen to the wayside and as the end of the tour was insight and Murray’s quota of songs still not met, which meant you had to get writing.

You scramble over to your door and let Eddie in. He almost leans in for a kiss but catches himself when he notices the open door leading into Steve’s room where he is very much watching the interaction with prying eyes.

The two nod at each other in greeting. You linger in the middle between either sides the awkwardness tangible in the air. You look at Eddie’s urging eyes and then flash back to Steve whose puppy dog gaze and newly received information about his parents make you do something that is surprising even to yourself.

“Do you want to help us write, Steve?”

The situation is awkward at first, especially with the glares Eddie seems to shoot you and Steve’s shy insistence that he’s no good at writing music but eventually, after two bottles of wine, the tension subsides, at least a little.

Eddie and you had presented Steve with a few songs that were very close to done but just needed a bit more work on the melody hoping that maybe he had suggestions.

He scans over a song that Eddie had primarily written, “Wild Ride”. Steve had an idea for a rhythm that could match the song and before long, he and Eddie were fully invested, both of them bent over their guitars trying out the rhythm and shooting notes at each other. Arrangement was definitely not your strong suit, however, you were more than happy to watch the two guitarists work

Steve was fascinatingly somber when it came to writing. He would play the notes over and over again until he found what came next, treating the whole thing like a puzzle that needed to be solved and running his hands through his hair when he was particularly stuck on something. His eyes would close while he was thinking, his lashes fluttering on his cheeks and then blinking open prettily when he had finally thought of a solution.

Eddie was much less delicate and would play around with notes, sometimes scrapping what he had all together and starting new. He tucked a pen behind his ear and was constantly scribbling and crossing out. When he focused on playing, his tongue would stick out from the corner of his mouth a bit.

They worked well together, never talked over each other, and were always willing to listen to what the other had come up with. As Eddie would write notes down in his notebook, Steve would lean in really close, so they were almost cheek to cheek looking down at the paper together. It almost seemed like they’d forgotten you were there and you were too busy refining some lackluster choruses to notice.

Eventually, they hit a wall in their writing and more drinks were ordered through room service, and soon the three of you are sprawled across your bed, drinking French 75s and watching a late night marathon of “Night Court”.

“Hey Harrington, you excited to see your folks soon?” Eddie asks during a comercial break.

You turn to look and see Steve grimace at the question. You know Eddie means well in asking, but the question ruffles Steve nonetheless.

“Not really. We were never really close on account of them sending me away to boarding school when I was eleven and then when we were together my dad’s favorite pastime was criticizing me and my mom’s was drinking,” Steve says, finally, “seeing them once a year is probably the most I can stand, honestly.”

A beat of silence settles over the group before Eddie finally speaks.

“Sorry to hear that man. If it makes you feel better, my folks weren’t exactly parents of the year either,” Eddie responds.

“That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, my uncle took me in. He’s a great guy. What about you, Princess? Were your parents the perfect image of love and support?”

You scoff. “Barely. I went back to their house right before the tour started, to get some of my things, and they thought I was breaking in and called the cops.”

“Well,” Eddie bristles, “looks like being a terrible parent can happen across all tax brackets, huh?”

“Yeah, we kinda got fucked over, a bit,” you say and the other two murmur in agreement.

The three of you stay silent for a bit, processing what had been shared and how to possibly move past such a heavy topic.

It’s Steve who finally breaks the silence, “Do you guys think Dan and Christine will ever get together?”

“Oh, yeah.” “Definitely.”

***

“This restaurant is obscenely nice,” you shift uncomfortable in your chair, taking in the surrounds and the unfamiliar unease of being somewhere where you felt out of place. Of course, you had grown up in fine dining establishments in California, but East Coast wealth seemed like a different beast entirely.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Robin huffs next to you, “but what else can you expect from Stan and Carolyn? They’re obsessed with letting everyone know how rich they are.”

She of course, had the advantage of knowing Steve’s parents after over a decade of friendship and it made sense that Steve, wanting as much of a buffer between himself and his parents during this dinner, had invited her along as well. So far, she had only been a little hostile towards you which was a personal victory.

The two of you spot Steve entering the restaurant at the same time along with two middle-aged companions that, based off resemblance alone, you knew were his parents.

Steve’s father had the same starkly defined chin and nose as his son, but none his face didn’t turn up into a natural smile like his son. He stood stately and stern, eyes surveying the room with little interest. His wife, Steve’s mother, was made up of refined, delicate features offset by the bright eyes that were clearly passed on to her son. Her entire outfit was meticulously perfect in a way that almost seemed artificial.

Steve introduces you with fanfare and pride that you don’t consider yourself worthy of but you smile along anyway and graciously shake Mr. Harrington’s hand and exchange dotted cheek kisses with Mrs. Harrington.

You exchange niceties and think to yourself maybe they won’t be so bad.

“Stan, Carolyn, it’s so nice to see you again,” Robin grits out through a tight smile.

Carolyn pats her on the shoulder in response and says,, “Please dear, call us Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. We’re out in public after all.”

***

ROBIN: Yeah, Carolyn and Stan hated me. It was like they could smell the gay on me. Or the poor. From the moment Steve had invited me over to spend spring break with them in the Hamptons they did not like me. They despised the idea of their son’s best friend being some scholarship kid whose parents were public school teachers. However bad they were to me though, they were far worse to Steve, which is why I ever even bothered going to these lunches. I didn’t want him to have to suffer through them alone.

***

“Sorry we’re late,” Mr. Harrington drawls as the three of them take their seats at the table, “our idiotic son forgot to bring cash for the valet.” His statement is punctuated by a mirthless laugh and you can tell by the matching expressions on Steve and Robin’s faces and the way Mrs. Harrington makes a grab for the bottle of wine on the table that this level of disparagement is normal for the Harrington household. You remember the comment Steve had made a few nights ago about his father’s favorite pastime

“Don’t worry,” you respond with a smooth smile, “we’re so used to having drivers back in LA—“ a lie “—I can see why Steve forgot about valet. Although, I’m sure you both know what that’s like.”

Mr. Harrington stalled. Everyone at the table—including you—knew that the Harringtons were nowhere near wealthy enough to afford personal drivers but if there was one thing insecure men, like Stan Harrington would never do is admit that they couldn’t afford something.

You were familiar with these types of ego games from your youth, although you took no pleasure in them.

Your youth was spent tucked into your mothers skirts during luncheons and tea and fashion fittings, listening as the women would eviscerate each other with laser-edge precision. If there was anything your mother had taught you was how to sow the seeds of insecurity in someone and although it did not come naturally, you could make an exception for Stan Harrington.

***

ROBIN: It was easy to forget most of the time that she came from money but damn, the way she handled Stan that night made me think that some politician was missing out on having her as their cutthroat third wife. It was like watching an artist paint or someone do sleight of hand magic. He would say something mean about Steve and she would just turn it right back around on him but she would be smiling and batting her eyes the entire time. Even with that though, it wasn’t an easy lunch to get through.

***

“It’s so nice that Stevie was able to make something of himself through his little music,” Carolyn fawns. She means well, for the most part, but the four glasses of wine she’s downed during the last twenty minutes makes her words come out just a tad but demeaning.

Her husband sneers in response, “You say that now, Carolyn, but soon he’ll be back here asking for a spot in the firm.”

“Hopefully not too soon,” you giggle in response running a hand alongside Steve’s arm, “the studio wants us recording our second album as soon as we get back and then we’ll be touring again and we’ll need him for that.”

“But darling, you can’t possibly expect to do that for the rest of your life,” Mrs. Harrington sighs, “eventually the two of you will want to settle down and have children, live a normal life.”

“Well, yeah Mom, but that’ll be a long time down the road—“

“Making music is our life, we don’t want to ever stop—“

You and Steve halt your explanation once you realize what the other is saying. The two of you exchange blank, confused looks and it’s not until Robin says, “I’m sure that they’ll decide what their next move is when the time comes. We still have plenty of time.” That the two of you jolt back into the conversation.

“Right,” you add, “plus with the royalties deal we just secured on this new album, we will be pretty stable financially.”

The rest of the lunch is spent fielding Mr. Harrington’s questions about financials and Mrs. Harrington’s questions about grandchildren. It’s exhausting but the three of you come out mostly unscathed.

The five of you part ways outside of the restaurant, and not a moment too soon. The wave of relief that washes over the three of you once the Harringtons have been sent on their way in a taxi is palpable.

You and Robin offer to buy Steve a drink for having survived the lunch and Steve offers to buy the two of you a drink as a thank you for playing roles in that. Soon, one drink each turns into multiple rounds of drinks spent recounting all the agonizing points of the lunch.

This leaves the three of you stumbling into your hotel in the early hours of the evening, completely and utterly drunk. You ride the elevator together, a mess of laughter and then bid goodbye to one another in front of Robin’s door. She’s ready to sleep off the drinking and you do not blame her.

This leaves you and Steve to stumble back to your joint rooms together.

“You know, seeing you today having dinner with my parents and my best friend almost made the whole thing feel real,” Steve says lowly, standing in your doorway.

“Steve don’t,” you plea softly.

“I just don’t get it,” he cries in response, “we would be so good together. We are good together: we have so much in common and we just make sense, everyone thinks so except for you. Just… tell me why wouldn’t you give us a shot?”

You’re in your room now, perched on the edge of the bed , teary eyes focused on everything in the room other than the man who stands in front of you.

“Steve that’s not fair. It’s just never going to work, why can’t you accept that?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” Steve blurts out, “and I know I may not be your first choice, but if you give me a chance I will prove that I’m good enough—“

“Steve, stop please don’t say that, you’re plenty good enough for anyone,” you stand now, to face him.

“Just not you,” he says devastated.

“No, listen, it’s not like that. I just, I don’t know if I can be with someone in the way that you want me to, okay? You want someone to eventually settle down with and I’m not that girl. I’m the fucking Minx for God’s sake not someone’s future wife. In another life maybe, we could’ve made each other very happy, who knows? But in this one, I can’t be what you want.”

The two of you stand there in silence for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Steve moves, walking past you to sit in your vanity chair.

“Is there someone else you have feelings for?” He asks, timidly.

“No, no,” you insist. “I told you, I don’t do that.”

He laughs mirthlessly in response, “I think you’re wrong about that. I think you’ll find someone, maybe not now or in a year or in five years, but eventually you will find someone and they will make you want to try and you will love them and I will have to watch you fall in love with them and we will both realize I was just not worth it.”

PLAY NEXT TRACK🎤

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sloanesallow · 2 days

Text

a little less sixteen candles

Something I wrote for Sloane's birthday (April 28th, 1875). I didn't anticipate it being so bittersweet, but that's what happens when your MC's birthday coincides with the end-game events.... (art by puri.dew) SWF | 2.6k words [read on Ao3] | [read on wattpad] | [tumblr masterpost]

It's spring—late April, to be exact. Flowers bloom all over the Scottish Highlands, and students take advantage of the warmer weather to spend their afternoons and evenings outdoors. Most travel to Hogsmeade and the surrounding hamlets, some take to the Quidditch pitch, and others lounge in the courtyards to daydream and watch the clouds pass by.

Instead of enjoying the beauty of nature or spending quality time with his friends, Sebastian is holed up in the Undercroft, scribbling notes on a blackboard with the last nub of chalk. On the table nearby, several textbooks and dusty tombs are spread open, their margins littered with more of his scrawl. He dusts his fingers off, smearing white across his pant leg before grabbing a quill to hunch over the latest pilfering from the Restricted Section.

Curses, Curses, and Even More Curses

It is an encyclopedia of sorts, one Sebastian found tucked away in some dark corner of the library's basement, being used to prop up a wobbly cabinet. The book smells like it has been fermenting in the lake and is icy cold to the touch, but the few pages that remain legible offer more information than he's been able to gleam in recent months. Despite having Salazar Slytherin's spellbook, it has taken considerable effort and time to translate, and even then the ancient writings refer to artifacts and magic Sebastian is just barely starting to comprehend.

He is reading a particularly interesting passage about blood sacrifices when he realizes he is no longer alone. Ominis stands on the other side of the table, eyebrows bunched together and lips pursed in an everlasting state of dissatisfaction. When the bloody hell did he sneak in?

"I won't bother with asking what it is you are doing, as I have no interest in arguing with you this evening."

"Lucky me," Sebastian quips back. Their friendship has been strained ever since Anne's curse, the relationship gradually turning into something far more toxic. But the fear of losing one of his best and only friends is overshadowed by the deep dread that consumes Sebastian every day—he will not let Anne die.

He attempts to refocus his attention to the yellowed pages of the old tome. "It must be a special occasion, if you're letting me off so easily."

"Now that you mention it," Ominis replies, sardonically.

When he doesn't elaborate, Sebastian glances up and finds himself curious for a new reason. His friend is dressed up, or rather, dressed down, in a neat but casual ensemble that is so uncharacteristic it might as well be a prank. Since when did Ominis walk around in anything less than his school uniform?

"Today is a special occasion," Ominis finally clarifies, though his tone makes it obvious he is teasing Sebastian for the gap in knowledge.

"Uh..."

What day is it? He wonders, furrowing his brow in thought. Tuesday? What important event occurs on a Tuesday other than...potions? No, he attended class that morning, even if he cannot recall the details of Professor Sharp's lecture. Crossed Wands? That isn't until Friday. All Sebastian really remembers from the last twelve hours is bartering with the kitchen-elves for leftovers after missing dinner, again. That, and being shooed away from the library by Madam Scribner, again.

The prolonged silence causes Ominis to scoff, more irritated than before. "Seriously, Sebastian?" he snaps, shaking his head. "Do you really not remember? Ugh, why am I even surprised? I only came down here to confirm for myself that you truly are lost."

"I am not—"

"Shut up," Ominis cuts him off with a pointed look that is a tad more menacing than usual. "After all she did to remind us—you—" he sighs, temper simmering. "Siobhan did well to hide her disappointment, but even I could tell by the sound of her voice she was upset by your absence."

"Sloane?" Sebastian blinks several times as the realization dawns on him. Tuesday. The twenty-eighth day of April.

Today is Sloane's birthday.

He drops the book and threads his hands through his hair in exasperation, cursing under his breath, "shit."

"It is remarkable, really, the patience that girl has," Ominis remarks, ignoring the way Sebastian starts to frantically pace. "More than I posses, at least. I do not know the details, nor do I wish to, but it is a small miracle she considers you a friend, for all you have put her through."

Sebastian pauses to glare at his friend, almost daring him to repeat the snide comment. What the hell does he know? But, for what seems like the millionth time in five years, Ominis is right. In his pursuit for a cure, he is slowly alienating the people he cares about. Sloane is a recent addition to his inner circle, though sometimes it feels as if she's been there all along. His feelings for the Hufflepuff are...complicated, to put it mildly. Sebastian knows he likes her, perhaps more than he's ever liked a member of the opposite sex. However, inexperience and denial leave him unwilling to call it love.

He lets out a pitiful groan, palms pressed hard against his eyes.

"I can't believe I forgot!" The memory of Sloane inviting them to a small celebration in Hogsmeade crashes into view, adding to his shame. He's been so wrapped up in research and schoolwork that it slipped his mind. "Merlin's beard—I'm an arse!"

"Yes," Ominis flatly agrees, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Good thing wallowing in self-pity solves everything."

Sebastian frowns, his gut twisting with regret, frustrated by his own preoccupation. The spread of journals and scribbled notes seem to taunt him, his head and heart torn between obligation and desire. He returns to pacing, murmuring incoherently as his brain tries to prioritize what the first step should be. Bathe? No time. He unceremoniously sniffs under his arm and winces—a cleaning charm will have to suffice.

"Is she still in Hogsmeade?" he asks, allowing some hope to flourish when Ominis nods. "Do you think...she'll forgive me?"

"She shouldn't," Ominis says, sighing again. He shakes his head, almost as if he is humored by Sebastian's enthusiasm. "But she will."

Sebastian allows himself thirty minutes to get to the Three Broomsticks. It's still early, but Sloane and her friends have already been celebrating in Hogsmeade for most of the afternoon. Better late than never, right? After fixing his appearance as best he can in the nearest washroom, he rushes to the kitchens and haggles with the kitchen-elves for the second time that day, this time for pastries so he doesn't show up completely empty handed. He will need to procure a proper gift when his mind isn't so rattled.

By the time Sebastian exits the great hall, the sun is just setting beyond the horizon. It's warm, and as he speed-walks across the viaduct courtyard, sweat forms on his brow and neck and elsewhere he does not want to think about. Knowing his luck, he'll be a perspiring, smelly mess by the time he makes it to Hogsmeade. How attractive, he mumbles to himself, checking over his clothing again to make sure he's properly buttoned and tucked and—

"Sebastian?"

He freezes mid-step, snapping his gaze up to find Sloane and two of her Hufflepuff roommates—Poppy Sweeting and Lenora Everleigh—standing at the top of the stone steps. Sebastian opens his mouth to speak, but his short-circuiting brain won't allow a coherent sentence to form.

Eventually, he squeaks, "me."

Poppy and Lenora giggle while Sloane's lips curl into a sympathetic smile. All Sebastian can focus on is the pale pink of her dress and the way the curve of her neck and collarbone are exposed, making it that much more difficult to speak. Her cropped hair has a slight curl to the ends, and...is that rouge on her cheeks? He's never seen her look so...

"Wow," he breathes, perfectly aware of how lopsided his grin must look. Sebastian straightens up a little, clutching the small, wrapped box of baked goods in his hands. He lets out a shaky laugh. "I was...just coming to find you, actually."

"You were?" Sloane's eyes widen in surprise—is his presence that startling? He tries not to frown at the gut-wrenching realization that she didn't expect him to show up at all. When her friends don't budge to give them any privacy, he reaches up to tug at the knot of his tie, the suffocating feeling lingering as they stare down at him. Sebastian feels like he might faint, or retch, or both.

"Sloane, I—"

"Oh, this'll be rich," Lenora mutters, rolling her eyes. The dark-haired Hufflepuff is consistently disapproving of his relationship with Sloane, though he can't imagine why. Or maybe he can.

Poppy hushes her and the three return to holding similar, expectant expressions. Sebastian clears his throat.

"I—I'm an absolute git for forgetting your birthday," he starts, hoping he sounds as earnest as he feels. Multiple excuses tickle the tip of his tongue but he knows better in that moment than to offer any. This is his fault, his burden to bear. "I'm so sorry, sorrier than you can imagine."

"That's what he said last time, isn't it?" Lenora mumbles.

If Sebastian isn't trying so desperately to look forlorn, he would glare at her. Now's not the time for a reminder of how he's unintentionally, or perhaps intentionally hurt Sloane. For all the mistakes he's made, she has forgiven him time and time again, and everyone in their circle has noticed. Regardless of how much he wants it, maybe he is undeserving of her grace. Maybe the best gift he can give is to cut himself out of her life for good—one less burden for her to worry about in an already chaotic first—fifth—year.

His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach and his hopeful smile falls into a dejected pout. Before Sebastian can fully spiral into another pity-party of one, he flicks his gaze back to Sloane and decides that surrender simply isn't in his nature.

"Can we talk?" he softly asks. He'll beg if he has to, even at the risk of making an even bigger arse of himself in front of Sloane and her friends. "Please?"

Even though Lenora and Poppy are hesitant to let Sloane go, she waves away their worried whispers and nods. "Okay."

While her friends reluctantly head back towards the castle, Sebastian and Sloane find their way to the boathouse, the long walk accented by their echoing footsteps and sideways glances. More than once he thinks about reaching out to hold her hand but refrains, not wanting to further muddle their already shaky friendship. Sloane surprises him when they reach the pier, balancing herself against the wall so she can discard her heeled loafers and stockings. She perches herself on the dock's edge, bare feet just barely grazing the dark lake waters. Sebastian follows suit, tugging off his boots and socks before sitting down next to her, making sure there's a comfortable distance between them.

Before he can find the courage, Sloane breaks the more than awkward silence, "what do you want to talk about?"

It's an innocent enough question, one that puts control of the conversation in his hands. Sebastian could easily take the cowardly route and skip past an apology, force some laughter and pretend nothing is wrong. Instead, he digs deep and swallows his pride.

"I really am sorry, Sloane," he starts, finding it nearly impossible to look at her directly when it feels like his heart might burst out from his chest. All the regret he's been carrying rises to the surface. "I've had so many chances to make things right between us and I've mucked them up over and over again that I honestly can't fathom why you give me any of your time at all."

"You are..." he trails off in hesitation, remembering that a little bit of vulnerability can go a long way. "You are one of the better aspects of my life. One of the kindest, if not the kindest person I know. And...while we haven't been friends for very long, I'm bloody well terrified of losing you over my own stupidity."

Sloane flashes him a curious look. "Losing me?"

"You know what I mean," he quickly replies, even if he is still figuring it out himself. Or maybe he is too scared to admit the truth. The last thing he wants to do is push his luck when it has already run dry. They are friends—it is selfish to hope for more. The uncomfortable tightness in his throat returns. "Am I...too late?"

For a moment that feels like eternity to a fragile boy like him, Sloane doesn't respond, her gaze focused on the water and the reflection of the moon. Her pensive expression is impossible to read, but he takes it as a good sign that she hasn't run off or shoved him into the lake for the squid to drown. She sighs and slowly turns her head to look at him again.

"You're here now is what matters," she says, lips twitching up into the faintest smile. Sebastian should feel relieved, but the guilt lingers. Perhaps in an effort to change the subject, Sloane gestures to the small box, partially crumpled by his anxious fidgeting. "Is that...?"

"Oh! Right," he hesitantly hands it over, watching as Sloane lifts the lid to reveal several squished lemon tarts. He rubs the back of his neck as he lets out a self-deprecating laugh in an attempt to save face. "They're meant to look like that. It's an after-hours kitchen specialty, I'm told."

Sloane's smile widens slightly as she plucks one from the box, generously handing it to him before taking one for herself. Emboldened, Sebastian quickly conjures a small candle to press into her share and carefully ignites the wick.

"I already made a wish," she explains.

Sebastian isn't discouraged. "Well, now you can make a second one. Happy birthday, Sloane."

He continues to watch her as she momentarily ponders, the flickering flame reflected in her eyes before she softly extinguishes it with a soft breath.

"What did you wish for?"

"The first or second time?" Sloane responds, somewhat cheekily.

Sebastian doesn't push her to offer a real answer and instead allows for a comfortable silence to settle between them as they nibble at the lemony treats. The lake water gently splashes at their hanging feet and for the first time in recent memory, he feels calm. It might be temporary, but he allows himself to sink into the feeling, smiling as Sloane offers him a second tart.

"Sebastian?"

"Hmm?"

He turns his head just in time, barely registering what is happening as Sloane moves closer with her head tilted just so. Her lips meet his and Sebastian is stunned, taking several rapid heartbeats to react, fluttering his eyes shut as he leans into the kiss. If he knew that her lips would be this soft and warm, he would've kissed her ages ago. As greedy as he is to taste more, he allows the kiss to remain chaste, inching his hand across the short distance to cover hers.

Sloane eventually pulls away and when he peeks open his eyes she is smiling, cheeks dusted with a blush he yearns to brighten. Sebastian is still too flabbergasted to utter a response, nervously laughing when she reaches up to brush away a crumb from his cheek. He catches her hand before she can pull away, squeezing her fingers in his own. The momentary calm of his heart explodes into a burning inferno he struggles to contain. This time, he is sure he knows the answer, but still asks.

"Your wish?"

"It already came true."

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x f!mc #sebastian sallow x mc #fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfic #hufflepuff oc

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lukehughes43 · 1 year

Text

no time for goodbyes - luke hughes

word count: 4,282

a/n: so this is technically the first installment of the coug!read x luke seeing as I still haven't finished the other fic, or even started the fic that is the beginning of coug!luke. but I was in my feels last night, so please enjoy this heart wrenching fic🫶🏼

the night had started to wind down for everyone in the sophomore house the minute you had gotten back from student teaching. the boys being exhausted from a monday afternoon practice, and you being exhausted from chasing around six-year-olds for eight hours straight. when your five sophomore hockey players walked through the front door a little after four o’clock they found you passed out on the couch, still dressed in your blue and white checkered and a plain white tee. luke was in charge of carrying you up the stairs to your room so mark and eddy’s disaster of cooking dinner wouldn’t wake you from a much-needed rest.

you woke up an hour or so later by lightly shaking you awake. mumbling a soft, “marky and eddy made dinner for us, coug.” to which immediately woke you up based on the fact the last time mark and eddy tried making dinner you almost no longer had a house due a kitchen fire. you stumbled around the practically empty bedroom, minus the boxes stacked up in the corners, before groggily booking it down the stairs to make sure everyone was still alive.

when you ran into the kitchen and dining room area the other four were seated around the dining table in their unofficial seats, smiles on their faces waiting for you to finally join them in order to have one of the last meals together as a found family. after practice tomorrow they were departing to the airport right from yost in order to get on the plane to tampa. meaning that this was it. this was the last meal with all five of them together as once michigan was done so was luke. he was to board a plane straight from tampa to newark and the last two years at michigan would officially be in the books for the youngest hughes brother. leaving you in a house full of four other hockey boys until it was your turn to join luke in jersey after april 28th: graduation day.

“you guys made family dinner,” you smiled as the bittersweet words left your mouth. not yet wanting to believe that this was the end of the cherry on top of your time at michigan. “and you didn’t even burn the house down. i’m so proud of you.”

there was a chorus of laughter that filled your ears before luke pulled your seat out for you. once he pushed you in all the way he took his seat to the left of you, sitting so he was for the last time eating a meal between two of his favorite people - you and dylan. the conversation between bites of the steak, mashed potatoes, and caesar salad was almost nonexistent. everyone in an unspoken agreement to just sit there and soak it all in. of course small talk was eventually made as mackie made you a glass of wine, claiming that it was well deserved even though it was only monday. he knew how hard you were taking everything, you may not have told him directly, but he knew. all of the boys knew. while this was luke’s last week of college hockey, it was also the last week everything would be semi-normal regarding your relationship. the nhl and the demanding schedule an obvious looming fear to both of you.

the conversation died out after hearing how practice went and the six year olds who had crushes on you found out you would be leaving them soon. and soon one by one all of you dismissed yourself from the table. mark being first, trying to get out of dish duty. eddy followed second, taking everyone’s dishes as he went. dylan sprinted away afterwards as if filming a monday questions video. leaving mackie, youself, and luke. you were the next to fall, not wanting to be, but ultimately knowing you had too much to do in order to prepare for missing all of your classes thursday and friday in order to be in tampa. your left hand squeezed luke’s right, as your right hand ran over the discolored wooden table. “‘ve gotta head up, lukey,” you whispered over to him. a sad smile taking over your face while you stared at him as you tried to read the expression on his face. praying his blue eyes would give you a little insight into what he was thinking. he hummed before turning to look at you. “get out of my work clothes, shower,” you then explained. “go through your bags to make sure you have everything.”

the last part earned a laugh from mackie seeing as he had done the same for both mark and eddy. duker being too stubborn not allowing anyone to double check for him. “goodnight y/n/n, see you tomorrow?” mackie asked with a hopeful smile.

shaking your head you frowned, “i’ve got school.” instantly the rain cloud that had a hold over the room became even heavier at your words. “i won’t see you guys until thursday. i’m in the middle of teaching during the send-off, and since i’m already missing thursday and friday…” you trailed off at the end, not having the heart to speak anymore. too afraid that you would break down in the middle of the dining room if you did.

“i get it,” mackie answered with a sweet smile. “we’ll see you thursday, mom.”

nodding your head you turned your attention back to your boyfriend. “i’ll be up soon, cougy,” he mumbled, eyes meeting your for a split second before he looked back at the table. the use of ‘cougy’ instead of ‘coug’ was what tipped you off to what was going on inside of his head. he was reaching his emotional breaking point.

“okay, lu.” he leaned down and pressed a kiss against the top of his curls before turning to look back at mackie, “night macks. take care of everyone for me until thursday, yeah?” he gave you a final salute and that’s when you started your terk upstairs to the empty bedroom once more. it made your heart heavy to walk into a room that was normally so full of life, reflecting yours and luke’s personalities, packed away into boxes like it had been since the end of the big ten tournament. between preparing for regionals, classes, and student teaching luke and you were busy packing up your lives at the mere fact that his season could’ve ended two weeks ago meaning you had to be prepared in case that was to happen.

you let out a deep sigh and walked into the empty room, slowly closing the door behind you so nobody could hear as your walls came crashing down faster than you could piece them together. the shower was where you choose to break down for the night. already knowing that luke would leave you to yourself once he came into the room since he had showered at yost after practice, and knew you needed this time to decompress. so that’s exactly what you did. you sat under the scolding hot water letting the tears stream down your face as you silently sobbed over your college life that was coming to an end. over this being luke’s last week as a michigan wolverine. at how after his nhl debut you wouldn’t see him again until graduation, something you needed to bring up to him and talk about as the devils would be in the playoffs and there was no way you’d let him miss anything hockey related just to watch you walk across a stage.

when you finally got out of your depression shower, luke was already camped out in your bed. the comforter was pooled around his waist, his bare chest on full display for you. just waiting for you to climb in next to him. “how was your shower, coug?” his voice was tight as he asked the question, and you wondered if this was when it finally happened. if this was the moment luke finally allowed himself to come to terms with the whirlwind of emotions he was currently experiencing.

“it was nice,” you answered honestly. “helped me clear my mind.” right away you knew luke would understand what you were getting about. slightly hoping that he would take it as a subtle hint that he too could confess everything he was going through to you. instead, all you got back from him was a small hum of acknowledgment, eyes downcast on his phone screen. after changing into your pajamas which consisted of luke’s boxers and a worn-out ntdp t-shirt, you crawled into bed next to him. arms immediately wrapping around his torso, head falling against his chest. “i never got around to looking through your bag to make sure you have everything,” you said to break the silence of the room. “i’m not that worried though,” you added on, “i mean everything you needed was the only things you could pack. you just have to remember your chargers in the morning before you go to practice. i can text you in the morning to remind you if you want.”

when luke didn’t answer you thought maybe he had fallen asleep. it wouldn’t have been the first time the worn out hockey player fell asleep while in the middle of a conversation with you. only that wasn’t the case this time. you could feel from underneath its resting place as his heart rate began to increase. his breathing beginning to follow in it’s footsteps. “hey lukey, baby, we gotta sit up. can you sit up for me?” you asked, already knowing what was about to happen. luke was on the verge of a panic attack, everything hitting him all at once. the packed boxes. the final practice at yost is tomorrow. an elc in his future.

“‘m okay,” he choked out between ragged breaths. “just, just stay here. just lay here.” you knew he was referring to you staying situated on his chest, feeling the safest when he had you cuddled up on top of him.

shaking your head you propped yourself up instantly. throwing your legs on either side of his waist in order to straddle his lap. “no, no luke i need you to sit up for me. okay? can you do that for me, baby?” you asked while staring down at him. his eyes were screwed shut, knowing that if he had them open you would be able to see how red and puffy they were. his final moments of sitting at the kitchen table after family dinner ended causing everything to hit him like a freight truck. “luke, i’ve got you,” you whispered, hands cupping his cheeks, “but i need, you have to sit up for me. please.” you were disparately pulling him into a sitting position, letting his head fall against your chest. his arms wrapping around your waist in a bone-crushing hug. “i’ve got you. i have you, lukey. it’s okay. i’m right here. you’re safe. just, just get it out. deep breathes.” your words were muttered into the top of his curls, as you soothingly ran a hand up and down his back. the other laced in the curls at the nape of his neck. “i love you. i’m here. you’re okay. i’ve got you, lukey.”

“i- i, i start playing in the nhl as soon as saturday,” he finally spoke. voice cracking as he did so, his breathing slowly coming back to a normal rhythm. “tomorrow… tomorrow’s my last ever practice at yost. tonight was the last family dinner.” you could feel your own heart breaking all over again at his words. shattering even more so as you knew there was nothing you could say or do to make things better. “our fucking bedroom has been packed up to leave for two weeks!” his hold on you got tighter with each realization. your presence being enough to ground him in this instance for him to get all of his emotions out before it was too late. “cougy, this is it. it’s my final week of college hockey.” it took all the strength in his body to force his head up to look at you. his blue eyes as clear as glass due to the tears that were pouring down his cheeks. “my final week of seeing you every single day until i retire, which will be what? like ten-fifteen years from now?”

you squeezed your eyes shut in order to prevent the tears from slipping out. forehead dipping down to rest against his, “it’ll be okay, lukey. we’re going to make this work. you have to take the good and the bad. that’s what you’ve been telling me since january right?” just barely his forehead moved against yours in a nodding motion. “plus it’s me and you, honey. me and you no matter what.”

“you and me,” he whispered against your lips. you could taste the salt from his tears that were staining his cracked lips with every word he spoke. “but coug, i just. this is it. it’s over. and, and i don’t even get to say goodbye to you tomorrow. you’ll be gone before i wake up, and i won’t see you until thursday. and - and if we lose it’ll be for nothing.”

“it won’t be for nothing, luke warren,” you corrected with a pointed look. “everything you’ve done, everything i’ve chosen to do in order to watch you play this year has not been for nothing, luke. i do it because i love you. because there is nobody out there more proud of you than me,” you confessed with a small smile, “just don’t tell your parents i said that.” your little jab jim and ellen caused a small smile to grace luke’s face as well. “if you lose on thursday, which you’re not going too, then we get on a plane and we go to jersey. you get on the team plane and go to boston, and i’ll fly out with your parents. we’ll be there for you first ever fucking nhl game, and i’ll be there standing and waiting for you. tears streaming down my face just like after you scored your hat trick. you know why?”

he shook his head, “no. why?”

“becuase i love you,” you answered. “because the last three years of my life have been the best years of my life because i’ve spent them loving you. officially i mean. but what you’re feeling right now luke? it’s normal. it’s healthy. it means that we have met some incredible people who we are so lucky to have in our lives. people that are always going to be there for us, no matter what happens in the future.”

he let out a shaky breathe while he let his eyes meet yours once more. “you graduate college in twenty-five days. and then you’re mine. in jersey, and everything will be okay again. i’ll be there to watch you walk across the stage, and then we’re together, never apart again.”

your heart was in your throat at his words, knowing that there was no better time to bring this up than right now. “about graduation, lu, you’re going to be in the playoffs. as much as i want you there, you can’t be if you have something hockey related. especially if you have a game scheduled for it.” the way his arms loosened around your waist is how you knew you struck a nerve within the nineteen-year-old. “i just! having our parents there will be enough for me. and as soon as the ceremony ends we can have a devils watch party at your house! cheering on my favorite boy, and my best friend.”

luke’s face hardened with every passing second. not at all thrilled by what you had said. “i’m not missing your college graduation, y/n,” he grumbled, clearly frustrated by the fact you had suggested such an outrageous thing. “you realize you’re the only one of us whose’s going to graduate college and have a degree, right?” by that you knew he was referring to quinn, jack, himself and you. the four of you being thick as thieves since you grew up next to each other. you and jack have been best friends since your shared birthday, as well as the fact your mothers were best friends. “how could i miss that? miss the love of my life getting her degree that she’s worked her ass off for the past four years to get it? no, absolutely not. i’m coming to graduation on the twenty-eighth. game or no game. end of discussion.”

it was no secret to either of you that you had more to say on the topic, but you knew when luke was set on something he was going to do it so you dropped it. “okay, you’re coming to graduation. but as soon as it’s over we’re getting on the first flight newark, got it?”

“got it, coug,” he agreed with a smile growing on his face. his head dropped back to rest against your chest once more. his tears pooling into the already wet fabric. “do you think i - i mean, do you think we can do it this week. win the natty? push my rookie game back until the eleventh?”

“of course i think you can do it, moosey,” you answered with nothing but certainty. “there’s nothing you guys can’t do. you know that.”

he let out the breath that he was holding in. nuzzling his head further into the cotton fabric that smelled just like you. “i’m sorry i acted like the world was falling apart tonight. it’s just, i never thought we’d actually get to this point,” luke confided in you. “it always seemed so far away, like we’d never actually make it to this day. but now it’s here, and i feel like there’s still so much i haven’t done with the guys. so much i haven’t done with you, coug.”

you dropped your head to rest against his fluffy curls, taking a deep breath in to smell his shampoo and conditioner. “don’t apologize my sweet boy,” you cooed, kissing the top of his head. “i mean i just broke down in the shower before you got in here. it’s okay, i promise you. it’s a little scary, yes, but you have nothing to regret, lukey. you have left such an incredible impact on everyone here and mich, and you’re going to be so fucking missed. fuck, i’m going to miss you those two weeks before i get to see you at graduation.”

“don’t remind me about that,” he groaned, head diving forward so you were now laying on your back and he was on top of you. a squeal left your mouth from the action, cradling his head closer to your chest. “those two weeks are literally going to be hell, cougy. we’ve never been apart for that long before.” humming you ran your hands through his hair. trying to find the right words in order to try and calm his nerves about it. “are you going to be able to survive without me for that long, y/n/n?”

“god no, lukey. how am i supposed to fall asleep in an empty room with you not here to hold me?”

you could feel the frown form on his face through the t-shirt. “i’ll call you every single night. make sure that you get to sleep. no matter how much jack chirps me, i don’t care. and if, you know, the depression gets a little too much in those two weeks, just go climb into bed with duker. or make a bed in mackie’s room.”

a cold shiver ran through your body at the thought of you sleeping in the same bed as dylan. of course, it’s something you’d done before with him being your college best friend. sometimes it was because he needed to comfort of someone other than his boys, someone who would actually listen to what he was feeling and try and help him through it. other times it would be because luke was busy and you were on the verge of crumbling apart. it was in those times dylan would make it a mandate you slept in his room where he could keep an eye on you before luke got home. in fact, you’ve slept in every room of the sophomore house. taking turns making sure your college children weren’t sad or just being there in case they needed the gentle loving that only you could offer them. “ew absolutely not!” you laughed. luke’s head tilting up to look at you with a smile. “i don’t want to step foot in that room. we don’t know what goes on in there anymore. it’s definitely highly unsanitary.”

a chuckle fell past luke’s lips before he rested his head in the crook of your neck. his breath fanning against your skin, lips just barely grazing the skin there. “you could always have him sleep in here.”

you shrugged your shoulders. “i was thinking about just going home,” you mumbled, almost as if you were scared to admit that you wanted to spend the last two weeks of your college career in either yours or luke’s childhood bedroom. “i love the boys, and i love being here. but i just, i feel like it might be better for me to stay at home. i mean i’ll have your parents, my parents. being here just won’t be the same without you, lukey.”

the sudden confession you had just made was pulling on luke’s heartstrings. “would you drive to school and teaching?” you nodded your head ever so slightly, eyes growing heavy with each passing second. the physical and emotional exhaustion finally hitting you once more. “you could always take my car too if you wanted. just so you’re not constantly using your own.”

yawning you smiled, “i was already planning on it, lukey.” your eyes were closed when luke looked back up at you, and he could feel as your breathing began to even out from underneath him. “i love you, luke.”

multiple kisses were pressed against the skin of your neck and jaw, pulling a smile on the corners of your lips. “i love you too, y/n/n. get some sleep, okay, cougy? i’ll be here when you wake up tomorrow.” and with that you drifted off to sleep for the final time in a full sophomore house.

when you woke up in the morning to the sound of your alarm part of you was confused as to how your phone got in the room seeing you don’t remember ever grabbing it off the coffee table after your post-school nap. only to remember that luke thought of everything when it came to you and without a doubt brought it up when he came up from dinner. reluctantly you carefully slid yourself out from under the dead weight that was luke’s sleeping body in order to get ready. grabbing a throw blanket you carefully tucked him in, allowing him the chance to sleep in until his own alarm went off to start his day.

getting ready you were stuck in a whirlwind of emotions as you remembered you wouldn’t see any of the boys until thursday morning, having chosen to surprise them by flying out wednesday night rather than thursday morning like you originally told them all. once dressed and ready to make your way to the elementary school you were student teaching at you sat down at your desk, slipping on your cartier ring luke had gifted you along with the necklace that adorned his favorite nickname. your attention then turned to the post-it note stack, maize yellow of course. grabbing the navy blue pen you had resting beside it you scribbled out two final notes for your boyfriend and the boys you considered your children.

lukey, i love you so incredibly much i’ll see you on thursday. you’re going to do amazing this week, take it all in. text me when your boarding and when you land. i’ll meet you in tampa, moosey. me and you, sweet boy. - coug<3

after writing both notes you stuck luke’s against his phone he had plugged in on his bed side table. running back to press a kiss against his cheek. a smile pulling on his feature even though he was sleeping. “i love you, lukey,” you then whispered into his ear. kissing the top of his head one last time before you carefully slipped out of your bedroom. the next and final stop in the early morning hours of the house was the front door. you were frozen as you stood there waiting to walk out, knowing if you didn’t leave now you would be late to school after running to starbucks. so you forced yourself to put the final note up on the door.

to my hughes wedding bridal party, make sure you have absolutely everything- CHARGERS!!! now that thats out of the way, know that win or lose i’m always going to be proud of you guys. thank you for the past year, there’s nobody else i would want to life willingly with. i’ll see you in tampa! love you guys. - coug… aka mom<3

you stared at the note for a minute longer than what was necessary, tearing beginning to well in your eyes before you forced yourself to open the front door. taking a deep breath you pulled it closed behind you, as well as closing the door on the last four years of life.

#my writing #umich imagine #umich #umich hockey #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #coug!reader #coug luke #usa hockey #ntdp #new jersey devils #my works #dylan duke #ethan edwards #mackie samoskevich #mark estapa #2023 ncaa hockey tourney

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 23 days

Text

Brass Balls. - OC Backstory.

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 1.7K~ cw: yelling, threats, roasting (not even that aggressive really)

At the meager age of 23, Kathleen Mary Moore had succeeded in doing something that no one before or after her could get ever away with: becoming an unofficial charge nurse at the military hospital in Tidworth Camp.

And all thanks to one skill of hers: Conflict Resolution.

Well… more like… Resolution through Conflict.

Didn’t matter if the person that needed their arse reamed out was a patient, a family member or a commanding officer. She had enough sass to last her a lifetime and metaphorical balls big enough to look a superior in the eye and call them a gobshite.

In her case, being a charge nurse means little else than being a glorified enforcer. She’d be called in by anyone, in any department of the hospital, whenever there was a Difficult™️ situation to be solved. And solve them she did.

Maybe it was the Leo in her, maybe it was the Older Daughter blood in her veins. Who knows.

Nonetheless, it earned her an unfortunate nickname: Brass.

Not just because, according to the other medical staff and even some low rank enlisted, she had “brass balls”... but also because she had the brass (the high-ranked officers) by the balls.

And that’s, unfortunately, the way she met John Price.

On March 28th, 2013, the Tidworth Hospital received an influx of 20 SAS soldiers that, although housed in the nearby Stirling Lines Garrison, didn’t have a proper hospital at the base, and so, were placed in Tidworth for emergency treatment.

By April 7th, 2013, only one soldier of the group of 20 stayed behind, a Sergeant Craig Wallcroft, the rest having returned to Credenhill. Wallcroft wasn’t under Kathleen’s care, being in a completely different department, but, eventually, she was forced to pick up his case.

Called to her nurse’s admin office by her Lieutenant-Colonel, Lieutenant Moore watched a small pile of paper being placed in front of her, 14 or so pages long.

“Sergeant Wallcroft’s superior, a ‘Captain Price’ has been very insistent in the release of his Sergeant…” Lieutenant-Colonel Margot Ward, a no-nonsense greying-brown-haired woman explained as she stood face-to-face with Kathleen.

“Insistent, you say?” Kathleen asked, dipping her head slightly at an angle, an eyebrow raising in a display of displeasure. “What’s he done?”

“Very.” Margot explained with a sigh. “He took to filing request after request for the release and clearance for combat… Then to filing transfer requests to the medical ward in Credenhill… To downright harrassing us with phone calls on the matter.” She revealed.

Kathleen’s eyebrows raised and her head pulled back at the chin in a look of utter surprise. To have someone abuse the online request system or maybe the email inbox of the department was one thing… But to downright shout down the phone line over this?

Oh, Kathleen was not happy, her hands already trembling with the anticipation of putting this man in his place.

“And, now, he’s sent one of his Lieutenants to… pressure us into releasing his teammate. The man’s shouted at Lieutenant Byers in the nurse’s station already.” Margot added.

That did it. Hearing that someone raised their voice at one of her closest friends? She didn’t even want to imagine the state her friend Felicity was left in… the poor girl, always prone to tears.

“Leave it to me.” Kathleen said as she walked out of the room, marching away quickly.

The trip to Credenhill was quick. It took no convincing at all for the helicopter pilot, who was meant to transpo Wallcroft back to Credenhill, to turn the chopper around to deliver her, and this Lieutenant he sent for him, Lieutenant Cameron, back to Credenhill.

Cameron then lead her across the garrison in the lightly pouring rain, to the training gym where ‘Captain Price’ was bound to be.

Her brown eyes flittered over the room very quickly, surveying it, to try and locate Captain Price. Most of the men there were on the young end, handsome-ish, muscular and strong, wearing tight clothing while they grappled and tossed each other around.

Before Cameron could lead her further into the room, she took two fingers to her mouth and let out a sharp, deafening whistle, that stopped all the sparring (and observing) soldiers, in their tracks.

“WHICH ONE OF YOU GOBSHITES IS CAPTAIN PRICE?!” She barked at the top of her lungs, the silence in the room so loud that her voice bounced off the walls.

One of the men straightened up from where he was sparring with another of the soldiers and he stood tall and imposing, even from across the room. “That’d be me.” John said. “Who are you?”

“I’m someone that’s sick and tired of your bullshit, Captain.” She told him directly. “Now, come over here, please.” She demanded as she beckoned him close with two fingers.

John approached with a certain swagger, confident steps and swaying hips, strong muscles wrapped by an army green t-shirt covered in sweat, beefy, burly and hairy forearms on display.

“Nurse Corps.” He acknowledged her uniform’s patches as he came to a stop before her, standing a bit below her, a few steps worth of a height difference, as she stood on a catwalk, and him on the gym floor. “You finally transferred my Sergeant?”

He was handsome. Bloody hell, he was handsome, stern blue eyes staring at her from below, stubble on his jaw that she knew would soon grow to be a thick shrub…

“No.” She replied as she set her hands on her hips. “Your Sergeant is still bed-bounded back in Tidworth, where he’ll stay for the foreseeable future because as you’ve been told many times by now, he’s not. fit. for. service.”

John looked at her blankly. “Is that what you came all this way for, little nurse?” He asked her with a cocked brow, his tone almost condescending. “This could’ve been a phone call.” He added and turned away. “Get back to work!” He shouted at his team.

Oh, how she hated being underestimated… And talked down to.

She lunged forward and grabbed John by the collar of his t-shirt like one would to a naughty child and tugged him back with an aggressive pull. “Get back here, you wanker.” She demanded.

John turned to look at her, eye-to-eye, faces mere inches apart, as she finally let go of him. “You’re gonna listen and listen good because I’m not bloody playing around and I have NO PROBLEM embarrassing you in front of your troops.” She gestured to the other soldiers in the room who had not heeded Price’s command to go back to work.

“You have no qualifications to decide what your soldiers need or do not need when it comes to their health. Hell, I wouldn’t trust you to tell your arse from your elbow considering the state of the First Aid that half of your soldiers came to Tidworth with.” She told him point blank, her hands now coming to rest on the railing of the catwalk that separated them.

Her voice grew louder with each word she spoke, venom slipping from her tongue as she continued her tirade. Her face had morphed into a wide-eyed, almost frantic look, her brows set low over her eyelids, and her jaw clenched tight.

“And even if you had qualifications, that gives you no right to talk down to me or my bloody staff. I’ve seen plenty of men like you in the last couple years and you all have one thing in common: hubris. You think that suddenly, what, cause you made Captain you can suddenly treat everyone as if they’re below you?” She confronted him as she leaned forward, getting right in his face.

“Just because your ego suddenly soared sky high thanks to your spiffy new title and shiny medals, it doesn’t mean that you can suddenly proceed as you fucking please. Your inability to fathom that your power over others is only in the scope of your immediate subordinates in the chain of command is not the Nurse and Medical Corps’ concern. We have better things to do than deal with little men with fragile little egos.” She shouted at him, pointing a finger right in his face, her teeth catching her lips as she spat pure vitriol at him.

“So you better hear me well and good-” She added and suddenly grabbed him by the front of the collar, tugging him close to her. “because I am not saying this again. If I hear so much as a PEEP about you, that you put in another request for Wallcroft’s clearance, or, God help you, that you called the nurse’s station and talked down on one of my sisters, again-” She warned him.

“I’ll print out the stack of over 30 requests you’ve already put in, come back here,” She pointed at the floor to mean Credenhill. “...roll ‘em up nice and tight and shove ‘em SO FAR UP YOUR ARSE that when I pull ‘em out your mouth, your teeth will work as a paper shredder. AM. I. CLEAR?!” Kathleen pointed her finger right in his face, almost poking him between the eyes with it.

John was dumbfounded. He had never been spoken to like this. Not since he became an adult. Even his mother wasn’t this intense as she reamed him out when he was younger, and there had been plenty of times where he had deserved it!

So, Price simply stared at her and blinked slowly, his breathing having hitched and his heart beating like a war drum in his chest. He swore he could hear his blood flowing inside his ears. His arms hung limply on either side of his body as he kept staring into the fiery woman’s brown eyes.

“AM. I. CLEAR?!” She repeated herself, eyes still wide, pupils blown, as she glared right into John’s blue eyes, his own pupils blown.

“Yes, ma’am.” John ended up saying and nodded imperceptibly.

Kathleen let go of his collar and leaned back. “That’s what I fucking thought.” She goaded in a vicious tone through her teeth.

Then, she turned around, facing Lieutenant Cameron and nodding at him before she marched off, forcing the lieutenant to rush after her to escort her back to the chopper, and leaving behind a stunned group of SAS soldiers… and her future husband.

#ikea writes 💚#cod oc #cod fanfic #oc backstory #cod modern warfare #oc: kathleen “brass” price #price x kathleen #price x oc

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diablademon · 3 months

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I did a list of how long time there were between Charlotte siblings births.

This was made with the idea that Big Mom gave birth each and every year from she was 18 to 60 and never skipped a year. But keep in mind that she apparently gave birth 43 times in 42 years. So there was one year she gave birth two times.

First of Cracker and his sisters are only 5 months younger than Opera and his brothers. I read that children only have a chance of surving being premature birth if its been over 6 months. Because its at 6 months lungs and other organs are fully developed. But this is a show where a woman was pregnant for 22 months so everything goes in this world I guess.

Brûlée and Broyé have two different birthdays, twins being born on different dates arent that uncomman, but Broyé would have been born 9 months after Brûlée, 28 days before Nusstorte. Sounds more like Broyé would be apart of a Quadruplets with Nusstorte and his brothes than a twin of Brûlée. Most likely just a mistake on Odas part.

Perospero: March 14th 19 months

Compote: October 15th 12 months

Katakuri, Daifuku, Oven: November 25th 12 months

Mondée, Amande, Hachée, Effilée: December 10th 9 months

Opera, Counter Cadenza, Cabaletta, Gala: September 29th 5 months

Cracker, Custard, Angel: February 28th -

Zuccotto: - -

Brûlée, Broyé: March 6th and December 26th 10 months or 28 days

Nusstorte, Basskarte, Dosmarche: January 23rd 23 months

Noisette: December 15th 12 months

Moscato, Mash, Cornstarch - December 16th -

Compo, Laurin: - -

Mont-d'Or: April 23rd 20 months

Mozart, Marnier: - December 20th -

High-fat, Tablet: - -

Smoothie, Citron, Cinnamon - October 16th -

Saint-Marc, Basans: - -

Melise: - -

Dacquoise: - _

Galette, Poire: October 19th 12 months

Snack, Bavarois: October 29th 9 months

Prim, Paraline: July 22nd -

Kanten, Kato, Montb: - -

Chiboust: - -

Chiffon, Lola: January 27th 22 months

Mobile, Marble, Myukuru, Maple: November 17th -

Brownie: - -

Joconde: - -

Raisin: March 23rd -

Panna: - -

Mascarpone, Joscarpone: February 27th 19 months

Yuen: October 15th 13 months

Newichi, Newji, Newsan, Newshi, Newgo, Nutmeg, Akimeg, Allmeg, Harumeg, Fuyumeg: December 2nd -

Nougat: - -

Pudding: June 25th 7 months

Flampe: February 11th 20 months

Anglais: October 19th -

Wafers: - -

Wiro: - -

De-Chat: - -

Normande:- -

Doice, Dragée: Ferbruary 21st 14 months

Anana: April 17th

526 months total from start of being pregnant with perospero (Added 9 months to before his birth) to her giving birth to Anana. ~381 of those months she was pregnant (total of 31.75 years spent pregnant) and ~145 months (~12 years) between that being not pregnant. 72% of her prime was spent being pregnant. (46% of her entire life)

Other facts: -When Big mom was 24(?) she joined Rocks Pirates. same year she gave birth to Zuccoto. -Rocks got defeated when Big Mom was 30, the year Mont-d'Or was born. -At 35 Year old Big Mom created her own pirate crew, the year when Melise was born. And as it seems her children become officers in her crew when they turn 15 means Perospero, Compote, Katakuri, Daifuku and Oven all joind the crew as officers at the same time.

I find Big Moms pirates to be very interesting and I want to know more how the development happend. When did tottoland become a candy fantasy land? Did she have to wait untill her children ate devil fruits for that to happen? Or did Streusen turn things into food? Did she leave Rocks pirate to give birth or gave birth at the ship and then left back to tottoland to leave her newborns there? Katakuri and his brothers was apparently born on a ship, but such infomation isnt mentiond for Perospero or Compote. Katakuris flashback showed him and his sibling to grow up in a city, so Big Mom didnt keep them with her.

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loomiseater · 20 hours

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Rambles

Warnings: smut ofc!, unprotected sex, oral male receiving, and p in v.

Spencer Reid x fem reader

Criticism is appreciated! I would love to know how I can improve on my writing.

Masterlist

Request page

Written: April 28th, 2024

Published: April 28th 2024

Wc: 1452

A/N: I'm on the same episode as the gif lmao

Summary: You find Spencer’s ramblings really cute

“You got him started” Morgan said as he shook his head at you. He was referring to Spencer going on a ramble about some chemical reactions. “Reid! Enough” Morgan said with some seriousness in his voice. Spencer frowned a little at his words. “Don’t be mean!” You say as you slap Morgan’s arm. “His little rambles are cute!” You finish saying as Spencer’s face started turning red.

Morgan raised his eyebrow at me as Emily started smirking while sipping her drink. “Cute, huh?” Morgan teased. “Anyone else thirsty right now? Y/n?” Spencer questioned as he hurriedly went to the kitchen. He looked nervous..and on top of that his cheeks had hints of red on them. You hope he’s not too embarrassed.

“You’re not gonna follow your man?” Emily questioned with a smirk as you rolled your eyes, soon following Spencer. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much, Spence” You say, voice hinted with a bit of sadness. “Uh-What? You didn’t embarrass me, I have no idea what you’re talking about” he replied but his voice was pitched just a little bit.

You simply nodded your head not wanting to push him; a thought soon popped into your head. “I know a way I can apologize” you say innocently as he looked down at you. He let out a little laugh before saying “yeah?”. You drag him to an empty office that nobody has filled yet. After locking the door you push Spencer to sit down in the chair. “Why’d you lock the door, Y/n?” He questioned. Wow, he really is that innocent.

Without answering his question, you climb onto his lap brining him into a kiss. At first he didn’t know what to do, leaving his hands awkwardly positioned until he squeezed your ass a little. You both break away from the kiss that had left you both breathless. “You’re so handsome” You complimented while looking into his eyes. “Thank you” he replied sweetly.

His eyes soon fell back down to your lips before he brought you into another kiss which honestly was surprising. You begin to pull off his vest then moving on to unbutton his button down. You pull away from him which left him confused before you fell to your knees and started unbuckle his belt.

“I’ve never done this before” he said hesitantly as you gave him a warm smile. “Then I’ll make it extra special for you.”

After you unbuckled his belt, you unzipped his pants as he pulled them down along with his boxers. You pulled his cock out of his boxers and he was already hard. He was bigger than you expected. Never in a million years would you have thought Spencer Reid was packing this much.

He looks nervous as you stare at it for bit before you place a kiss to his tip which made him let out a whimper. You kiss it one more time before taking him whole. It was his first time so you didn’t wanna tease him too much. As you took him whole, his head flew back immediately as he let out a loud moan. You didn’t care who heard, you wanted the whole office to know that you were the only one who could give Spencer Reid this amount of pleasure.

You soon started slowly bobbing your head up and down on his dick as he let out choked sobs. “Fuck!” He moaned to himself. You grab his hand and place it to the back of your head wanting him to fuck your mouth. He grabbed your hair into a makeshift ponytail and started forcing you down harder. As much as you like pleasuring Spencer, you couldn’t help the tears that fell down your cheeks. His grunts and moans did nothing but make your panties soaked.

“Your mouth feels so good” he whined as he closed his eyes. You knew he was close to finishing but you took your mouth off his dick anyway. “I was close” he complained. “Shut up” you replied as you started sucking on his balls which made him shut up immediately. He let out a moan he didn’t know he had. As you were doing that, you wrapped your fingers around his aching cock which made grip the chair tightly.

His face was filled with nothing but pleasure. You moaned on his balls which led him to whine your name. “Please, Y/n- I just need t-“ your words cut him off as you started jerking him off faster. “Come on baby, cum for me” you say seductively.

That was the final straw for Spencer as he shot his warm liquid all on your hand. His moan was longer this time. You licked his mess up off his dick and your hand, afterwards you placed one last kiss on his tip.

“You liked that?” You ask innocently as he nodded his head with quickness. “Yes! Shit that was amazing!” He responded. “Good thing we’re not done yet” you say as you started stripping in front of him, slowly taking off your panties last. You lead him to the couch on the other side of the room. You lay down on your back first as Spencer got on top of you, grabbing his dick and teasing your folds with it. “Are you sure you wanna do this, Spence?” You asked sincerely. “I’m sure” he answered.

He pushed himself inside of you as you felt the stretch. This was the biggest you ever had inside of you, so this was definitely a new feeling. As he did his first thrust, he placed his face inside the crook of your neck before he let out a grunt.

He pulled back out and thrusted back into you as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “Spencer!” You moaned as he sped up his pace. His thrusts were amazing considering he’s a virgin- well was a virgin. “You’re so tight” he whispered into your ear which made you whine a little. His husky voice just made you somehow wetter than before.

The room was filled with nothing but the sounds of your wetness, skin slapping, and Spencer’s grunts. With the way he was thrusting, you would’ve thought he was on a mission. He started kissing you passionately before he placed your legs on his shoulders. His actions made you clench around him as he shut his eyes before saying “shit! Don’t do that.” You did it again on purpose this time to see what he would do.

He slowed down his thrusts and started thrusting powerfully which took the air out of your lungs. “I told you not to do that again” he said as he squeezed my throat. He then picked up his pace again which had me whining like a baby. “Your dick is so good!” You scream as your legs start to shake. He lets out a low chuckle at your words before he starts to rub your clit slowly.

You close your eyes tightly due to the pleasure. “Spencer- it’s too much!” You whine as he kisses you to get yo to shut up. “We don’t want everyone to hear us now do we?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. “I think were too late for that” you respond breathless. He started rubbing your clit faster than before which made you squirt on him as smiled at his achievement.

“I think I can get one more out of you” he said cockily. He gave you one last powerful thrust which had you creaming on his dick. “YESSS!” You shouted as your nails dug deep into his back. He was still thrusting, trying to fuck you through your orgasm. You could tell he was close from his face expression.

“Where do you want it?” He grunted due to your tightness. “Inside me” you reply while gripping his hair, still somewhat out of breath from your orgasm. With no warning you felt his warm liquid fill you up. “Ugh- Shit thats the best thing I’ve ever felt” he said in your ear.

This was the first time I’ve ever fucked a man without protection and let him finish inside me.

“You sure you weren’t a virgin Spence?” I asked as fell on top of me. He laughed at my question before responding “I was, I just watch a lot of porn” he said seriously as I giggled. He started blushing, feeling completely embarrassed that he said that out loud.

“Was I good?” He asked sincerely. “You were perfect, Spencer” You reply while leaning in for a passionate kiss. “I forgot to ask..are you on birth control?” He questioned while looking down at me.

My silence was an answer for him.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #smut fic #criminal minds fandom #doctor spencer reid #bau team #loomiseater #spencerreidsmut

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heroesriseandfall · 2 months

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Canonical Batfamily Birthdays

Here are all the birthdates I know of that are canon somewhere in DC, with a preference for the main comics continuities. I have included exact sources and image references when possible. I am not including character introduction dates, just actual birthdays.

If you find any other sources for Batfamily birthdays, please do share!

A moment of silence for Batfamily characters who don’t have canonical birthdays yet, so far as I know. This includes Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, and more. :(

Summary

Source images will be further down, but here’s an overview in roughly age order (I’m not sure of Kate vs Selina’s ages) with the dates the birthdays were introduced and used:

Tim Drake: July 19th (from 2003)

Jason Todd: August 16th (from 2004)

Cassandra Cain: January 26th (from 2002)

Helena Bertinelli: February 14th (in the Batman: The Brave and the Bold universe, from 2010)

Helena Wayne: September 7th (from 1984), potentially October 20th or the 22nd of unknown month or maybe October 22 or maybe Feb 28th (all the New 52 on passports from 2011-2012). These could also be New 52 Helena Bertinelli’s birthdays or nobody’s birthdays. who even knows.

Dick Grayson: March 20th (from 1995), October ~24th ish (from 1990), November 11th (from 1976), December 1st (on Earth-16 in animated Young Justice universe, from 2012)

Barbara Gordon: September 23rd (from 1976), sometime in fall (from 1987)

Selina Kyle: March 14th (from 1976)

Kate Kane: January 26th (in Batwoman TV series from 2020), March 21st? (word-of-god by J.H. Williams III from 2012)

Bruce Wayne: October 7th (from 2021), February 19th (from 1970s various to more recently), April ~7th (from the late 1940s)

Jim Gordon: January 5th (from 1976)

Alfred Pennyworth: April 8th (from 1976), August 16th (in the Injustice: Gods Among Us universe, from 2016)

Note: in this post when I say “main comics continuity(s)/universe” I’m referring to anything that’s been a “home” continuity for the comics at some point. For example, pre-Crisis Earth-2, Earth-1/New Earth, and Earth-0/Prime Earth, as opposed to Elseworlds or DCEU earths that are still part of the broader DC multiverse but have never been the primary continuity of the comics.

Below are further details and source panels.

Details and Sources

Tim Drake

Tim has only been given one canon birthday. He turned 16 on July 19th in Robin Vol. 2 #116 (cover date Sep 2003).

Robin Vol. 2 #116 (Sep 2003)

Jason Todd

Jason turned 18 on August 16th in Detective Comics #790 (March 2004). This is his only canon birthday.

Detective Comics #790 (Mar 2004)

In post-Crisis/preboot (1986-2011) continuity, there was a gap of six months between when Jason died and when he was resurrected (Batman Annual 25). Jason died April 27th according to his death certificates in Batman Annual 25 and Batman Files 2011, so he would’ve resurrected near late October.

Batman Annual 25 (May 2006)

So, it could be that post-resurrection Jason is biologically 6 months younger than he chronologically should be. But honestly, do we even really know what multiverse-breaking resurrection punches and then a Lazarus Pit on top of that do to someone’s body??? Either way it’s just much more simple to just use his chronological age.

Cassandra Cain

Much like Tim and Jason, Cass has only ever been given one birthdate: January 26th from Batgirl Vol. 1 #33. With that birthday, she turned 18 in Batgirl Vol. 1 #37.

Batgirl Vol. 1 #33 (Dec 2002)

When Jan 26th actually comes, Bruce suggests David Cain could’ve lied about it, but Cass denies that idea and continues to treat the day as her birthday.

Batgirl Vol. 1 #37 (Apr 2003)

Why it's likely her real birthday: Bruce initially believes Cain must’ve lied because he doesn’t think Cain could’ve known her birthday. However, we later learn Cain had lied about her origins and was actually her biological father. Batgirl v1 #62 and #73 show he was there for her birth and could absolutely know the date.

On top of that, in Batgirl #37 Cass remembers celebrating her birthday with him as a child, so he did seem to actually keep track of it. I honestly don’t see any reason to believe he’d lie (Bruce is just a jealous spoilsport).

Helena Bertinelli + Wayne

I’m combining them here because the New 52 gives me a headache.

Helena Bertinelli celebrated her birthday on February 14th in a spin-off comic from the animated Batman: The Brave and the Bold series. This is obviously not part of regular comics continuity and the characters differ from the usual comics in many ways. And yet, for reasons that will soon be clear, it’s my favorite for actually being about Helena Bertinelli the Huntress and for not being an utter mess.

Batman: The Brave and the Bold #14 (Apr 2010)

In a character profile at the end of Infinity Inc. #7 (Oct 1984), Helena Wayne’s birthday was September 7th, 1959. Calculating back from October 1984, that would make her 25 at the time.

During the New 52, Helena Bertinelli was initially portrayed as a long-dead (secretly alive but don’t worry about it) mobster’s daughter and replaced by Earth-2’s Helena Wayne who got stranded on Prime Earth. This H. Wayne stole H. Bertinelli’s identity in the form of several forged passports and IDs, which had hints toward birthdates. The question is, can we take any of those birthdates seriously, and if so, which birthdates and for which character? (Cue my headache.)

Skip ahead to Dick if overthinking fake passports sounds boring.

When comparing to a real Italian passport, the date on H. Wayne’s fake Italian passport appears to be a birthdate. Note that the fake name is Carol Bertinelli, not Helena. H. Wayne said her IDs were inspired by H. Bertinelli but clearly she’s taking liberties for the IDs so that’s a point toward these being useless for H. Bertinelli birthdays.

Huntress Vol. 3 #1 (Dec 2011)

I don’t recognize the month abbreviation as a real abbreviation, but from the visible letter O I’m going to assume it means October. If it is, then the date is 20 October 1985. Sidenote: a 1985 birthdate during 2011 could put her age at about 26, which is actually quite close to how old she could’ve been based on pre-Flashpoint! 1985 has been given as Helena Wayne’s death year before, so it’s an interesting choice of a birth year for her. (Thanks to DC’s sliding timescale, though, birth years don’t actually mean anything in the comics.)

They don’t show her complete US passport, but I can see a “22” in line where the day of the month should be for her birthdate. This already contradicts the previous passport. This one uses Helena Bertinelli’s actual name, though–does that make it more relevant than the Carol one or this all still ridiculous because of the discrepancies?

Worlds’ Finest Vol. 1 #1 (Jul 2012)

We can try to glean the US passport birth month from the passport number at the bottom. The first two digits (“12” here) indicate the agency that issued the passport. 12 means the Honolulu agency. Right after “USA” is supposed to be the birthdate plus an extra number, in the order of year/month/day with the year being the last two digits of a year. Here we encounter another problem. It says 810228. This would imply her birthdate is 1981/02/28. That’s February 28, 1981. Since the earlier line indicated her birthday fell on a 22nd, this already contradicts itself.

Interpreting a Machine Readable Zone (MZR) on a Machine Readable Travel Document (MRTD)

However, I’d bet comic writers and artists aren’t always well versed in passport numbers (it’s already a stretch for me to bother checking it…). If they put the extra digit before the birthdate instead after, and the date is formatted month/day/year (the most common format in American English, so probably their first instinct), then we can drop the first 8 and it’s 10/22/8[?] with the last digit unknown. This would put her birthday as October 22, sometime in the 1980s. The 22 matches the earlier line, the October might match the previous passport if that really did say October (but contradicts the 20th), and the 1980s year could be 1985 to match the Italian passport.

At the end of the day I’m personally just going to let Helena Bertinelli be a Valentine’s born baby and call it a day, unless/until she gets a better one in the comics. For Helena Wayne I’d easily pick September 7th.

(My question is: did they give the crossbow vigilante a Valentine’s birthday as a Cupid joke??)

Dick Grayson

Dick has probably had the most birthdays of everyone (unless Bruce has more I don’t know about). All of them have their drawbacks.

In a main comics continuity, his most popular and most recent is “the first day of spring” so probably March 20th. This comes from Robin Annual 4 when his mom says she calls him Robin because he was born on the first day of spring. That presents some problems since there are other explanations given for the origin of “Robin,” including that his mom said he was “always bobbin’ along” (Dark Victory #12, page 17) or the original inspiration of Robin Hood (Detective Comics #38, p3).

Robin Annual 4 (Jun 1995)

Before that, in Secret Origins Vol. 2 #50 (Aug 1990), Marv Wolfman wrote a version of Dick’s origins where Dick turned 10 a week before his parents died on Halloween. That would make his birthday October ~24th (presuming that “a week” before Halloween literally means 7 days here).

Secret Origins Vol. 2 #50 (Aug 1990)

The first drawback of the October birthday is that it’s tied to Dick being 10 when his parents die on Halloween. Dick’s age and the date his parents die change a lot depending on the writer (Nightwing Vol. 1 #1 says his parents died June 27th, Dark Victory #8-9 says May, etc.). The second drawback is that few people remember this version of his birthday even exists.

Dick’s birthday is November 11th in Super DC Calendar 1976. Note: Despite being a non-diegetic calendar from almost 50 years ago, this source remains well known and used among comic enthusiasts (including those working at DC). Generally, I would say it should mainly apply just to pre-Crisis continuity, but it is also useful for characters that haven’t gotten updated birthdays ever since (like Roy Harper, Barbara Gordon, or Selina Kyle, for example).

Super DC Calendar 1976

Sidenote: Since Damian doesn’t have a canon birthday, November 11th is favorite to steal for my own fan canon Damian birthday. Dick has plenty birthdays to share and I think it’s cute. @ DC, give Damian and Steph birthdays, they’ve been birthday-less for decades!

Indeed, DC writer Tim Sheridan and editor Mike Cotton debated whether Dick’s birthday was in March or November. They favored March 20th and wrote a birthday scene in Teen Titans Academy #1 (published March 23rd, 2021). The publishing time near Dick’s birthday was intentional, though the date isn’t mentioned within the comic itself.

Link to tweet

The above birthdays were all meant to apply to a main comics continuity at some point. However, Earth-16, better known as the animated Young Justice universe (therefore outside of main comics continuity), says YJ Dick’s birthday is December 1st.

Young Justice Vol. 2 #20 (Nov 2012)

Unlike Helena Bertinelli, Dick has plenty of comics birthdays to choose from, so personally I’ll only count Dec 1st as being the birthday for YJ animated/Earth-16 Dick Grayson until or unless it’s ever mentioned to apply to main comics continuity.

Barbara Gordon

Super DC Calendar 1976 says Barbara’s birthday is September 23rd.

Super DC Calendar 1976

Since then, the only time I recall her birthdate hinted at is in Secret Origins #20 when her adoptive mom says her birthday is in the fall. This could support her birthday being September 23rd.

Secret Origins Vol. 2 #20 (Nov 1987)

Although she has celebrated her birthday on panel since then (the end of Nightwing Vol. 2 #153), she hasn’t been given any other actual birthdate. So I’ll keep September 23rd and call it a day.

Selina Kyle

Super DC Calendar 1976 says Selina’s birthday is March 14th. Once again, although it hasn’t been mentioned within a comic, it’s stuck around in popular consciousness (see: Catwoman actress Zoë Kravitz wishing Selina a happy birthday on March 14th).

Super DC Calendar 1976

Selina celebrated a birthday on panel in Catwoman (2002) #37 but the date was never mentioned. I don’t know of any other reference to her birthday, but my reading of Selina is thus far more sparse than my reading of the others.

Kate Kane

Kate’s birthday options all come from outside of the comics themselves.

In “An Un-Birthday Present,” season 1 episode 11 of Batwoman, a parallel version of her twin Beth had a driver’s license showing her date of birth as January 26, 1990. She and Kate later celebrated their birthdays on an episode aired Jan 26th, 2020. I don’t keep up with live action DC shows so I unfortunately can’t offer a screenshot (if anyone has one or the timestamp, please let me know!).

(I kinda wonder if somebody looked up Batwoman’s birthday for these episodes, saw Batgirl’s (Cass’s) birthday, and just ran with it. Batwoman and a Batgirl sharing a birthday is just. Ughhh.)

In 2012, one of her comic writers tweeted to choose a random date for her birthday and picked March 21st, which so far as I know has never been used as her birthday in comics.

Link to tweet

Bruce Wayne

Bruce’s most popular birthday is February 19th, but his most recent one is October 7th from the digital-only comic Legends of the Dark Knight. I believe that’s the only time October 7th has been referenced, but I’ve heard the animated show The Batman said his birthday was in October (can’t confirm, haven’t watched it recently).

Legends of the Dark Knight #10 (Jun 2021) - Note: two pages have been combined into one for this post

Still, even associates of DC seem to remember his February 19th birthday better. In February 2023, Warner Bro’s Gotham Knights game did a sale for Bruce’s birthday. I’ve also heard the birthday was used in the Gotham TV show, but again, I don’t watch much live action DC shows.

The February 19th birthday appears to come from the 70s and 80s. It’s his birthday in the Super DC Calendar 1976, and in Batman Family Vol. 1 #11: “Suprise, Suprise!” (May 1977). Bob Rozakis (known as DC’s “Answer Man”) said Feb 19th was Bruce’s birthday in the letter column of Detective Comics #494 (Sep 1980).

Letter column of Detective Comics #494 (Sep 1980)

Batman Family Vol. 1 #11: “Suprise, Suprise!” (Jun 1977)

Super DC Calendar 1976

Way back in the 40s, his birthday was in April, possibly April 7th. During a birthstone murder mystery, Bruce says his birthstone is a diamond, which is traditionally the April birthstone.

World’s Finest Comics #33/6 (Mar-Apr 1948): “The 5 Jewels of Doom!”

Star Spangled Comics #91 (Apr 1949) might imply the exact date was April 7th but we’d have to assume the party is on his birthday and that “this month” refers to the publishing month of April. I believe this is where people get the April 7th birthday when they bring it up.

Star Spangled Comics #91 (Apr 1949)

Early April also shines in Batman: Year One where it shows Bruce’s first night out as Batman being either the night of April 6th or the early morning of April 7th (Batman #405). So although the April Bruce birthday hasn’t been used in decades, it’s still a Batman birthday in a way.

I have also heard people say Frank Miller considered Bruce’s birthday to be in November. However, I have yet to find an original source of him saying that, and honestly (just like the “March 21st” birthday for Kate) if he never used it in any canon material I don’t put much weight in that.

Jim Gordon

The only birthday I’ve ever seen for Jim is January 5th from Super DC Calendar 1976.

Super DC Calendar 1976

Alfred Pennyworth

Alfred’s birthday in Super DC Calendar 1976 is April 8th.

Super DC Calendar 1976

In the Injustice: Gods Among Us universe (an alternate reality where the video game of the same name is set in), they show Alfred’s birth certificate, where it says his birthday is August 16th, 1943.

Injustice: Gods Among Us Year Five #26 (Jun 2016)

Maybe you’ll notice that August 16th is Jason’s birthday. A little funny considering the issue features Alfred refusing to share his birthday only for us to learn it’s the same date as Jason’s. Still, annoying. There are so many days in the year! Stop choosing the same ones!

This Alfred birthdate runs into a similar problem Helena’s birthdates did: it’s not part of main comics canon, it’s an alternate universe, so it may not be applicable to the main comics universe.

Note: if we calculate that 1943 birth year from Jun 2016 when the comic was published, that’d make Alfred 72 soon to be 73. Does that mean anything in canon? Probably not, but oh well. Also...token British character born by Windsor Castle? …of course.

Personally, I would rather go with the April 8th birthday than the Injustice one, since Injustice is an alternate universe. Also, outside of the humor of it, the idea of Alfred and Jason sharing a birthday is a bit too much for me. Still, it’s up to people’s own cherry picking.

Chronology

The birthdays in publishing order alongside notable reboots. A soft-reboot refers to reboots that only changed a few details with minor consequences, keeping the overall continuity mostly intact. A major reboot has significant effects on continuity (too many to list).

1935-1986: Pre-Crisis era (Golden Age begins ~1946, Silver Age runs from late 50s--early 70s)

Mar-Apr 1948: Bruce’s birthday is in April

Apr 1949: Bruce has a birthday party on the 7th of “this month”

Skipping a good three decades because I barely even know what’s in there. Sorry lol

Mid 70s to early 90s: Bronze Age era

1976: the super dc calendar says Bruce’s birthday is February 19th, Alfred’s is April 8th, Dick’s is November 11th, Babs is September 23rd, Selina’s is March 14th, Jim’s is Jan 5th

Jun 1977: Bruce celebrates his birthday on February 19th

Sep 1980: letter collumnist says Bruce’s birthday is February 19th

Oct 1984: Helena Wayne’s birthday is on September 7th, 1959

Mar 1986: the major Crisis on Infinite Earths reboot (begins post-Crisis/New Earth era, many previous comics are now considered Earth-2 instead)

Nov 1987: Babs birthday is in fall

Aug 1990: Dick turns 10 a week before Halloween (probably October ~24th)

Sep 1994: Zero Hour soft reboot (Batman and Robin become urban legends so Robin is not allowed on video, Bruce’s parents’ murderer is changed to unknown instead of Joe Chill, Selina is no longer a once-prostitute)

Apr 1995: Dick’s birthday is the first day of spring (probably March 20th)

Oct 2002: Cass learns her birthday is January 26th

April 2003: Cass turns 18 on January 26th

Sep 2003: Tim turns 16 on July 19th

Mar 2004: Jason turns 18 on August 16th

Jun 2006: Infinite Crisis soft reboot (Joe Chill is restored as the arrested Wayne family murderer, Superboy-Prime's punch retroactively resurrects Jason)

Apr 2010: In the Batman: Brave and the Bold universe, Helena Bertinelli celebrates her birthday February 14th

Oct 2011: the major Flashpoint reboot (end of post-Crisis/preboot, begins the New 52 and changes the primary universe to Prime Earth; significant character/timeline changes and erasures)

Dec 2011: Helena Wayne’s fake Carol Bertinelli passport seems to list October 20th as a birthdate

Jul 2012: Helena Wayne’s fake Helena Bertinelli passport lists some 22nd unknown month, Oct 22nd, or Feb 28th birthday

Sep 2012: Batwoman writer J.H. Williams III randomly picks Kate’s birthday as March 21st on Twitter

Nov 2012: Earth-16/YJ animated Dick Grayson celebrates his birthday on December 1st

Jun 2016: In the Injustice: Gods Among Us universe, Alfred’s birth certificate says his birthday is August 16th

Jul 2016: Rebirth reboot (restores some pre-Flashpoint continuity, some characters regain previous histories but now semi-synchronized with the New 52 era)

Jan 2020: Batwoman TV show Kate celebrates her birthday on January 26th

Mar 2021: Writer Tim Sheridan says he & his editor chose March 20th as Dick’s birthday, between the March or November birthdays

May 2021: Infinite Frontier holds all previous continuities as potential canon, restoring more of pre-Flashpoint

Jun 2021: Bruce says his birthday is October 7th in a digital-only comic

Feb 2023: Gotham Knights game has a sale for Bruce’s birthday

#batfamily #batfam #tim drake #dick grayson #bruce wayne #dc continuity #heroesriseandfall #cassandra cain #dc comics #jason todd #helena bertinelli #selina kyle #barbara gordon #jim gordon #alfred pennyworth

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sunflowervoltwentyeight · 1 day

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Happy 28th! Here is my April 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

When All Is Said And Done by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10 (76k)

“You must be thinking of another of your ex-husbands,” Louis snapped back, and Harry stilled, slowly turning to face him. There was something almost dangerous in Harry's look then but Louis stayed firm, not cowering away.

“Thankfully, I only have the misfortune of one ex-husband,” Harry said darkly, snatching up the plates and slamming them onto the table.

*****

Louis and Harry were married, but things fell apart, ending in divorce, broken hearts and separate lives. Years later, their paths cross once more, and time together forces old feelings to resurface. But is it too little, too late?

Greenhouses AU Series by TiredTiredTz / @tiredtiredtz (63k)

Glass Closets and Greenhouses (60k) Charlton Athletic defender Louis Tomlinson and worldwide sex symbol Harry Styles are rumoured to be hooking up after a viral video filmed at Harry’s Wembley show was posted online by Tommo’s twin sisters. Sources close to the pair tell us the couple have been dating for a while, with rumours of house hunting, marriage and even kids on the cards! Styles, 29, is as well known for his whirlwind love life as his chart topping music. Most recently linked to British fashion designer Alex Millet-Sloan, Harry has stayed tight-lipped on rumours of any romantic rendezvous between himself and footballer Tomlinson, 31, yet fans online are convinced that all evidence points to #Tomlinstyles being the real deal. Not Conditional (3k) Harry is bald and this is how I’m coping. Set a few years after the events of Glass Closets and Greenhouses.

It Feels Different When You’re With Me by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings (45k)

Harry fell in love with sign language as a kid. He never imagined the first love of his life would lead him straight to his second.

Every Lonely Place by HamPalpert (38k)

Facing the fact that he’s been prioritizing his career over his relationship, Harry proposes to his longtime boyfriend Louis on a whim. But when yet another work emergency takes precedence over their plans, Louis decides he’s had enough. Harry goes to bed drunk and alone, and when he wakes, he finds himself in an entirely different world. Over and over again, Harry visits a lifetime he’s once lived, across time and dimensions. And wherever there’s a Harry Styles, there’s a Louis Tomlinson.

The Act of Making Noise by suspendrs / @suspendrs (32k)

“Oh,” Harry frowns, waving him off. “No, I could never. I respect myself too much to sing for a living.”

It feels like a slap across the face, but Louis does his best not to stiffen, blinking once and then frowning. “What?”

“Those people are always so miserable, you know?” Harry says, hopping down off his stool and straightening his sweater. “There’s so much pressure on them, and they have to work so hard to keep up appearances, I can’t even imagine how difficult that is. I can’t even stand to listen to pop music today, let alone watch TV or read the magazines. It makes me so sad, thinking that those people, you know, the ones who actually went into it with heart, they only ever just wanted to make music and instead they got turned into things on leashes being paraded around to make money for other people,” he says. “Anyway, you can have the stool.”

Or, Louis's famous, Harry has no idea who he is, and they get snowed in together at a ski lodge in Vermont.

It’s About Time by kingsofeverything / @kingsofeverything (3k)

Best friends and roommates, Louis and Harry have been through a lot together, including law school for Louis, marriage and divorce for Harry. Their imminent eviction forces them to admit their feelings.

#28th appreciation #April fic rec #monthly fic rec #Larry fic rec #fic rec #hlcreators #read

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coweye · 1 year

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Commitment Issues - Part 8

Pairing: Benjamin Miller x Reader

Words: 2.7k

Summary: When you try and take your friends with benefits relationship to the next level, Benny’s response isn’t quite what you were expecting.

AN: So I lied - I'm so sorry for the wait! Recently, writing hasn't come as easy to me and although it's almost a year late I hope you enjoy, this isn't the final chapter - I lied twice.

➢ fic masterpost

PREVIOUS PART

28th April 2022 - 37 weeks pregnant

Life playing host to the parasite that was soon to be your daughter had only gotten worse. Hard to believe, I know.

The gift that kept on giving made sure that you’d suddenly without any warning whatsoever have the overwhelming urge to vomit.

There was no rhyme or reason to her neat new little party trick but at any given moment your stomach said nope and you bought up whatever you happened to have eaten or as the case may be; be eating at the time.

Honestly, you weren’t a negative person by nature, but these agonizing eight months had taken it out of you.

Hell, you were in the process of drafting an eviction notice if this kid didn’t get out of you in the next two weeks.

Long story short, between this and the Benny situation you were not exactly the best of company, right now.

The boys and Val had all learnt this early on and for the past eight days, you had given up all pretense of a brave face, now you were bleeding and letting everyone who would listen know about it.

When Santiago, who had decided to stay in town until the birth of your baby, suggested a stroll around the mall, you had fixed him with the stare that would have had a lesser man running back to Colombia with his tail between his legs. Until, of course, he had sweetened the deal with fried chicken, his treat and coincidentally the only meal that you had yet to regurgitate.

So, here you found yourself with Santiago and William and a six piece bucket to yourself.

The change in company was a welcome distraction from dwelling on your non-existent love life at home with the love of your life.

After the thorn in your side that was Jasmine, reared her ugly head at the baby shower, you had pulled back into your protective bubble of distant and cold.

Benny, though confused about the message, received it loud and clear as he returned to the swing to find you inside and talking incredibly heatedly to Valerie. In the eight days that followed, he yet to confront you about it. Apparently old habits died hard..

The camaraderie that had come hand in hand with your truce had dissolved. You weren’t actively unpleasant, but you didn’t melt into his side, or nap on the couch with him anymore.

You had established boundaries, resolving yourself to the simple philosophy of anything you wouldn’t do with Frankie, you wouldn’t do with Ben.

It was simple… well kind of, every one of your moves was carefully calculated and exhausting.

For example, lying on the couch watching a movie with a leg rub? Acceptable.

Frankie would do that for your swollen ankle joint, hell, he had done.

However, lying on the couch with his body sandwiched against yours as you fall asleep, the hardness of him pressed into your backside; well… that was quite clearly a no, but I digress!

Boundaries were established and what almost was, had been completely and totally healthily avoided at all costs, creating the exact tenuous home environment you'd spent so long trying to avoid.

So, here you found yourself in the food court, slamming some fried chicken trying desperately to forget your woes.

“She’s too clingy…” Santi huffed in between a bite of his burger, talking mostly to Will as you had yet to peak up from behind your bucket.

“Maybe she just likes you and wants to spend time with you, god forbid someone shows interest.” You grunted irritably between bites, looking for a fight.

Both men turned to you in surprise, the whites of their eyes visible as they feared your outburst.

Santiago strategically paused as he searched for the right words before he began to speak again.

“You’re right … Maybe I’m too harsh.” Pope placated as he fixed you with a look of reproach, however, that only served to enrage you further.

He watched for your reaction as if you were an angry bear or a child throwing a tantrum. Truth be told, you weren’t strictly unlike either of those things at that precise moment.

Your brows narrowed, ready to unload and tell him all the reasons he was a dick before a cramping pain in your bloated abdomen overwhelmed you. Your eyes clenched shut as you breathed heavily through your nose, your ringed fingers gripped at the circular table in pain.

It was impossible for you to judge how long went by before the pain finally passed.

You took a further second or two to even your breathing before you resumed eating, succinctly dropping the subject that had injected fire into your veins merely moments before.

With a fry in your mouth, you glanced up to find both men watching you.

“What the fuck?”

“Are you okay?” They questioned in unison.

A moment passed as you swallowed your mouthful before you concisely answered your comrades. “I’m pretty sure I’m going into labor.”

“And … you don’t think we should be actively doing something about that?” Santiago pressed, looking as if he was ready to bolt.

“Labor can take hours and I won't be able to eat once it gets going…” You shrug, picking up another piece of chicken.

“What’s wrong with you?” Pope breathed, eyes wide before he palmed in his eye sockets in frustration, attempting to rub the stress you induced away.

Will had dragged his chair to your side, his eyes focused on his watch.

“Don’t worry so much… the book said until they're ten minutes apart … there’s no point going … to the hospital!” You explain in between bites of greasy chicken.

Your words do little to quell their panic as both men look as if they're ready to pull their hair out with worry.

“I’ll ring Ben.” Santi groaned as he stood up and reached into his jacket pocket before fishing out his phone. He turned dramatically with a finger pointed in your general direction. “You get her to hurry up - I swear to god, Y/N. If you’re eating when I get back, pregnant or not, I’ll drag you to that car. You’re not having your baby in the damn food court… estúpida, obstinada…” The man continued grunting curses at your expenses as he stalked off for somewhere quiet with cell reception to call the father of your child.

The silence that extended all of three minutes was too good to be true as Will watched your face as you ate for any sign of distress.

“Whilst giving Pope a coronary is always a good time… don’t you think we should go and get your bag and meet Ben?” Will’s voice was soft, the kind of soothing tone you’d seen him use to talk down shell shocked soldiers - it was both unassuming and laced with copious amounts of compassion.

You’d be damned if it didn’t just piss you right off.

With a quick shake of your head, you dropped the empty bone into the bucket with the rest of the carcasses and took a long sip of your drink.

“I’m good here … I can meet you guys there if you like?”

The pinch in his brow was quite simply incredulous, his concern was quickly outweighing his patience.

“If you think I’m leaving you both here, you’re insane.”

Chewing on the straw of your drink; your eyes locked with his. They were brimming with a concoction of confusion and concern, which if the clench in his jaw was anything to go by, was slowly morphing into exasperation at your lack of compliance.

“I … just need some time.”

“Y/N. All you’ve spoken about for the past week is how you want this to be over, wish granted - she’s coming and she’s coming now.”

“That’s what he said…” You uttered half-heartedly under your breath as you broke eye contact, no longer able to face his look of bewilderment.

On the red tray in front of you was a lemon scented wet wipe hidden among napkins and sauces, you tore open the former and gratuitously began scrubbing the grease off of your hands, actively ignoring the perplexed stare of one of your closest friends.

“Y/N, we need to get moving… will you just stop and listen?” Will snapped finally as he grabbed the wipe from your grip as you passed over your digits for the third time.

Your own patience had reached its end as his hand gripped your elbow, his intention to make good on Santiago’s threat and drag you out, clear and present in your mind.

The devil in question was making his way back to your table, all quick strides as he dodged the food courts clientele.

You wrenched your arm from his grip huffing in annoyance at the well meaning Miller.

“Fine. Let's go and get my bag, maybe we can grab an iced tea on the way to the car…”

Will nodded but you knew the mother hen would never allow a diversion from the mission at hand.

All was going well.

You were compliant as you strode through the mall, both men flanking you like a high priority asset as you clambered into Santi’s rental truck.

Hell, you were goddamn amenable as you unlocked your front door and grabbed the hospital duffel bag from the cubby under the stairs.

However, your cooperation waned somewhat when heading to the maternity ward as the guys tried to wheel your chair past the hospital's Starbucks.

Your palm, lightening fast, caught the break on the chair causing it to veer left right into Santiago’s shins.

“Ice Tea!”

“You’ve got a baby about to shoot out of your hoo-hah and you're stopping for tea?!” Santi huffed incredulously as he rubbed his shin.

“My contractions are 25 minutes apart, when they’re 15, I’ll consider joining the panicking cry baby club.”

“Panicking baby- huh!” Santi huffed rubbing his forehead. “You are not well, Y/N/N! You’re having a baby - Go and have it and then I’ll bathe you in fucking tea!”

“I’ll come back down and grab you one-” Will placated before Santi bent to remove the break on the chair, allowing Will to move all of two steps, before you slammed it back on, the rubber tyres screeched against the tile floor of the hospital lobby.

“Tea. First.” You huffed much like a troublesome child.

This time it was Will who leaned down to remove the break, having clearly decided you weren’t in your right mind.

So, you did the only thing you could; you threw your baby bag off of your lap.

“Y/N, stop being a goddamn child!” Will huffed, you had clearly pushed him to the edge, not that it had been particularly hard.

Ignoring him, you began to stand. They both watched on in horror as you slowly ambled your way to the end of the queue.

Leaning against the drinks fridge, you sighed.

Your spine was aching something awful. The poor timing of this kid resumed as a contraction wracked your body, sharper than the others, it felt longer but you had no way to be sure.

Will was at your side the second it overcame your body.

“Twenty minutes apart, please, Y/N. Come on.”

When finally the pain dissipated, your aching back remained. You weren’t proud of the weight you were placing on Will but the floor was the only other option.

“y/n?! … Y/N!” You heard Benny hollar before you saw him, his eyes were wild with panic as he rushed to your side. He patted his brother on the shoulder, before taking his place. “Baby, what are you doing? You need to get into bed.”

“I want… my … tea.” You huffed, breathing not yet evening out.

“Fine, we get the tea and we go straight up. How far apart are they?”

“Twen-”

The gush of amniotic fluid leaving your body cut the older Miller off, soaking through your jeans and unfortunately onto Benny’s shoes.

“You just pissed, she just pissed!” Santi cried in disbelief, his hands an almost permanent fixture in his disheveled curls at this point. It was hard to believe this man was a pressure player.

“It's not piss, it's her waters. We need to go, I’m sorry baby, you can have all the ice tea you want when it's safe for you both.” He bent down and caught your sodden legs, picking you up in one sweep.

If you weren’t currently covered in amniotic fluid, that story book firefighter carry would have set your loins ablaze.

Who were you kidding?

You were absolutely drenched in amniotic fluid and your loins were practically smoking.

Between writhing in pain as your uterus contracted to eject a literal watermelon and lusting over your baby daddy who you had spent the last eight days practically snarling at every time he dared advance, the journey to your delivery suite had been all but a blur.

Somehow all three men surrounded you, having coerced their way through the midwifery staff with their nefarious charm.

“How ya’ doing champ?” Santi questioned as you huffed on the oxygen inhaler handed to you by your midwife. A thumbs up was all you could offer as you groaned through the contractions that were now give or take five minutes apart.

“How about we use a bit of gravity?” The woman in control of the drugs questioned. A suggestion you were only more than happy to try.

Following her instructions and with minor assistance from Ben you were now on all fours, frantically inhaling the gas and air.

“We’re going to need to clear the room, anyone who isn’t the father needs to leave.”

You were so far gone, you didn’t care if they saw the business end of your cervix. All you knew was uncontrollable pain that wracked your body every five minutes like a sadistic egg timer.

Ben wiped at your forehead with a damp towel as tears escaped.

“You can do this, baby.”

“UGNGH.. It feels like I’m shitting a knife!” You cried as another contraction wracked your body.

“Not long now, gorgeous. Then we’ll have our baby.”

“I’m not ready.” You cried burying your face in the reclined back of the bed. You couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“You are-”

“No. We’re not ready. Things were … supposed to be fixed… I promised her.”

“Wha-”

“I love you, you stupid fucking idiot. I have done for like ten years… loved you from the second I heard your tone deaf ass singing that … crappy hick song on base. Ungh… And everything is so broken because I don’t want you … to just stay for the Bean, I want to be with you … because you want to be with me.” You cried, tears wracking your body as uncontrollably as the contractions.

“It’s all broken… I promised her and I fucked it all up. You … and Jaz can just live happily ever-” You cut yourself off with a low wail as another contraction wracked your body. It seemed to knock Benny out of his stupor as his hand rubbed your lower back.

It was a moment before you leveled out and remembered you were divulging your innermost thoughts but a moment ago, though you couldn’t find it in you to care.

Bigger fish to fry, and all that.

“I love you. Even if you are the goddamn most stubborn fuckin’ idiot I’ve ever met. You're the mama of my baby, yeah. It scares the crap outta me. Loving you. Damn near spent three months thinking up all the reasons we couldn’t be together cause it scared me so bad.” He huffed, stroking your hair. He helped you reposition on your back, as you breathed in another wave of oxygen. “I love you, Y/N. - I don’t do this. I don’t do relationships … because this feeling in my stomach when I think of you is fuckin awful. Sure I get the tingles when you smile at me or stroke my arm. But ninety-nine percent of the time, fucking nightmare, I worry if you’re happy, if you’ve eaten and now we’re adding an whole ass entire other person into this fucking clown show.”

“Gee… thanks.” You huffed in between breaths of gas and air.

Ben chuckled as he pushed the sweat sodden hair back from your brow. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against yours, the kiss was brief and nowhere near what was needed but it was all you could manage.

It was enough, you thought at that moment.

The promise, that everything wasn’t lost, there was hope ahead, it carried you through.

@sixshooter665 @queenie-b- @rambling-in-purple @anaaaispunk @miraclesabound @kravitzwhorehore @ahsokathearcher @xoxabs88xox @heresathreebee @psychadelichue @marauderskeeper @tanzthompsonn @mermaidxatxheart

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