#not tagging them because that take too long

[gotham-daydreams]

Not Now (PT. 1)

[Platonic! Yandere! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, Mild General Yandere(ish) Behavior, Mild Arguing, Awkward Tension(?)]

(Sorry, forgive and forget isn't an option anymore. Sort of proofread and lightly edited. If you thought the 2nd chapter was long, you're in for a little treat. A little more focus on Dick this time with some sprinkles of the others, and a bit of Tim in the beginning. Meeting some of the reader's friends now. The 2nd part is longer... and sort of where the 'real' stuff happens, but this part of the chapter is still important imo. Take your time reading this, and remember to take breaks!)

Tags: @bigcandlesmolbrain, @d4mi3nn , @mindscape123, @143637-hrrm, @lilyalone, @ceramic-raven , @bruhfan-3 , @i-thirsty-boi , @yandere-enthusiast , @1mawh0re , @vanessa-boo , @agent-nobody-knows , @myeagleexpert , @waitingforanarchicaddiction , @mottysith , @simpingfor-wakasa , @imjustheretogetalif , @toast-on-dandelioms , @instantmiraclekryptonite , @luvr0cksadie , @littlefeather345 , @generosityheart , @emmbny , @sereinitysmind , @love-zami , @angstylittleb1tch , @kiiyoooo , @andrasia , @aenishas , @gyarukitti , @ash1 , @samohxt2-0 , @books-are-everything , @kurai-hono-blog , @veryrascalbiscuitbagel , @lavender-moony

@vikkus-main, @ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhha, @iloveanimeandkpop7, @spacecerealbowl,

If you aren't tagged then I'm sorry! I may have missed you, or tumblr was being weird and it wouldn't work :']

Chapter 3 of this post. Chapter 2. Part 2. [Series Masterlist]

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The night was young when everything went to chaos.

The streets were empty for a change, with no one daring to step outside. With those who once roamed them making an effort to quickly step inside, and wait out the rest of the night. Deciding to be more careful, and not tempt fate one too many times for once.

There was something different about tonight, that much everyone knew, but what exactly was going on was anyone's guess. Something was in the air that made it thicker, and harder to breathe. The atmosphere felt different, and weighed down on the city's residents. No civilian or thug was safe from the sudden change and the effects it had on Gotham. Not to mention that the vigilantes — the people who dared to protect Gotham during its darkest hours — seemed more focused than usual. 

Not in the way where they were more focused on targeting crime in Gotham, and getting rid of her more corrupted and infectious roots, but in some… other way. Like they were focusing on one particular thing, and ignoring everything else in the process. 

What that thing is, no one knew, but most were wary and cautious enough to not get in the way. Unwilling to find out what would happen if they got caught in the crossfire of whatever was happening.

However, this is still Gotham. Where some saw danger, others saw opportunity. So they tried to start something, thinking they could sneak right past the heroes of the city, and fly under their radar more easily compared to previous nights because of how focused they seemed to be on something else. 

Yet, just as the fire began to lit, it was snuffed out.

A heavy stomp stopped the flames from even daring to light, killing it before it could even think to rise. The stomp itself coming down much more swiftly and heavier than before, digging the thugs it hit into the ground. They, the vigilantes who dared to protect Gotham and their citizens night after night, were harsher that way. More brutal than the city had ever seen them before, and that was quick to kill off some sparks that were trying to light. They were quicker, faster, and hit a whole lot harder. As if just wanting to get things over with, and quickly move on. 

It was almost like they were rushing, and whoever thought that wouldn't be entirely wrong.

They just wanted to put all of their time and energy into finding you, but still had half a mind to take care of the crime in Gotham. Since, they'd have to deal with it anyway if they wanted things to go as smoothly as possible. Not to mention the off chance that some thugs could be messing with you, and so they'd get to swoop in and save you if they ever ran into such an altercation. Though, they didn't want to run around and just hope for that chance, so they also chose certain places and people to interrogate and search for. Taking out any and all thugs as well as minor criminals along the way.

As if anyone in their way was doomed from the day they were born, and dared to step foot in Gotham. As if they were cursed the very moment they dared to live in this damned city at all.

Nevertheless, some went after your teachers while others went to search through places you had been to for one reason or another. Whether it was for a performance or otherwise, it didn't matter. The fact that you had been there before was the only detail they cared about.

Finding you, and any information about you came first. Everything else was secondary.

That's why Tim was more focused on trying to find more… personal information about you. From your email, to where you lived, and who your friends are — he wanted to know everything. Even if he already had your phone number, you weren't responding or picking up whatsoever. Which wasn't exactly helping him calm down. 

If only he could track your phone somehow-

["You have any new information yet?"]

Jason suddenly spoke up, making Tim scoff and narrow his eyes at the computer screen he was looking at, as if it was Jason's face. 

How annoying.

"You've asked that question several times in the last fifteen minutes."

["And? Do you have any new information, or what?”]

Tim could only roll his eyes, having been scrolling through so many social media posts and pages, that he had lost count of exactly how many he had gone through or looked at. All he knew was that the total amount was quickly approaching triple digits.

Anything mentioning you caught his interest, and eventually he had found your public account — which, as expected, just held dates for your performances and when a new album or song of yours would be coming out. There were also a few previews of songs you would be playing at the time, had written, or both, and as much as Tim would like to listen to them all, he couldn't. Not right now anyway. He had to focus, for you.

… Though he'd keep it in mind for later.

"Besides more places where Y/n has performed, and when? No. Who could've guessed."

Jason scoffs, which almost made Tim smile a little but he quickly wiped it off his face, focusing again.

["Guys, let's not fight, alright? Just focus on finding Y/n."]

Dick suddenly spoke as well, the sounds of a fight slowly dying down could faintly be heard in the background.

["I'm not trying to start a fight, but y'know what would help with finding Y/n? Some fucking new information."]

["Language!" Dick sighs before continuing, "Look, just calm down-"]

["I am calm."]

["-and focus. We'll find them."]

Jason clicks his tongue, clearly getting upset. 

Tim couldn't say much, seeing as he's already a bit upset himself, but that wasn't really saying much either. All of them were getting progressively frustrated and annoyed, but it was the source of those feelings that were different for each and every one of them. You were a big part of it, of course, but their anger wasn't directed towards you — not for Tim, anyway. Never.

Rather, it's the factors that surrounded you, and maybe their hate and guilt towards themselves, and what they've missed in your life — is what really drove them to try as hard as they are now. They all want to see you, but they have their own separate reasons despite how similar they may seem.

["How the hell can you be so sure? They could be getting killed, or being tortured right now. We need to find them as soon as possible- and you'll never guess what we need for that to happen."]

Tim could practically hear the eye roll in Jason's voice.

["We're all trying to find Y/n as fast as we can! Have a little faith, they can fight-"]

["You don't actually believe that, right?"]

["..."]

Dick's silence spoke volumes, but some of them understood it better than others, because they feel the same way. Fighting in tournaments and in controlled environments is different than fighting out in the streets, and in Gotham no less. No amount of trophies or medals could change their minds on that. Nothing could.

["See? Even you don't believe it."]

[Dick sighs, "Look, let's just keep looking while Babs and Tim grab more information, alright? We have to be patient."]

["That's reeeal rich coming from the guy who rushed out of the fucking Manor, the very second he heard Alfred didn't know where Y/n was. Weren't you the first one to start looking for them in the city?"]

["Y/n isn't going to be dead in the next few minutes, Jason-"]

["You don't fucking know that."]

Again, a brief silence passes as Dick just sighs again.

["Grayson does have a point, Todd."]

Damian spoke up, causing Tim to roll his eyes almost instinctively. Just remembering that he was technically working with the youngest Wayne, made his mood worsen. Though he just pushed his annoyance to the side, and continued his search. 

If it were up to him, he wouldn't be working with half of the family, but that's the thing — he didn't have a choice. None of them really did. Finding you was just that important to them. You, in general, had become that important to them, and in just a few mere hours no less. Even if it left a few of them biting their tongues, and hiding their clear distaste for having to work with certain people. Still, they tried to work together to the best of their ability.

Tim just took a breath, still listening in on the conversation as he scrolls through even more websites and pages. A collection of photos and announcements leading him down a rabbit hole of posts, and finding some accounts that Tim was beginning to think belonged to your friends with how often they commented, the things they'd say, and how you'd respond. Even if the majority of those comments were on older posts, it was still something. So, he dug deeper.

Eventually, he came to the conclusion that your personal account was private. Since, he found one of the accounts he thought belonged to one of your friend's, and they mentioned an account Tim couldn't access. Of course, he hacked it and got in, but there still wasn't anything of use from what he could see. The occasional pictures were nice, even if they didn't show your face too often, but they didn't give him any information he could use to locate you. Hell, even the account itself didn't have a set location listed, and nor did your email. With the only thing he could gather from posts you privated being that you were still in Gotham, at the very least.

However it did seem like you not only didn't post too often, but were careful about what you posted even on your private account. Not to mention who you posted about as well, and how you worded things. As if you knew someone would be looking through your posts someday, and try to find you. As if you knew Tim would be looking through your page, and try to find you by the little bits of information he thought you'd accidentally leave behind. However, all he found was mostly inconclusive with his current objective. The most he could gather was that you either lived in an apartment, were staying with a friend, or settling at various hotels and such just to have a roof over your head. Though not much else.

Sighing, he kept looking.

Just where are you?

["Oh yeah? How so, demon spawn?"]

["Jason-!"]

["L/n knows how to fight, they can surely take care of themself for a few minutes." Damian states. Cutting off Dick, and ignoring the name Jason used to refer to him.]

["Oh, so you believe that?" Jason scoffs.]

["I haven't been given a reason to think otherwise."]

["Right. Okay. So let's say that Y/n isn't dead for a second here. Do you know how many enemies they could potentially have? Or just how many people want them dead? They're known as a Wayne kid, and a musician too, apparently. Anyone could be after their head, or want to squeeze some money out of them for all we know. How are they supposed to fight against threats like that?"]

["And you think they aren't prepared for that? With how much time has passed, I doubt they'd still remain ignorant to such risks. Especially with the career they've chosen as well." Damian scoffs, as if frustrated and offended on your behalf, "No wonder L/n left."]

["Damian!" Dick exclaims, the youngest Robin's words clearly uncalled for.]

["What? You don't truly believe they just ‘ran away’. Do you, Grayson? Even Father doesn't believe such nonsense."]

Tim could only remain silent, but he had suspected as much as well. He didn't particularly enjoy agreeing with Damian, but for a change, it seemed that they were on the same page. 

After all, the more Tim looked, and the deeper his research went, the possibility of you having left, instead of ran away, was turning into a clear certainty. Not to mention that various details he noticed in different posts, seemed to indicate that you had no intentions of coming back home, further proving that thought to be true.

It wasn't really even through posts you made either, but instead posts your friends had made. Various pictures and videos shared on their accounts showing the pieces of your life that the family had missed out on. Showing Tim what he had missed out on. 

From parties and celebrations that were held for your accomplishments and your friend's, to events you attended with them instead of someone from your family. To smaller things such as various study sessions that were held, sleepovers and all the fun activities you did with your friends, to sneaky photos taken of you practicing, and how nervous you used to be behind stage — only to later show how confident and comfortable you had grown in more recent pictures.

He saw your life and nearly every part of it he had missed through someone else's eyes. Through the camera lens that captured how much fun you had, or just how happy you were during the time the photo was taken, or how calm you looked as you set up your instrument and prepared to play it, and how focused you became when you did. Videos that showed you getting into the zone, and displaying your amazing skill and talent that Tim never saw up until now. That the rest of the family never knew about until recently, just because they couldn't put a few seconds to the side to even try and give your music a listen. Just because they never made time for you, and now they were finally paying the price for it. Finally realizing what they had truly lost, and why the occasional, soft melodies that would play at night had stopped entirely.

They had pushed you away, and you left. That was the true reality of the situation.

Yet the others didn't seem to believe it, or maybe refused to. Seeing as no one dared to say anything else for a few moments.

["... Bruce?" Dick hesitantly spoke up, he clearly didn't want to think about it. Let alone consider it.]

A heavy sigh could be heard before Bruce said anything. 

["It's a possibility." His cold, calculated voice pierced through the air. It was less clear, but he didn't seem too fond of the idea either.]

["'Possibility'? Father, you can't be serious-" Damian tries to speak up, only to get cut off.]

["Exactly! Yeah! It's only a possibility, and we won't know for sure unless we find them." Stephanie pitches in, clearly trying to stay a little positive despite the situation.]

["Right…" Dick took a breath, "Well, what do you think, Tim?"]

"..."

Tim's silence said everything, and besides, he was much too focused on a particular thing he managed to find to really be paying attention anyway.

["... Tim?"]

["To think that Drake would be the only other sensible person here. Unbelievable."]

["Look- we don't know for sure, okay? But anyway, how did the interrogation go? Find out anything?"]

The rest of the conversation fell into the background. Tim would roll his eyes, but again, something else had caught his attention, seeing as he found a rather peculiar post.

On one of your friends' accounts, there was a post that showed you and two other people. All of you were wearing formal clothes, and stepping out of a theater that Tim recognized. The person taking the selfie had an arm wrapped around your shoulders, and he noted that they were the owner of the account. The other person was hugging your arm, and did bunny ears behind your head. All of you were smiling, and you looked so… happy..

Tim shook his head, and just focused on the individual hugging your arm. He didn't recognize them, not completely anyway, but noticed how their account was tagged in the post, and how it was an account he hadn't looked into yet. So, he went to their page and scrolled through their various posts. A particular detail already catching his interest as he scrolled down.

This person seemed to spend a lot of time with you…

Not that your other friends didn't, but this person seemed to have more posts with you in them, compared to the other accounts Tim has looked through thus far. There were many photos of you both hanging out, with some other personal posts sprinkled in here and there — but Tim isn't here for that. He's looking for you, so of course he ignored posts that didn't involve you.

Most of the photos showed you both hanging out and doing various activities together. With Tim's heart squeezing the more he saw, and further began to realize just how much of your life he had missed. Though he pushed it all to the side, just as he has been doing this entire time.

He could feel terrible about all the nights you spent away from home, and how no one noticed, later. He could feel guilty about all the time he's wasted not being with you when given the chance after he found you. 

Only then, once you were safe again, once you were home, would he allow himself to feel the full weight of all he hadn't done. Though only when you were home, would he let himself fully see and realize just how little of an impact he had on your life. How he may as well have just been nothing but a figment of your imagination with how often he was present, along with everyone else.

Though, for that, he had to find you first, and he will, so he kept looking.

Eventually, he did stumble across a curious post. One that not only confirmed his suspicions, but also gave the most important piece of information Tim could've found right now.

It was another photo taken without your knowledge, seeing as your back was facing the camera, and a bit of your friend's face could be shown. You were moving some boxes into a building, and your friend seemed to be covering their mouth with their other hand — as if they had been laughing and were trying to cover it up. The caption of the post said how you lost a bet, and now had to move in most of the boxes yourself, but how they'd help you if they saw you genuinely struggling. Only to put in parentheses how viewers of the post shouldn't tell you that. 

However, what caught his interest was the text on the image itself, and what parts of the building were shown.

['First day of moving in!!! Already making my bestie hate me by having them do all of the work♡ They're the best! Look at them go ♡♡'] The text in the photo read, with the building itself having a number, among various other details to suggest that it was an apartment building. 

Tim felt his heart leap to his throat. No way, had he really…? No. No, he couldn't get his hopes up, but he searched for the building by using the other photos your friend had taken that eventually got him a street name and number. It didn't even take him a minute to find the exact building that perfectly mirrored the one in your friend's photo. 

He tried to not work himself up too much, as he didn't waste any time finding the building's security system, and hacking into it. He didn't want to get his hopes up, only to end up disappointed. He didn't want to think about certain things or make up assumptions, only for them to turn up untrue. Yet, his heart rate increased as his hands began to shake despite his efforts.

No way, he thought. No way.

Getting into the system was a breeze, but Tim could hardly focus on that as he immediately looked through the building's security footage. He matched the dates of both the post and footage, and found you bringing in boxes, just as the photo had shown.

He watched you go into the elevator and took note of what floor you went up to, and eventually what apartment you walked into as well once you got there. Tim even observed as you took a second to yourself, sighing before going back down, and doing the process all over again — and even how you had to use the stairs at one point. Seeing as your friend had the bright idea to 'race' you, and see who could get most of the remaining boxes to the apartment in the least amount of time. It was a close tie, and your friend had won, but that's besides the point.

Tim went through other footage just to make sure he had the right information, and knew for certain that you lived in this particular apartment with your friend. For all he knew, you could've just offered to help them move in that day, so he had to be sure. He had to be certain. He couldn't afford to be wrong this time around.

Yet with all the footage he was able to review, and all the dates getting closer and closer to the current day, he was able to confirm it. He saw you walk in and out of that exact apartment on that exact floor, and leave and enter that exact building multiple times. With the amount of time that's passed, it made sense — even if Tim couldn't figure out where you had stayed between the few weeks you had presumably left the Manor and when you moved in with your friend, but that hardly mattered now. What did matter is that he found out where you live, and now had your address.

He almost couldn't believe it, staring at the document where he has been listing all of the information he's gathered from this search. 

Having just finished writing down your address, it all felt so unreal.

He's done it. He's finally done it.

"Holy shit." Tim cursed under his breath, disbelief clear in his voice.

["Language, Tim."]

Bruce's voice suddenly sounded, causing Tim to jump before he quickly tried to settle down. 

"Right, sorry." He apologized, placing a hand over his racing heart. God, that scared him more than it should've.

["Did you find anything?"]

Someone tsked at the question – while Tim just looked at his screen, still processing all that's happened, and suddenly feeling unsure. 

Should he just keep this to himself, so that he could go after you? The others didn't know where you live… they didn't have to know yet. This was a golden opportunity — should he really be giving this up?

["With how long it's been? And all he's been able to find out? We'll be lucky if he even knows if Y/n is dating or not."]

["Jason, c'mon.." Dick tried to pitch in, dragging on.]

["What? I'm just saying-"] 

"I know where Y/n lives." He found himself blurting out, Jason's words irritating him more than they would've. More than they should've.

["... Really? Where are they, Tim?" Dick didn't waste a moment to ask.]

["Yeah, just spill already so we can go get them."]

["Send me their location."]

["Send me the info too!"]

Tim could only sigh, rubbing his temple as he tried to collect his thoughts. Of course he just had to run his mouth before thinking things over. Of course he had to let that little comment get to him. Of course he just had to allow it to get to him so much that it made him give up the most important piece of information he had found out tonight. 

Of course. Just great.

["Guys, I don't think it's a good idea for all of you to just go and see Y/n."]

Barbara finally spoke up, voice calm and collected. 

["Why? I mean, I get that seeing the whole family all at once might be a little overwhelming… but I don't see why a few of us can't go." Dick questioned.]

["Because it's been months since they've last seen any of us? There's a reason why they haven't gone back to the Manor, and still haven't picked up your or Tim's calls."]

["... You're not saying-"]

["I'm just suggesting that maybe only one of you should go to kind of… test out the waters. We can't be sure of anything, and the best way to see how we should go about things is to know how Y/n feels about us first."]

["But we need to bring them home, they're not safe out here." Jason pointed out, already not liking the idea.]

["I know, but we can't just show up and expect them to comply because we're family. For all we know, they might-"]

["Okay! Um, I think we get it now." Stephanie interrupted, the idea already bothering her.]

["Fine, then I'll go." Jason proposed, sounding like he was just finishing up taking out a few thugs, if the faint noises in the background were anything to go by.]

"And why's that? I already have the location, so I'll go." Tim pointed out, already gathering his stuff, preparing to leave as quickly as he could.

["Because if they try anything, I'll be able to stop them. What're you going to do with your scrawny, lanky arms?"]

"They won't fight me, Jason." Tim sighed, as if that was obvious, "and besides, I thought you didn't think they could fight anyway?"

["I don't, but anyone could take you down without even trying."]

["Jay! Ugh," Dick groans, "Look, I'll go, okay?"]

["Oh yeah? And why should you go instead of me?"]

["Because at least I won't scare them off, and if anything happens then I can handle it too."]

["I'm going." Bruce stepped in, speaking as if the decision was already made.]

["If Father is going, then so am I." Damian chipped in.]

["The last person Y/n needs to see right now is definitely you, demon spawn." Jason scoffed.]

["You'll just scare them before you even get a word in, Bruce!" Dick tried to reason.]

["Hey, um, what if I go instead? At least I won't intimidate them or push them to come with us too hard." Stephanie suggested.]

Tim sighed, "Look, I can go and reason with them. Again, I already have the location so it makes sense-"

["No." Bruce said flatly.]

"But why!?"

["Father already said that he and I are going to see L/n," Damian stated, as if it was obvious, with a small scoff. Adding on, "Todd may also have a point."]

"So?! I already have the information, and I already said that Y/n won't fight me!"

["We can't say for sure what they will and won't do," Dick said, trying to deescalate the situation, "like Babs said, it's been a while. We don't know how they'll react or how they feel about us."]

["Is this you just trying to seem reasonable, so you can go see them first?" Jason asked, unconvinced.]

["What?! Of course not-!"]

["You're not really convincing anyone here, Dick…" Stephanie pointed out.]

The back and forth went on for a while. None of them could come to an agreement, as they all want to see you. They all want to be the first to actually meet you, and to experience what they all have found out about you first hand. Even if certain individuals were more guilty of that than others, the point still remained. 

They just want to see you so much, could you really blame any of them?

Barbara sighed at the chaos, the arguments and defenses just getting more and more ridiculous. Eventually, just boiling down to certain people trying to prove that they want to see you more compared to others, and therefore should be the first to see you.

They all miss you, or desperately want to see the idea of you that they had created in their heads, but that wasn't a valid reason for why they should go and see you either. Especially considering how important this meeting would be. Since it would change and determine a lot of things, depending on how well or awful it went.

"Guys, look, just- whoever's the closest to the location should go." Barbara suggested with another sigh, which thankfully caused the constant arguing to stop for now. 

["Fine, alright then." Tim agreed, albeit reluctantly.]

Barbara could only be a little thankful for the cooperation, but slowly grew confused at the silence that followed.

"Tim?" She asked, only to get another sigh as a response.

["It's Dick."]

["What? Really?!" Dick exclaimed, clearly happy at this turn of events.]

["Yes." Tim confirmed with a small groan, the frown evident in his voice.]

"Well, that settles it. Dick, you're going. Tim, send him the address. The right address, okay? We don't need more arguments or complications on this." Barbara says, "Don't push them too hard. The last thing we need is for their opinion of us to get worse, Dick."

["I know, I know. It'll be fine! I've got this!" Dick still sounded a little too happy, before suddenly going quiet.]

Barbara could only hope for the best at this rate.

["Did he seriously just turn off his comm link, and leave?" Jason asked as his voice rose, clearly upset.]

["Seems like it. Can't say I'm surprised since he sounded reallly happy to be able to see Y/n." Stephanie confirmed, sighing softly.]

["This is going to go poorly." Damian grimaced with another scoff.]

["Yeah, well, we can only hope he doesn't mess up too badly."]

["Let's try to think a little realistically, Tim." Jason said.]

Barbara just let out a huff as she looked at the screens in front of her. A little hope never killed anyone, but really, she didn't have a good feeling about this.

Maybe Dick really wasn't the best choice.

—

You were still calmly sitting in your apartment, messing around with the instrument in your hands. Since you've been switching between the ones you have every now and again, trying to find a particular melody you were looking for, but hadn't found just yet. You didn't have easy access to as many instruments as you did a few months ago, but you learned to work with what you had. Having taken home the very first instrument you bought yourself, and a few more of your favorites that could fit in the apartment that you managed to get your hands on for a decent price.

Sure, you did have other places you could go to that allowed you to play the other instruments you didn't have, but you liked to play at home if you could help it. There was just something about being in a comfortable space while composing a song or melody, that just felt nice. You truly felt at home, a feeling you didn't realize you missed until you left the manor and finally had a space that you could truly call your own. A feeling you didn't want to let go of, if you could help it.

Your life was still busy but it was beginning to slow down. You dedicated more time to things you actually enjoyed, but also made an effort to take care of yourself and hold onto good habits you had developed over the years. Though you were still trying to let go of some bad ones, you were making progress. 

You felt… happy here. At peace, even.

You were surrounded by people that saw you and even recognized you, and were beginning to see that you had a family of your very own all along. 

Unlike the family you were adopted into, your friends showed their care and support — and if anything, made sure you wouldn't forget it. With you showing the same care and support back, and your efforts being recognized instead of pushed to the side. Being reciprocated instead of leaving you with nothing, and making you feel more alone and unwanted than words could describe.

Sure, it wasn't perfect, and you've had your fair share of arguments and times where you needed space, but that was okay. You didn't need perfection, and you didn't need constant happiness. You just needed love and care, and that's what you found. Among other things you didn't ask for or necessarily need, but appreciated deeply regardless.

You felt like you had finally found what you've been searching for, and nothing could make you happier.

Yet, somewhere in your heart, you knew it couldn't last forever, and as if hearing your worries, an abrupt knock echoed throughout the apartment.

You paused what you were doing, humming curiously to yourself as you turned to look at the front door from your position on the couch. Who could that be at this hour? It certainly wasn't your roommate, seeing as they were sound asleep in their room, and you could still hear their snores despite being in the living room. So who else could it be?

Maybe it was Ms. Harry again, seeing as she had a bit of an odd tendency to knock on the wrong door sometimes. After all, she was old, and her memory was slowly getting worse, but she was always quick to fix her mistakes. So you just shrugged and turned away, convinced that it was another one of those nights where she just so happened to mistakenly knock on your door. So you let it be, knowing that she'd correct herself on her own and move along.

However, another set of knocks sounded. 

They were a little louder this time, as if the person on the other side of the door really did want to be noticed. Which made you pause and look back at the door, taking a brief glance at the clock.

It was getting late, and not many people were out and about during this time of night. Not the people on your floor, anyway. Though, you still tried to think of anyone who could be at the door right now.

Besides your roommate, not many of your friends lived particularly close. With the amount of them that would not only be up at this time of night, but would also personally come to bother you without sending a text or anything, being even smaller. The more you think about it, the shorter the list of potential people got, and you don't know if that should make you more confused or worried. Maybe a bit of both, but you weren't sure.

More knocks sounded. Again, they were louder compared to the last set, if only by a little.

Well, whoever was at your door was being rather persistent, so you decided to at least check it out. 

Reluctantly, you set the instrument you had been fiddling with for the past hour to the side. Sighing softly as you got up from your spot on the couch, and quietly approached the door. 

Moving about as silently as you could was an odd habit you couldn't shake, and while your friends have joked and commented about it, you suppose it was just another remnant of your life in the manor. A life you were still trying to gradually leave behind.

Regardless, you made your way to the door, and yet here — right at the foot of it, an odd feeling began to blossom in your chest. You couldn't make sense of it, but as you reached for the knob, you found yourself stopping. It didn't feel like a good idea to open the door, and though you couldn't figure out why, you just took a small breath and pushed the feeling to the side. 

Clearly, you were having a weird night, but just to humor yourself, you decided to 'comply' with whatever this feeling was, and check who was at the door by looking through the peephole instead.

It was only then did you understand.

You took a few silent steps back, putting your hand over your mouth as you kept your eyes on the door. Tingles of unease slowly crawling down your spine, and your heart began to beat against your chest harshly. You don't know if what you saw was real, but you didn't want to check again. Once felt like enough, especially since your legs felt like they were sinking into the floor.

How… how did they know where you live?

You took a breath, trying to calm your nerves as you took a few more steps away from the door. You have no idea what's going on, but all you know was that you don't want Dick knowing where you live. He might know the floor and building, but you refuse to give him the exact room if you could help it. So, you quickly moved to your room and got ready, a quick plan forming in your head.

Changing was easy, and so was gathering the stuff you thought you'd need for this. Not exactly too worried about the shoes you put on or anything like that, as your heart leapt from your chest to your throat when more knocks came, basically pounding against the door.

Fuck. He was getting impatient.

Picking up the pace, you made any last minute adjustments you could to your appearance, before quickly deciding that you looked good enough to be outside. Rushing to a window, you didn't waste any time opening it, grabbing onto a pipe that was exposed on the side of the building, closing the window, and sliding down the pipe until you reached the ground. Thanking your past self for having done that enough times to be used to it.

Knowing for a fact that you heard more knocks on your way down, you hurriedly rushed back into the apartment building and basically ran to the elevator. Thanking the gods that it had opened when you first called it, you rushed inside and hit the button for your floor. Hurriedly tapping on the button that closed the elevator doors as they slowly shut, as if that would make them move faster somehow.

As the elevator rose, you prayed that it wouldn't stop and that it'd go straight up to your floor, not knowing if you could afford to risk losing time like that. Especially when the thought of a certain vigilante breaking down your door because you didn't answer it, popped into your head.

Your hands were sweaty, your heart was racing, and you could hardly stand still as you waited for the elevator to reach your floor. Staring at the counter above the elevator buttons as if that'd make the numbers go up faster, and occasionally glancing at the doors as if they'd open at any moment. Questions and possibilities rushed through your head, but you hardly had any time to think about any of them as a small ding sounded, and the doors finally opened. Ignoring how the small sound made you jump a bit, you tried not to look too nervous as you stared at the hallway in front of you.

Oh god, you were really doing this.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you stepped out of the elevator and took a breath. Trying to calm down your heart a bit as you gathered your composure, and acted as normally as you could manage. Walking forward, you rounded the corner, and there he was in all of his tainted glory. 

"Di- I- I mean, Nightwing?" You call out, trying to grab the vigilante's attention before he did anything rash — and you seem to have caught him at just the right moment. As he seemed just about ready to bust open the lock to your door, and break into your apartment. Which, he thankfully pulls away as he whips around to look at you, clearly surprised.

You were almost too grateful to have caught him just in time.

"What are you doing here?" You took a few steps forward, but nothing more. Not wanting your efforts to go to waste right away, even if you knew it was only a matter of time when it came to these guys.

"Oh! Y/n- hi! I didn't, um, I didn't see you there." Dick greets with a smile, acting oddly nervous, which makes you raise a brow. "How long have you been, uh, standing there?" He asks, probably trying to see if you saw how he was about to break into your apartment. You both know you did, but you could play dumb for now.

"Um, I just got back so… not long, I guess? Why?" You tilt your head to the side, taking note of how Dick seemed to visibly relax. 

Was he always so… tense?

"No reason! I was just wondering, but, uh," He glances to the side before looking back at you, and taking in your appearance. He took in every little detail he could, and wow… you really were different from what he was expecting, but in the best way possible. 

Your voice was different than he remembered, and everything about you was just so… fitting, even if he's never seen it before. Even if he didn't remember having seen the style of clothes you wore on you before, or seeing the accessories you had on your person either. You really look like you've grown up now and have become an adult, with your own sense of style and fashion. Having all these little ways to show how you've grown, and become more comfortable with yourself. 

Dick couldn't help but love it as much as it hurt him.

"It's good to see you." He couldn't help but blurt out, smiling softly. Though it didn't quite reach his eyes. 

You only fiddled with your sleeves, averting your eyes for a moment as you purse your lips into a thin line. The way he looks at you made you feel uncomfortable to say the least, and his whole demeanor was nothing you have seen from him before. Not directed towards you, anyway, and you couldn’t help but struggle trying to remember the last time he smiled at you in person. All you could remember was seeing his back turned towards you as he walked away, a flash of a pathetic smile showing on his face briefly before he continued walking forward. Never looking back...

Maybe you've just grown too familiar seeing his smile in photographs and painted pictures, instead of in person.

Yet, how he looks you over now — and seems to take in every detail he manages to find — isn't exactly making this the most comfortable situation to be in. You feel exposed, and rub your arm before stopping yourself. You couldn't afford to show signs of weakness or vulnerability. Not with him. Not while he was in the suit.

Taking in a short breath, you gave a small nod. Managing to look back at Dick, and push down your nerves. The last thing you want was for him to notice how you truly feel, and point it out, or feel some kind of obligation to do something about it. The last thing you need was for him to stick around for longer than he has to.

"Yeah, um, anyway- that didn't really answer my question…?" You hesitantly point out, unsure if you should've mentioned anything at all, but feeling the need to do so. Even if you rather not be in this position, you prefer this over him breaking down your door. 

"Did something happen? I- I don't know how much help I can give since… y'know- I'm not a crime-fighting vigilante in latex, but I can see what I can do?" You try to joke a little, mostly for yourself and to further ease your nerves as a few small chuckles escape you. Yet it doesn't help as much as you would've liked.

Did they always scare you this much?

"Oh, no! No, no, no- nothing happened! I just wanted to, um, come see you, is all!" Dick admits, and even if that may have been enough reasoning for him, it wasn't for you. It just doesn't make sense, and maybe that was the years of being put off to the side — or almost outright ignored — talking, but you couldn't imagine him just randomly popping out of nowhere, just because he wants to see you. There has to be a reason, even if you don't know what that reason would be.

"By going to my friend's apartment…? That doesn't really make a lot of sense.. um, Nightwing." 

"Oh. Uh, you don't live here?" It was so weird seeing someone like Dick be so openly nervous. Was he always like this? You couldn't really tell, but if there was something going on he wasn't hiding it very well. It was almost like he was trying to not mess up or something, but you don't know why.

"No… but I do visit often? I mean, that is why I'm here and everything-" A few nervous chuckles escape you as you scratch the back of your neck, once again averting your gaze. "If you want, we could talk over a cup of coffee? I know a good place nearby, and even if I'm sure you can't exactly dine-in or anything, I could just take it to-go or something." You hesitantly offer, getting the feeling that Dick wouldn't leave easily, and still thinking that if there really is something going on — you could give him a chance to talk about it, at the very least.

"Sure! Yeah! But, uh. Is that really a good idea? It could be dangerous, and I think it's for the best if we stay inside or go to your place instead." Dick suggests, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion.

"My place?" 

"Yeah, I mean I would offer mine but Bludhaven isn't exactly close, y'know?" He snickers. Yet it only made you pause. The smallest bits of a bad feeling beginning to form in your stomach.

"I- I don't think that's a good idea…"

"But it's better than hanging around outside or something, right? This is Gotham, after all." You didn't like how Dick says that. Saying it like you didn't already know. Like you were ignorant of how bad the city you live in was, despite having experienced it first hand on multiple occasions.

"I know, but there has to be some other place we can talk, then just my place." 

"Well, there is the-"

"No." You immediately shot it down, already feeling like you knew what he was going to say, "Not there. Let's- let me just grab the coffee first, and we can figure it out from there, alright?" You didn't want to deal with more than you have to, and you weren't going to go back. Not now. Not ever, if you could help it.

"Oh, sure! I'll just tag along," Dick said simply, almost as if it was obvious, as he smiles, approaching you casually.

"I-" You pause before just sucking in a breath and giving a small nod, a weak smile displaying itself on your face, "-yeah, sure. That- that works." Even if you don't want Dick to follow you, it is better than having him just stand at your door, anyway. Though you still aren't exactly comfortable with the idea, you didn't have many options.

"Great! I'll meet you outside!" Dick grins before leaving through the window at the end of the hall.

Now by yourself for a while, you exhaled deeply, not even realizing how long you've been holding your breath. 

You aren't sure if you could do this, but you don't feel like you have much of a choice anymore as you just try to steady and calm down your racing heart. 

Making your way back to the elevator, you try to not think too much about what's going on as you step back inside, and push the correct button, waiting for it to descend.

Your heart felt heavy in your chest, and despite how you try to ignore it – you could feel that something was wrong. Though you just chalked it up to how you aren't used to Dick talking with you,  or smiling towards you – or really anything at all when it came to him. You tried to, anyway, but you were slowly beginning to doubt it.

There was something in his smile, and the way that he spoke that just felt strange to you. Even if you haven't had many conversations or interactions with him, you could still catch how different he seemed tonight. Though you weren't entirely sure. After all, you didn't know much about his personality or usual antics, just as he didn't know much about you as a whole.

On any other occasion you'd try to let it go, but doing so didn't feel right this time. It feels stupid, and almost as if you'd put yourself in more danger by trying to, so for now you'd just keep it in mind. Even if nothing came of it, at least you were being cautious, right?

You aren't sure, not entirely anyway. Since it was always hard to tell what is and isn't a good decision with Dick and the others, but you don't have much time to dwell on it as the elevator doors open once again.

All you could do was just hope that this would end as quickly as it started. For both your and Dick's sake, but mostly for your own.

Nevertheless, you step out of the elevator and make your way out of the building. There, you saw Dick leaning against a lamppost, before looking at you. The smile he gave only made the pit in your stomach grow bigger, but you tried to return the gesture the best you could.

Neither smile reached either of your eyes.

"So, you know where it is?"

"Yeah- it isn't too far from here. Just a few blocks away, it's not that far of a walk." 

"Great! You don't mind leading, then?"

"No, um. I can lead."

"Perfect, let's get going then." Dick says, his smile growing a little bigger as he makes his way over, and stops beside you, waiting for you to lead the way.

You just gave a nod, taking a nervous step forward as you both began to walk. You knew the directions by heart at this point, and so you just let your own feet guide you along the streets of Gotham. With Dick following right along, humming under his breath.

An awkward silence fell over both of you.

You try to not think about it too much, knowing that the detail would only further bother you, and make you feel more nervous than you already are. So you drew your attention elsewhere, and focused on the city itself instead.

Not many people were walking about, which immediately struck you as odd since Gotham was always so lively despite how dangerous it is. Even if more people were out during the day, there were still lots of people who were out at night for one reason or another. Granted, most of them are dangerous, everyone knows that, but some just simply went about their business. The city was dangerous, but that didn't stop people from going about their lives. Even if it did make it easier for thugs and the like to hide within the crowds.

Still, the change was noticeable. Gotham wasn't exactly known to be quiet, let alone this inactive. It felt strange, and when you glance over to Dick, you couldn't help but feel a little surprised that he didn't seem all that bothered by the change. If anything, you were almost getting the impression that he hadn't noticed it at all.

So, you just keep looking ahead, and focusing on other things. Deciding to not comment on anything if Dick wasn't.

Yet you still couldn’t shake it.

The absence of sirens in the air and occasional gunshots didn't sit right with you, and even the amount of people driving by wasn't as much as it'd usually be. The city didn't feel busy, let alone as alive as it would've been on any other night, and it's bothering you. It's like some sort of silent evacuation is going on, or a lock down of some kind that not everyone was informed of. There were more whispers than there were shouts, and a kind of awkward peace, instead of striking violence and chaos.

You couldn't believe it, was this Gotham's first real quiet night?

CRACK.

Perhaps you spoke too soon.

A sickening crack sounded from somewhere within the city, the noise so loud and sudden that it immediately caught your attention, as you looked in the direction of where you heard it come from. You could've sworn you heard a scream that followed right after, only for it to swiftly get cut off. 

It was only then did you really take a look around, and notice how the people you passed by looked equally tense and nervous. An unsaid, but shared feeling of tension and anxiety hung in the air, and now that you noticed it — you couldn't ignore it.

What didn't help was when you saw someone in an alleyway cocking their gun, only for them to swiftly get roped into the darkness, causing them to drop their weapon in the process. A sickening pop sounded, and then deafening silence followed. The only evidence that anyone had ever stood in that particular spot, was the gun the thug had dropped. 

Through the shadows of the alleyway, and faint light from the moon, you could almost make out a figure in the darkness. Yet just as they turned to look at you, your eyes darted away. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Are… are you sure there isn't anything going on? It seems oddly… quiet, tonight." You point out hesitantly, small tingles dancing down your spine, and they were far from pleasant.

"Hm? Oh, well, I guess you could say something is happening, but the others are taking care of it." Dick reassures as he waves his hand dismissively. "Though that's why I think it'd be better if we talked inside. The last thing I want is for someone to eavesdrop on our conversation, and for you to get caught in the crossfire of everything." Yet you couldn't help but feel like it was a little too late for that.

Being associated with Dick, and the others — let alone being someone that they'd actually turn to for assistance or anything — already made someone prone to being caught in any crossfire that dealt with their vigilante work. Even if the person didn't get caught in between things by some miracle, it would be hard to ignore the newly painted target on their back. Being known for having a connection to Batman, and anyone he had taken under his wing one way or another, had its problems, and you already had to deal with your own fair share of trouble just for being known as another kid who got adopted by Bruce Wayne. 

You wouldn't be surprised if you suddenly had to deal with more trouble just from this conversation alone, since word traveled around fast in Gotham, but you didn't want to think about that right now. You'd just deal with that when the time came, if it ever did.

Still, you didn't fully believe Dick. Your feelings of the situation becoming more messy, and unclear as you try to piece things together. You couldn't tell if what was going on was something to worry about, or stress over. Since Dick was acting so dismissively about it, and yet the effect it's having on Gotham was unmistakable. Is it big enough to cause the city to go quiet, but not dangerous enough to worry about? Or is it something else entirely?

You took a breath. Maybe it's best if you just think about it later. You already have enough on your plate as it is, and the biggest thing you have to worry about right now is Dick. All you have to do is find out what he wants, and handle things from there. That's it. That's all you have to do.

So, you nod hesitantly. Still not looking at Dick as you said, "Right. Okay. That… that makes sense, I guess," but your voice betrays you despite your best efforts as it wavered slightly. Still, you make sure to add, "but I still don't think it's the best to talk at my place."

Dick only gave a nod, saying, "Alright," and nothing else.

Your body refused to relax after that.

You still couldn’t shake the odd feeling you were getting from Dick, even if you couldn't exactly pinpoint what's wrong or where this feeling is coming from. The distant sounds of snaps, cracks, pops, and cut off shouts and screams in the distance didn't help much with that either. Especially when they weren't far, and sounded like they were only a few blocks away from you, with the distance slowly growing shorter each and every time a new sound echoed across Gotham. Especially when you realized that the snaps and cracks were the sounds of bones breaking, and the pops were joints getting dislocated. Which caused various memories to pop into your head that you tried to shove away.

Small beads of sweat began to roll down your neck. Your hands feel clammy, and you try to steady your breathing once you realize it was wavering again. You try to fix any outward reaction you notice you were displaying before Dick could catch on, fiddling with your sleeves as you try to reassure yourself.

You're going to be okay.

CRACK!

You're going to be fine.

SNAP!

You're going to make it through this.

POP!

You could tough it out.

"AAAHHH-!" CRUNCH.

This would all be over soon.

So, you try to ignore how the pit in your stomach continues to grow with each second that passes. How each sound causes you to tense, and sometimes jump the smallest bit, but you try to ignore that too. 

You glance over to Dick once again, only to catch him immediately turning to face forward. The detail made you pause and furrow your brows, had he been looking at you?

You shove the thought to the side and face forward again as well. A weight of some kind begins to form in your chest, yet you still try to push on and keep walking.

Seconds turn into minutes, and it's only now that you fully realized how long this short walk felt. The sidewalks stretched on, and the streets never seemed to end. The traffic lights felt like distant glimpses of life and civilization that one would catch in fog, with the small amount of cars on the road not helping with that feeling. Dark clouds begin to form overhead, and cover the inky black sky. With the full moon looking down at you. Its sight pinned on you, staring in silence.

Maybe that's why you were so relieved when the diner finally came into view, and you found yourself holding back a sigh of relief. You had to stop yourself from running over, and rushing inside so that you didn't have to walk beside Dick anymore. Further reminding yourself of how awkward this whole experience has been for you thus far. Which didn't help with how you are feeling at all.

"How do you like your coffee?" You decide to ask, seeing as the diner was only a few steps away at this point.

"What?" Dick asks, seemingly snapping out of whatever trance he was in. With your question bringing him back to reality.

"Um, how do you like your coffee? Since, y'know. That's what we're here for?" You repeat, giving Dick a confused glance.

A look of realization flashed across Dick's face as a small 'ohh' left him. "Right, yeah. Uh," he stumbles at first before saying his preference, with you just nodding along.

"Okay, I'll just go inside and order so… you can just wait out here?" You said, unsure as you glance at the diner, only to look back at Dick.

"Yeah, I can do that." He agrees with a simple nod and small thumbs up. Making you nod as well as you took a breath.

"Right, okay. I'll just, um, head inside then." You exhale sharply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "It shouldn't take too long." You stop once you're in front of the door to the diner. Folding your hands into fists, squeezing your fingers and digging your nails into your palms, before releasing, letting your fingers relax, before repeating the process a few more times.

"Got it." Dick nods again, and you return the gesture as you open the door and step inside. Once again holding yourself back from letting out a sigh of relief, as you made your way over to the counter. A weight of some kind being lifted from your shoulders the moment the smell of food, and freshly brewed coffee hits you.

It's only when you reach the counter and see your friend did you finally sigh deeply, and heavily. You rest your arms against the counter and let your head hang low, a feeling of exhaust and fatigue slowly eating away at you. Not being in the immediate vicinity of Dick definitely made you feel exceptionally better, especially now that there’s a wall between you and him.

"Y'know, lots of people have been comin' in and sighing just like that, tonight." The waitress points out as she makes her way over to you. Her comment causing you to lift your head, and look at her. She gave you a little smile, amused by your antics, but you could see the little worry that hid behind her eyes. 

"Really?" You ask, allowing yourself to relax a little, now that you were in the presence of a friend. You didn't see Jessica outside of the diner much, but that was never a problem since you've been a regular for a while now. You had met when you first began coming to the diner late at night for coffee since you couldn't sleep, coming around just when the place was about to close. It was only after a few more nights passed that you both began to talk, and really connect. You like to consider her one of your closest friends because of all she's done for you, and not just because she knows how to make your coffee just the way you like it.

"Yeah, it's kinda weird but there's seems to be somethin' going on tonight. So I guess it makes sense." Jessica says with a shrug, "Anyway, you want the usual, I'm assuming?"

You perk up at that, "Wait, you think something's going on too?" You couldn't help but ask, though made sure to also say, "Oh, and that'd be great. But I'll… um, take it to go this time, and I'll have another coffee for my…" you glance over your shoulder and look at Dick. He had his back turned to the window, and looked to be talking to someone with what you assumed to be his comm link. 

You turn back to Jessica, a crooked smile on your face, "My acquaintance…?"

"I can't think of anyone who doesn't. Everyone can tell that something ain't right about tonight. Hell, even Jim looked bothered when he came in. I swore he was shakin' like a leaf, and looked like something was out to get him too." Jessica replies, writing down your order on her notepad mindlessly, already knowing it by heart. 

"Jim? Like the commissioner?"

"Nope, I'm talkin' about the guy who came in from Metropolis."

"Oh." You said, before slowly nodding as you thought about it, "I guess that makes sense. Though, I didn't think that guy had a single nervous bone in his body, to be honest."

"Well, y'know what they say; Gotham changes people. It can even make people like him, who're barely present with the rest of us, get a little shaken up every now and again." Jessica hums, looking at what she has written down for a moment.

"Right… yeah."

Jessica sighs softly, looking at you with unsaid care and concern before speaking up again, "Anyway, does your…" she drags out the 'r' as she glances behind you, before looking back at you. Waving her pen in the air as she gestures towards the window, "'acquaintance' want anything else?" 

"No, um. Just the coffee will do." You rub the back of your neck, making sure to mention how Dick said he likes his coffee. Jessica only gave a nod as she wrote it down.

"Alright, but I gotta ask. Is that guy bothering you?" Jessica asks as she starts to brew the coffee, shooting you a certain look, "I can get William to have a chat with 'im if he's causing you trouble. He won't like it, but he'll do it, y'know." 

The question catches you off guard, but you quickly shake your head, and try to adjust the smile on your face to look less obvious. As much as you don't want to be in this situation, you at least want to hear Dick out. If there's even the smallest chance that he really does need something from you — you want to help. You don't want to be the reason why whatever is going on is prolonged any further, or if a solution they have is delayed. 

Despite everything they've done to you, and the little they've given you throughout all of your life, you want to do this one last thing for them. That's all. 

You could afford to do this one last time, you thought as much anyway.

"I'm fine, he- he isn't bothering me… I promise." You try to reassure your friend, mustering the most convincing smile you could as you watch her work. She clearly knew what she was doing, since it looked as if it came so naturally to her, and you wouldn't be surprised if it did, with all she's told you in the past.

"Well, alright. But if he does anything you can always shoot me a text or give me a call. I can't do much myself, but I know people." 

You huff at her words, an easy smile making its way up your face as your shoulders relaxed, "I know. Thanks, Jess."

"Don't mention it. After all, I've gotta look out for the person who gives the best tips." She snickers, a smile of her own beginning to show itself. You can't help but laugh lightly as you just shake your head, and look away.

The soft tune of old melodies plays in the background, filling the space of the diner and washing away any awkwardness that may have been present otherwise. Some jazz begins to play, and you couldn’t help but tap your foot along with the rhythm, the voice of the singer taking all of your worries, and whisking them away. 

The other customers are quiet for the most part, but seem at ease for the time being. The outside world almost seemed so far away despite being just past the windows, but there was some peace to be had with that. The street lights gave off a homey feeling with their soft orange hues spilling into the diner, the quiet from the outside only making this place feel more safe, in a strange way.

"So it's just for the money, huh? And here I thought you genuinely cared about me." You chuckle, fiddling with your fingers mindlessly.

"Of course I do. But I'd like to see you work in customer service and living off of tips," Jessica chuckles as well, "Maybe then you'd see how that's just me appreciating you more, hon'."

You just shake your head, "Right, whatever you say."

"I'm being serious, Y/n. Even the boss appreciates you, and your wonderful donations." Jessica snickers, beginning to pour the coffee into two cups.

"You make it sound like he runs a charity, and I'm a big donor."

"Of course he does! Except, y'know. It isn't your typical charity, and we gotta work our asses off to ‘give back to the people’. With your money making up about… hm, seventy-five percent of my paycheck?" 

"Jess!"

"No, no. You're right, it's more like eighty-three. Maybe even eighty-five at a push." She laughs, giggling at the expression you make as you huff, before laughing a bit yourself.

You both continue to joke lightly, laughs and giggles being shared as Jessica makes your order, and you patiently wait. A light, soft sort of smile resting on your face, and you almost forget what had made you so tense in the first place. Which was one of the reasons you love this diner so much — it felt like a home away from home, even if it was only a few blocks away from your apartment. Jessica just added onto that comfortable vibe you got from this place, and your mind always felt so quiet when you're here.

It almost made everything feel like it'd be okay, and that as long as you remain inside, nothing bad could happen to you.

Unfortunately, it was only that. A feeling, and nothing more. Your current situation only made that detail all the more apparent.

"Welp, here you go. They're both hot and ready, so be careful, okay?" She smiles down at you before snickering, "Though you don't gotta tell the guy that if you don't want to." 

You're confused for a moment, not entirely sure who Jessica was talking about until it suddenly hit you. Right, Dick.

You laugh along, but it wasn't as genuine as it was before, and died down much quicker. As if scared that he'd hear both of you from past the window now. The thought alone made you suddenly hyper-aware of his presence outside. "Right, yeah.."

Grabbing the two cups, you slide them towards yourself and stare down at them for a moment, finding yourself hesitating again. You don't know why you were taking so many pauses, but this whole thing just didn't feel right to you. Though you couldn't exactly pinpoint why, you knew the reason was different than why you were so awkward around Dick, and reluctant to talk to him.

"... Are you sure that guy isn't bothering you?" Jessica asks again, leaning against the counter as she places a hand over one of yours. You couldn't meet her eyes, knowing that if you did it'd just make things harder for yourself. So you look off to the side, unsure.

"Yeah!… He's just.. yeah." Was all you could really say. You don't want to say anything that would make Jessica worry more, but most importantly, you don't want to make it harder for yourself to leave. You got this far, would it really be alright if you leave now? If you took back the words you said, and just went back home? Probably not.

You hear Jessica sigh, causing your heart to feel heavier in your chest. "Look, I get it if you don't want me to get someone to handle him, but if you don't want to stick around, and don't want him to see- I can let you out the back." She offers, giving your hand a small squeeze. Trying to reassure you, and give you something to work with.

You perk up at her offer, looking back up at her in slight surprise, "Really?" You ask. The sense of hope and relief that washed over you didn't make you feel any better, and only furthered the conflict going on in your mind.

"Yeah. Especially if it'll get you away from that weirdo." She chuckles with a slight smirk, trying to lighten the mood a little.

You think about it for a moment, just looking at Jessica as countless thoughts rush through your head. Why did this have to be so complicated? Why are you making this so hard for yourself? The choice is so simple, so easy, and yet you just couldn't take it, but why?

You look back at Dick, and make eye contact.

You both stand there, staring at each other for a while, and the music playing in the diner suddenly didn't feel so comforting anymore. Your shoulders lost their weightlessness, and gravity seemed eager to try and pull you down to the floor.

Dick is the first to look away, presumably resuming his conversation with whoever he's been talking to this entire time, but you didn't. You don't.

Turmoil and conflict is clear in your eyes. You could see it through your faint reflection in the glass of the window that separates you and Dick. Which, from that alone, you begin to feel worse.

Even if you did leave, would that change anything? Would you be able to actually leave Dick? Or would he catch on? They already know where you live, and even if you managed to fool Dick momentarily, you doubt that he believes your little lie now if he is talking to the others. Yet if you went back to him, what would happen? Where would you both end up going?

You look back down at the two coffees, and sigh. Either way, you’re faced with uncertainty. If you left now, there's no telling if you'd actually be able to get away. Yet if you went back to Dick, you couldn't even imagine what would happen next. It felt like you were stuck in a lose-lose situation; having to pick between two different types of poison, and deal with whatever consequences that came with the kind you chose.

Holding the cups a little tighter, you think it over for another moment before shaking your head. Taking in a breath, and letting yourself calm down a bit.

"I think I'll be okay, but thanks for the offer, Jess." You gave her a little, appreciative smile, "I'll just message or call you if anything happens, like you said." Jessica didn't seem entirely sure of your decision, but nods anyway.

"Well, if you're sure, then alright. But the moment shit goes south, you know who to call."

You nod, and give her a small ‘thank you’ as you paid and left. Taking the drinks with you as you did so, the warmth of the diner slowly leaving you, and now being replaced with the cold breeze of the night.

"Sorry that took so long, I would've told you otherwise if I had known." You apologize as you turn to Dick, flinching at his close proximity. Since, you didn't realize just how close he had been standing to the door until now.

"It's no big deal! Besides, it didn't take that long." Dick said, dismissing your apology as he kept up that smile of his. You only nod, handing him his coffee, which he gladly took.

"If you say so.." You glance off to the side again, remaining quiet for a moment before looking back at Dick, "You were talking to the others, I assume?" You decide to ask, not exactly sure if you should've said anything, but you didn't see the harm in doing so at the moment.

"Hm? Oh, yeah! I uh, I was." Dick confirms with a small, awkward nod.

"Is… everything okay?" 

"Yep! Things are going well. Great, even!"

"Oh. Alright then."

Another beat of silence passed over both of you.

You clutch the cup in your hands, its heat pinching and nibbling at your skin through the sleeve. You took a glance inside the diner, and noticed that while Jessica is doing her job, she's still shooting looks and glances your way past the window. She furrows her brows as you both made eye contact, and you could tell what she was going to do just from that alone.

You shake your head, and play it off as if you were just pushing a thought away once you look back at Dick, shoulders rising and almost locking into place as you try to stop your smile from dropping. Holding it at just the right height, and making sure it didn't look too crooked.

"So, um. How about we walk and talk? Just so that we're doing something instead of just standing around- y'know?" You suggest, a wry chuckle escaping you as your eyes wander off again.

"Sure, yeah! We can do that," Dick nods along, and you give a curt nod in return.

"Great!" You begin to walk off, only to be stopped by Dick as he grabs your sleeve, causing you to flinch a little bit. Whipping your head around to look back at him, your heart stopping for a moment as something flashed in your eyes, before it quickly disappeared.

For a split second, you look at Dick as if he was about to kill you, or something similar to that. Like he was going to hurt you in some unimaginable way by just trying to grab your attention.

Though Dick just pushed that little detail to the side, he couldn't help but keep it in mind. He didn't want to think about what it could mean, but couldn't forget it either. Since no matter how quick it was, or how short it lasted, just seeing that expression on your face and directed towards him — it hurt worse than any injury he could possibly receive in any shape or form.

He didn't want to believe what seemed to be the undeniable truth.

So, instead, he tucked it away in the back of his mind. Still managing some kind of smile as he looks at you, hiding behind a face of confusion.

"Isn't your place back that way?" Dick asks, gesturing behind him with a tilt of his head. He notices how you swallowed — taking note of how nervous and on edge you seem to be. He's known since he first saw you, but he didn't think anything of it. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want it to mean anything.

So he ignores it. Pushing it away until he can't see it anymore, despite it being so clear and right in front of his face. 

He prays to every god he knows, and hopes to every heaven he's aware of — blind and ignorant to the fact that they have long since shut him out. The light and grace they'd give, forever out of his reach.

His little wishes couldn't help him now. Not when they never helped you.

"I-" You couldn't help but sigh, shaking your head and gathering your thoughts, before speaking again, "I already said that I don't think that it's a good idea to talk there, Dick. And I don't think it's smart to have this conversation here either- so let's just walk as we try to figure this out. Please?" Your weak smile begins to strain as you take a step back, grabbing Dick's hand and tugging him toward you. You hope he'll listen, if only this one time.

Dick looks to the side, unsure as he weighs his options before looking back at you, and suddenly he's hit with all the convincing he needed.

You look at him pleadingly, almost silently begging for him to comply and just come along with you. The moon, albeit partially covered thanks to the dark clouds passing overhead, lit up your eyes in such a way that further emphasized the emotions you were feeling, but left unsaid. How the internal conflict and struggle you were experiencing, made the color in your irises shine that much brighter, and how such a little thing took Dick's breath away. 

Suddenly, for a moment, he realizes how soft your hand was in his, despite the fabric of his glove in between them. Even if it is just for that split second, he can't help but… love it. Love you. So how can he say no? How could he say no when he's slowly beginning to see all of these little things about you in a different way? When his guilt was slowly shifting to something else? Something worth trying for?

How can he deny such a little request from his little sibling? Especially when you look at him like that? He can't. So he didn't. Unable to stop the soft but partially happy smile that grew on his face.

You found it uncanny and misplaced, but he found it fitting and refreshing in a way. A way he hadn't felt before — not in a while, anyway.

"Sure, alright. Let's get going then!" Dick replies after a second of silence had passed, holding onto your hand and walking beside you when you began to move again. 

You didn't say anything this time, just nodding as you focused on walking away from the diner.

Yet, Dick couldn't help but look back at the establishment. Curious as to why you wanted to move on from it so quickly, and wanted to see if he could catch anything in particular that might've caused it. Not that Dick was complaining by any means, but he couldn't help his own curiosity.

It was then that Dick and the waitress from inside the diner made eye contact. Causing Dick to narrow his eyes, and the waitress doing the same back with a certain look in her eyes.

He didn't like it, and even if the impression he's getting was far off the mark, he didn't care enough to change it.

Yet, when you and Dick pass the diner, your phone suddenly vibrates. 

Oblivious to how Dick's gaze lingered on the diner for a little while longer — or how he was even looking back at all — you fish your phone out of your pocket once you shake Dick’s hand off mindlessly, not thinking too much about the action as you check your notifications.

There, you saw that Jessica had left you a message.

['Be careful with that one. I'd watch your back if I were you, hon.']

You were confused to say the least, but before you could think to respond, Dick turned back to you and suddenly spoke. Smile ever present, eyes trained on you.

"So, where are we going?" 

"Oh- um, I'm not entirely sure." You admit, pocketing your phone quickly without much thought. Hoping Dick didn't see what the text said, but you didn't count on it. Not much slipped past him or the others in any given situation, not unless it was something dealing with you. Though, with his attention on you now? You couldn't be too sure of what he would and wouldn't notice. Not anymore.

After all, just knowing that he could see you now, and is actually talking with you, along with the fact that you've been in his space for over a minute was… a new experience. You didn't think you'd get this far — you never have before, and so this was all new territory for you. All you knew, and could gather from how things were going thus far, was that slipping away wouldn't be as easy as it was before. Not with his eyes trained on you like they were now.

"Well, that's fine but we still shouldn't stay out for long. It isn't safe." Dick pointed out again, causing you to sigh and nod your head.

"I know, but I still-" you cut yourself off, and took a quick breath before continuing, "it doesn't feel right going back to my place. Besides, not many people are out tonight… and as weird as that is- at least not many people will be around to eavesdrop on our conversation, if we did talk out here." You said, shrugging your shoulders, and taking a slow but small sip of your coffee. It burned your tongue, but at least it gave you something else to think about.

"That doesn't exactly make Gotham any less dangerous, and besides- those who are walking around, and are still out and about, could be from a worse crowd. You should know that, Y/n." Again, you didn't appreciate how he spoke to you like that. Talking as if you were ignorant to that possibility, or just generally unaware that Gotham was a bad place filled with even worse people. 

"I do, I'm just saying-" you try to defend yourself, looking at Dick before immediately looking away. You don't like how he looked at you, and how much taller it made him appear, "Gotham isn't just filled with criminals, and besides… most people look like they're rushing to get home anyway." You comment, noticing how a group of people — presumably friends or roommates, maybe even 'coworkers' to a certain degree — rushed inside what appeared to be an apartment building. Along with how a family quickly got inside of their house, ushering their kids inside before hurriedly closing the door behind them. 

"It's like some kind of apocalypse is going on…" You mutter, narrowing your eyes at the sight, before just focusing your attention back on the sidewalk ahead of you. You didn't recall getting a memo of any kind, or an alert if something like that was really going on. Though, your best bet to figuring anything out was unfortunately through Dick, by the looks of things.

Dick rubs the back of his neck, a strange feeling of nervousness, and something close to embarrassment, radiating off of him as he chuckled. The strange detail caught your attention, causing you to look at him and notice that his smile had become uneven, before he fixed it when he noticed you were looking. 

You couldn't help but raise a brow, silently questioning Dick with your eyes, a small hint of suspicion growing behind your gaze.

Dick just shrugs, fixing himself the very next moment, which only causes you to narrow your eyes. Were they actually causing some kind of apocalypse? Surely not… right?

"Then that's just all the more reason why we should head inside too." Dick said, giving your hand a soft squeeze. Forcing you to acknowledge that you were holding hands once again – but when did he grab it? You don’t remember feeling him hold it again until now… but that wasn’t important, not now anyway, "I don't want anything bad to happen to you, Y/n. I'm just worried." 

You grew quiet at that, a mix of emotions beginning to swirl around in your chest before you just shove it to the side. You couldn't tell if he was joking or trying to be genuine….

Though, your heart and mind seemed to agree that he wasn't being serious, and maybe that's why you didn't like how he looked at you.

Taking your hand back once again, you shook your head dismissively, "You're a vigilante, right? One of Gotham's finest, and looking over Bludhaven at that- if anything happens I'm sure you can handle it." Huffing, you add, "Even then, I can handle myself."

Dick's eyes linger on you for a little longer. The hand that had been holding yours twitched, and he kept it there for a second before letting it drop to his side, his smile beginning to die down before he sighed. "Still, I think it'd be better if we tried to avoid something like that all together."

"I think it'd also be better if we could avoid something like that happening at my place."

"It won't, not with me around."

"So now you're confident that nothing will happen?" You laugh lightly, more air escaping you above all else, and disbelief clear in your eyes and tone. "You can't be sure. Someone could follow us there and find out where I live."

You snicker again, not fully believing that you were actually having to tell Dick all of this, "I mean, it might not matter much to you but-"

"It does matter to me. I don't want you to get hurt, or anyone else to come after you." He took another breath, and you bite your tongue. Reframing from mentioning how it was a little too late to be saying that now. "Look, I understand if you don't want to go back to where you're staying, but if that's the case then we can just got to the-"

"No." You speak up before he could even finish. Already knowing what he was going to say, and the mere thought of going back to that place made you feel uneasy. Causing you to clutch your cup with both of your hands, barely registering its heat.

"I didn't even get to say where…" Dick sighs again, just pushing the detail to the side for the moment, "Can you at least tell me why? I don't see why we shouldn't."

"It just-" You didn't want to say it outloud. Not out here. Not with him around, and listening to every word that fell out of your mouth. "I just don't think that's smart either. Again, someone could follow us back there and find out about… you know."

"Well, then someone else could just take you back-"

"Wouldn't that seem suspicious if someone saw, though?" 

"Now you're worried about being seen?"

"Like you weren't before-"

"Y/n, please. We can't just stand around here and talk about stuff all night. Either way, we have to go somewhere." Dick tries to reason, adding on, "Look, if you don't want to go to your place or the 'other' place, how about we just-"

"No."

"I didn't even get to finish!"

"I know what you were about to say, and just-" You took a breath of your own, sweat rolling down the back of your neck as your hands began to shake a little bit. Your nerves were getting to you. You could feel it with how your chest became heavier, and how it was getting progressively harder to continue walking — as if your feet were slowly sinking into the cement below you.

"I don't think it'd be the best to go there either." You mutter, looking off to the side.

"Why? I can sort of understand the 'other' place-" he didn't, but in his attempt to get through to you, he said otherwise, "but why not there? Again, we can't just wander around all night and talk out in the open like this, Y/n. You should know better than that." Dick states, furrowing his brows as his gaze remains pinned on you, never once looking away.

You wish he would. By the Gods did you wish he would look away just once. Yet such a blessing had yet to be given, if it would ever come.

With every second that passed, your doubt only grew.

"I just don't see why we can't go to any other places? Somewhere that isn't personal, or technically considered to be personal since it could reveal your identity and such- and I don't think I have to give reasons why someone knowing where I live, or used to live, would be bad too- but… yeah. Just-" You gather your thoughts, looking down at your cup of coffee for a brief moment, "Just somewhere that isn't necessarily connected to either of us, or could reveal potentially personal or sensitive information on one or both of us? Like the park, or some random rooftop…? You guys still have talks up there, right?" You manage to slide in a little joke, but the laugh you gave is more awkward and nervous than anything, so you just clear your throat and continue.

"Or- or just an abandoned building or something? If you still really want us to be inside? Since Gotham has some of those… maybe too many of them- but that's besides the point." You try to suggest, hesitant to even say anything but managing somehow regardless.

You still couldn’t bring yourself to look at Dick – so you missed how his brows creased, and his smile was just barely holding up. His hand twitches again, but he tries to stay mindful of the coffee he's still holding.

"Are you serious?" His tone made you press your lips into a thin line. Your nails begin to dig into the sleeve of your cup. "I get that you're paranoid, but are you serious right now? Y/n, c'mon." An odd warmth began to bloom in your chest at Dick's words. It was far from pleasant, and lit like a match, with the flame itself bursting to life. It started much larger than you were used to, and controlling it was more difficult than you expected.

"I'm just saying…" 

"Saying… what? That we either stay out in the open where anything can happen, or a clearly dangerous place where we're most likely going to get jumped? 'Cause if that's what you're saying, then I don't even know what to say, Y/n." Dick really can't believe you right now. Just how long have you been living in Gotham, exactly? Who were you even living with? He couldn't understand what you were thinking suggesting such a thing.

He had a feeling you may have been unaware of the true dangers of Gotham, since he and the others had kept you away from such things – from what he could tell. Not to mention that you didn't have any intention of becoming a vigilante yourself, from what he remembered, but for you to turn out like this? He had no idea you were so oblivious, and if he had before, he never would've let you out of that apartment building. He never should've to begin with, clearly.

"No! Of course that's not what I'm saying!" You couldn't help but yelp in surprise, finally looking at Dick as you held your coffee closer to your chest. You felt offended that he honestly thought you'd think something so stupid, but you didn't know what was worse. How he didn't seem convinced, or how he looked as if he believed himself more than you.

"Then…?" Dick drags on, gesturing for you to give an explanation. Almost daring you to say something that proved him wrong, or went against his point. 

You huff harshly, the warmth in your chest beginning to turn hot as you went on to say, "I'm just saying why can't we go anywhere else, that isn't technically connected to you or me in some way?"

"... And your solution to that is to go to a public area, stay out in the open but on the rooftops, or go to one of the abandoned places around Gotham where something bad will definitely happen?" Dick rose a brow, with you restraining yourself from rolling your eyes. Instead, you manage a sigh – smile long gone from your face.

"Those were just examples, Nightwing." You hold back a scoff, clutching your cup a little tighter, "We don't actually have to go to any of those places, or do those things. I was just trying to suggest ideas, not say; 'Hey, we should go to that one place by the bay that's been abandoned for around five years and have our talk there. Since surely nothing will happen, and a gang totally doesn't hang around that area.' Or something like that." 

"That's oddly specific," Dick gave you a questionable look before shaking his head, "but still. Those places and areas aren't safe. At least the places I suggested are, and if something happens, then there's security measures in place for that."

"How do you know if my place is secure or not?"

"Are you trying to say that it isn't?"

"No- but it's not like I have a super complicated system or hypersensitive security like- y'know. The other places. So what would make my place so safe?"

Dick sighs, "Fine. Alright, maybe your place isn't our safest bet right now. Even if I feel like I can definitely handle protecting a single apartment." You didn't even bother to say anything, just rolling your eyes and shaking your head instead.

"I don't want anything to happen to my place, Nightwing." 

"You really don't think I can't defend one room?"

"I don't live alone, D- Nightwing. I don't just have myself or my things to worry about." You couldn't help but say, scoffing under your breath. However, Dick could only blink, a little confused.

"You… have a roommate?" 

"Yeah? Who do you think I was referring to when I said I was visiting a friend?"

"Oh! I thought that was a complete lie. I guess that makes sense, but why would you need a roommate anyway? Does your job not make enough money or-"

"Does that really matter right now?" You gave Dick a pointed look, hoping that he would take the hint and drop the subject, "We're trying to find out what the fuck to do, not delve into my personal life." 

"Alright, fine- no need to get all worked up." Dick put his free hand up to show that he wasn't trying to start anything, and was trying to keep this peaceful and civil, "But why don't we just go to one of the other two areas? They're secure, and I'm sure your friend won't get hurt if something ends up happening while we're there."

You open your mouth to say something, only to shut it and look away. You clutch your cup a little tighter.

How could you tell Dick that you just don't want to be in the manor again, and that you didn't want to go back — without actually having to tell him? How do you tell Dick that you don't feel comfortable being in a space where you knew the rest of them would be, and that you'd rather have to just deal with him than anyone else? That you had a bad feeling about going to any of those places with him, and you don't trust him or the others at all?

You'd rather avoid going to the manor if you could help it, and you had more than enough reasons for feeling that way. Though, would Dick understand? Would he accept your reasons, and see why you wanted to go somewhere else? Maybe not, and even if he did understand, there was no guarantee that he would value your personal comfort over your 'safety'. There was no guarantee that he still wouldn't try and get you to agree with him. 

You also wanted to avoid going to the clock tower. Seeing as just dealing with Dick was… difficult, to say the least, and if you could barely handle one — you couldn't imagine what it'd be like to handle another. Since there was bound to at least be someone else at the tower, just waiting for you to arrive. 

The thought alone made you feel uneasy.

-------------------

[Chapter 3, part 2]

[iholdwhatican]

reunions

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

length: 3.8k

tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; surprise visit from patrick ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension

summary: you want to make your husband's birthday special, so you invite his attractive, charming, estranged childhood best friend in the hopes that they'll make amends. surely nothing will go wrong, right?

author's note: i can't stop thinking about them i am so ill. this is the first of presumably many challengers works. and yes i did make a new blog just for this, don't judge me. this is a drabble that was stuck in my head but I do have more for it should it be wanted! preferably something that leaves you sandwiched in between them :3

originally posted by iholdwhatican

You told yourself this whole thing happened out of the goodness of your heart. You’d just wanted to be a good wife and make your husband’s birthday the best it could possibly be. Because Art Donaldson was the most amazing person you’d ever known, and he loved you, and he deserved the world. There was nothing off limits when it came to him, no line you wouldn’t cross. 

You knew how much Patrick had meant to him, how much he missed his best friend. Your cheeks hurt from how wide the stories made you smile, how happy he sounded when he recounted the things he’d gotten into with the eccentric tennis player. And you knew how sad Art was that they didn’t talk anymore. 

So what better time to remedy that than for his birthday? That was a wonderful surprise, right? Right?

Upon meeting Patrick Zweig, your first thought was how the hell this man got along so well with your Art. Not to say he was a bad person, but he was just so… much. He was cocky, indomitable, the kind of person that knew what he wanted and what he was worth and wouldn’t settle for anything less. He was a force not to be reckoned with, no matter what. He was also unbelievably charming (and not bad on the eyes, which you would never admit), and you hated the way his sweet-talking got under your skin. 

He asked you how Art was. You told him he was fine. Retired, now. Making the most of a quiet life. You’d just celebrated 3 years of married life. He asked to see wedding photos and you didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes at missing the event. You happily obliged. It was the most romantic day of your life, after all. 

And you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Patrick missed him too. You could mend the broken bridge between them, and your husband would be thrilled. He’d reward you for your good work. 

You asked Patrick to come to Art’s party. To make contact again. To come back into his world. He only hesitated for a moment, asked if Art knew and was okay with it. 

The lie slipped off your tongue easily. Of course, he’s wanted this for a long time. It’s a surprise, but a most welcome one. You didn’t have details on what happened between them- only knew of a falling out while Art was in college- but it couldn’t be that bad. Anything could be overcome, right? 

Patrick accepted and you hoped the lump in your throat was from excitement and not dread. You thanked him for meeting you, told him you’d forward him the details, and went back to your husband. 

The day of the party came, and you were so nervous you could hardly take it. You’d spent the last couple of days working yourself into a frenzy, convinced that this reunion was a terrible idea and your husband would hate you. You had no right to bring an estranged friend back into his life, on his birthday no less. And without saying a word to him. 

God, what the hell was wrong with you? 

You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and downed your third glass of water. It did nothing to soothe the dryness in your throat. Or the pounding of your heart. You wondered how fucked you’d be at the party if you took a Xanax right now. Or five. 

Just then, Art peeked his head into the kitchen, donning a sweet smile when he spotted you. He looked as handsome as ever, sporting a well-fitting polo shirt and khakis. His hair was growing out again, starting to show those boyish curls you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He made his way over to you, wedding band sparkling on his finger, and your heart melted. 

You loved him so much. Had you ruined his birthday with your stupid meddling? Maybe even ruined your marriage? 

“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted, sliding a hand around your waist and kissing your head. It was a familiar gesture, a normal one. He loved touching you, keeping you close. You loved it just as much, “The cake was just delivered. You went way overboard, as usual.” 

You pretended you weren’t overcome with dread and cupped his cheek, “Shut up. There’s no such thing as overboard. You deserve this, okay? You deserve to be celebrated.” 

Please, please don’t be mad at me for inviting him. For bringing him into our world. Please still love me. I did it for you. I’d do anything for you.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled- in that perfect way you adored so much. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time on your lips. It was gentle and caring and everything you were to each other. It made you want to cry. Art was everything. All you wanted was to give him the same. 

The doorbell rang, breaking you two out of the moment, and your husband pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Well,” He spoke, looking at you like there was nothing else in the world, “That must be our first guest.” 

You hummed happily, “Guess it’s time to celebrate you, Birthday Boy. Shall we?” 

“We shall.” He teased, doing a mock bow as he offered you his hand. You took it, laughing, and the two of you made your way to the front door. 

You took a deep breath and tried not to focus on the unhappy way your stomach was churning. 

The first hour of the party went by with a pleasant lack of reunions-turned-altercations. Patrick had yet to show his face, and you wondered if he might not come at all. Part of you was relieved at the idea, while the other couldn’t help but be frustrated. 

He said he would come. What if the surprise didn’t end up being a bad thing? How would you know if he never showed? 

God, you needed a cigarette. 

You’d spent the entirety of the party so far glued to Art’s side, being his doting wife as you made conversation with everyone. Your eyes continued to stray to the door, looking for a certain dark-haired man. Every single time, you were disappointed. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. From what you’d heard, Patrick wasn’t really someone who could be counted on a lot. 

Maybe this whole thing was just a big mistake. And maybe the part of you that truly felt let down at not getting to see him again was something you should never, never look into. 

You patted Art’s chest and stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna check on the food. I’ll be back.” 

He nodded, smiled, and pressed a kiss to your temple. His arm released its grip on you and he continued his conversation with an old Stanford buddy without missing a beat. He was fucking incredible. At everything. You were crazy about him. 

The food didn’t actually need to be checked on. The caterer was high-quality, and they knew better than to fuck up one of your events for your husband. You had full trust in them- you honestly just needed a breather. This whole night had felt like a cold fist clenched around your heart. 

Instead, you grabbed yourself a large glass of wine and made your way to the patio to enjoy some cool night air. 

The area was blessedly empty, allowing you to slip out of the hostess facade. You were more than happy to do it, especially when celebrating Art, but the circumstances tonight were making it much harder than usual. Which was, of course, entirely your own fault. Way to go, you! Knocked it out of the park tonight, didn’t you? 

You sighed, leaned against the railing, and took a long gulp of your drink. The weather was slightly chilly, and it felt amazing against your heated skin. Already, you were finding it easier to breathe. And think, for that matter. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the party, Mrs. Donaldson?” A familiar, spine-tingling voice spoke, breaking you out of your peaceful moment. 

You whirled around, eyes landing on Patrick fucking Zweig leaning against the wall of your house. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, his hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. They went well with the button-up shirt he wore, a stark contrast from the shorts and hoodie he’d had on when you first met. He looked good- really good. Enough to make a pit grow in your stomach. 

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You blurted out, thankful that the darkness was shrouding your red face. His face was just barely illuminated by the orange glow of the cigarette, and you watched as he looked you up and down, “Also, how’d you get back here? I didn’t see you walk into the house.” 

Patrick kicked off the wall and walked over to you, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. His curls fell over his forehead, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush them out of the way- the same way you always did to Art. You swallowed deeply. What the hell was wrong with you? 

“I told you I’d come, didn’t I?” He responded matter-of-factly, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. The smell made you nostalgic. You and Art had made a pact years ago to quit together, but God did you miss it sometimes. You licked your lips and tried (and failed) not to stare, “I snuck in through the back. Thought it’d be less messy that way.” 

You had no idea how he’d been able to get back here, but you decided you weren’t gonna ask. It didn’t matter in the long run, anyway. Besides, he was probably right. You had no idea how Art was gonna react, and it was smart to have it happen in an isolated area. 

“Probably smart.” You muttered, taking another swig of the wine. The feeling of his eyes stayed on you, burning into your skin, but you didn’t meet his gaze. You didn’t want to think too hard on why. 

“He doesn’t know you reached out to me.” It wasn’t a question, but you responded to Patrick’s words regardless. He’d find out eventually. 

“No.” The admittance came out with a heavy breath, like you were releasing the weight that had been on you all night. In a way, you were. You ran a hand over your forehead, “I don’t know what happened between you two, he doesn’t talk about it. But I just- I’m terrified he’ll hate me for bringing you.” 

Why the hell were you pouring your heart out to this stranger? What was it about him that drew you in so much and made you want to bring down your walls? How was this charming man already under your skin from one damn meeting? And how the fuck were you supposed to explain any of this to your husband, his estranged best friend? 

You needed another drink. Or ten. 

“You really love him.” Again, not a question. But you answered. You had to. 

“More than anything else in this world.” 

Patrick offered you his half-smoked cigarette and you took it without thinking. The sting of the smoke in your lungs was like coming home. It was so good it almost made you cry. But lots of things made you want to cry right now. You could taste mint on the cigarette, like he’d been chewing gum before lighting up. The same kind Art always chewed. 

It made something flip in your stomach. 

“Well, from what I can tell, you’re pretty great. Super caring, based on how far you went in an attempt to make him happy. Shit, you tracked me down, which is a feat in itself. And you’re gorgeous, obviously. I’m surmising that you’re basically the whole package.” He spoke calmly, as if every one of those words didn’t make your heart jump into your throat. You chugged your drink to use it as an excuse for your rosy cheeks, “So I don’t think there’s any way he could hate you. Even for inviting me here.” 

You were speechless for five long seconds as he took the cigarette back and inhaled. Then you finally got your brain to stop lagging, “You don’t even know me.” 

“I know enough.” He countered, continuing the pass back and forth of the cigarette, “And I know Art. He wouldn’t marry someone beneath him. The fucker somehow always gets the ones way out of his league.” 

You didn’t comment, but you knew what Patrick was referring to. Tashi Duncan. The now pro-tennis player that he’d had a thing with back in the day. You didn’t know the details, but you knew she was a point of contention between the two men. 

Honestly, you tried not to think about Tashi. She was gorgeous, super talented, and an overall seemingly great person. Art had passed up on that for you, and it got to your head a lot. You wondered if he regretted it. Or at least wondered what his life could’ve been like. 

You didn’t think you were out of his league. In fact, you thought the opposite. Not that you needed to tell Patrick that. Your insecurity and jealousy issues could stay yours alone. 

“Well, I don’t know about that.” You murmured.

The cigarette began to dim as you took the last drag, flicking it off the balcony and down into the grass below. With both the alcohol and nicotine gone, you started to think you probably needed to get back to the party. Your husband would be looking for you, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting. You just had to figure out how Patrick would fit into the equation. 

“If you weren’t taken, I’d be trying to charm the fuck out of you right now.” 

The statement caught you completely off guard. You looked over at him, eyes wide, and tried to keep your cool at the sexy smirk on his face. God, he was so fucking attractive. 

You blinked once, twice, a third time, “What?” 

His smile grew at your flustered state, “I have great taste in women, and I’d flirt with you if I could. So I’m saying you’re definitely a catch. And totally out of Art’s league.” 

You licked your lips. Subconsciously, “I’m pretty sure that was flirting.” 

“Was it?” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, “Oops.” 

You ran your finger over the rim of your wine glass, trying to think of something to say. You came up empty. You were married- to this man’s childhood best friend. To the love of your life. He shouldn’t be flirting with you. And you definitely shouldn’t be enjoying it. 

“There you are! I was starting to worry.” Art’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned around to watch him making his way to you with a smile. Then he spotted Patrick and his smile dropped as his face filled with recognition, “You- what the hell are you doing here?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain and mediate the situation, but the dark-haired man beat you to it. 

“Your pretty little wife invited me.” He said, which was probably the worst thing he probably could’ve chosen. You internally buried your face in your hands. 

Art’s jaw clenched and his eyes lit up. It took you a moment to realize that the expression was anger. Honestly, it took you by surprise. It was extremely rare to see him angry, and never was it directed at you. And though he was looking at Patrick, you were terrified that in this instance it was. 

“Let me explain.” You immediately choked out, clutching your empty wine glass like a lifeline, “I really just thought that-” 

“She thought you missed me and wanted us to reconnect. As a birthday surprise. Isn’t that sweet?” Patrick butted in, throwing an arm over your shoulders. Art looked ready to murder someone (probably the tennis player holding you), “I doubt it was easy contacting me, but she managed. All for you.” 

You laughed nervously, ducking your head, “Well, that’s not-” 

“Let go of her.” Art demanded. His voice was cold and dangerous. Possessive. It made something twitch in your core. Oh, you liked that. 

The brunette didn’t hesitate to do as he was told, holding his hands up in surrender, “My bad, man. I just feel like we’re already such close friends from hanging out together. Don’t you think so?” 

The last part was directed at you, and Patrick nudged you. You gave him an incredulous look. 

The charming, sweet man you’d just been talking to was gone. He was replaced by a cocky, near-disrespectful antagonist who was trying to egg your husband into some kind of altercation. And he was using you as the bait. 

You couldn’t lie that you were frustrated, but it did feel a bit nice to be in an almost tug-of-war between the two men. You liked being an object of affection or desire. 

“You should head inside, baby.” Art spoke to you, though his furious gaze never left Patrick, “Our guests will wonder where the hosts went. I’m gonna talk to Patrick for a minute.” 

You’d be damned if you told him no. Even though this situation felt like a mess that was definitely all your fault. Damn you for inviting Patrick. Damn him for being so captivating. And damn Art for loving you so much that the sight of another man touching you made him see red. This entire thing was like a whirlwind. 

“Okay…” You whispered, moving towards your husband and the house. You gave Patrick a small smile, hoping to convey your thoughts to him. Please don’t hurt him- he’s my world. Then you stopped at Art’s side and placed a hand on his bicep, “I’m sorry if this was a bad idea. I just wanted to make your birthday special, is all. I didn’t mean to fuck it up.” 

He finally looked at you, just long enough to give you a loving smile and a shake of his head, “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m so proud of you for doing all this for me. Don’t worry.” 

Then he kissed you, only to stop and pull away, “Is that- were you smoking with Patrick?” 

You sucked on your teeth and nodded, “Yes, a little. I’m sorry. I just-” 

But then he was kissing you again, hard and needy. Like he wanted to fuck you right then and there. Your face burned bright red, and you could feel Patrick’s eyes on the two of you. Art had never acted like this in all the time you knew him. But right now, within thirty seconds of being around his old friend, he was putting on a show to prove that you were his. 

You belonged to him. And he wanted Patrick to know it. 

You really, really fucking liked this. 

When he pulled away, you felt dizzy. From both the kiss and the wine you’d downed. You barely had time to take a breath before he was lightly patting your cheek and sending you inside. You managed to take a look at the two men before rejoining the party. They just stared at each other, like they were in a standoff. 

It was unbelievably hot. 

As you went back to your guests, lips still tingling, only one thought was coming to you. 

You wondered how long you could keep Patrick around, just to see what it would do to your precious husband. 

[spooky-scary-scarecrow]

"You have beautiful eyes."

(So, I've been skimming Tumblr and haven't found any goddamn Cooper Howard fics that involve how pretty his damn eyes are. Only a handful of people actually mentioned it - babyghoul still has his luscious eyelashes. So since nobody has written a fic of it, I put it in my hands >:] Enjoy!)

Warnings: Mild nudity, mentions of after-sex, cuddling, complimenting, tooth-rotting fluff, a teeny of lore-building in the first few paragraphs

It was a quiet evening, the both of you laying on an old mattress you had found that was surprisingly intact enough to not have a spring digging into your back. The night was elongated from the actions that happened merely moments ago, labored breath between the both of you still filling your ears.

Turning to face Cooper, your eyes roamed his scarred body. A lean frame with muscle, not too much yet not too little. Just enough to show off how strong he can be. You both met only months ago. It was supposed to be just him killing a bounty for you and you'd pay him in caps and viles. Though after the next few bounties, you grew on him and decided to tag along with his journeys. It was like the longer you were both exposed to each other, the more you fell. Ending up in this situation many times before. Quick, easy, just to relieve stress.

Until now. You took the time to observe him. Observe his scars and muscles and callouses as he laid on his back, arms behind his head as his eyes were closed for the moment. You let your gaze drift up to his face - the normally hardened expression softening.

"I can feel you starin'," he spoke after a moment, making your cheeks flush red as you look away.

"Sorry, I just never seen you so... relaxed," you mumbled sheepishly with a chuckle.

A soft hum left him, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you in without warning. This was rare, the physical touch. Affectionate. Slowly, you rest your head on his chest, hearing the faint beat of his rotten heart and the rasp of his lungs as he breathed.

A moment passed before you looked back up at him, capturing his gaze with your own. Suddenly, you noticed something you never noticed.

His eyes. You never studied them because of how much movement he made - or there just wasn't any time. You would have thought that his lashes would have been gone along with his other body hair but no. They were still there. Rather thick and long. Framing the hazel orbs of his. Making them stand out.

They seemed almost a rich, deep gold and green at the moment because of the lighting - only the dim flame of the oil lamp on the ground beside the mattress lighting the area.

They were beautiful.

"I never noticed your eyes," you blurted, your gaze lingering on his. You could just see the shift of emotion in them - they were so expressive. More expressive than you expected. It showed he was still a man - still human - even if he did turn into the being he is now.

"Is that a compliment, darlin'?" he mused, raising a hairless brow.

You pondered. Maybe it was. Maybe you should say the things about them that were stuffed in the back of your brain.

"Yes," you answered after a beat. "I'd say more about them if I could put it into words."

He was the one to break the eye-contact, leaning his head back. You didn't speak again, afraid you might have hit a soft spot in the man. But you could see the corners of his lips twitch, his roughened fingertips tracing imaginary shapes on your bicep as he gazed up at the ceiling, through the holes in the roof.

"I never paid attention," you continued with little hesitancy. "Of your eyes, I mean. I always thought all Ghouls had fully black eyes."

A grunt in response. You can take that. The silence fell between the both of you once more. With a heavy exhale, he pulled you closer until your body pressed firmly into his side. A subtle gesture. A silent thank you.

Maybe you should pay attention to him more often.

Thank you for reading! Give me a message if you want to request any prompts for our cowboy ghoul here :D

[sadesluvr]

Ōrālis 

Dr Jonathan Crane was a man of great restraint, but he wouldn’t hold himself back from indulging in your self-gratification. 

Jonathan Crane x Reader

A/N: I’ve been secretly obsessed with Crane for a while, and just had to make something based off this post! Vaguely dark content (it’s Crane) so please read the tags before proceeding. Minors + ageless blogs DNI!

Word count: 3.1K

Tags: SMUT / DUB-CON / Manipulation / Power play / Misogyny / Abuse of power / Dom + Sub elements / Masturbation (fem + afab anatomy) / Scientific terminology / Dialogue heavy / Crane being weird and unsettling (canon) / Reader is wearing a skirt for logistic purposes

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. 

You never knew why you even bothered to show up to your sessions early anymore.  

Before your previous therapist, Dr Spencer, had retired, you’d used the time to gather your thoughts, perhaps flick through the contents of the random assortment of magazines on the waiting room table, but never to actively contemplate dropping the process entirely whilst staring at a clock, wishing you were anywhere else. Wringing your hands, you shifted uncomfortably on the bench as you tried to suppress the painfully familiar feeling of bile rising to your throat. It was all Dr Crane’s - the Dr Jonathan Crane famed for his work at Arkham – fault, being an uptight, anti-social excuse of a psychiatrist, who, technically, shouldn’t have been treating you regardless. His mutual discontent for the matter was all too obvious, his blunt and borderline disinterested demeanour making you feel that your every thought, choice and emotion was a mistake. 

You’d had a painfully exhausting week, from closing deadlines at your job to your cousins’ wedding plans leaving you feeling like you were on the brink of a breakdown. To make things worse, your bus had broken down on the way in, forcing you to walk four blocks of grimy Gotham streets in the rain. 

Once the door opened – right on the hour at 5PM as usual – you felt like you wanted to die. 

“Might I remind you that this is your time,” his smooth, yet commanding voice said. “If you’d like to waste it, then be my guest.” 

You huffed and shifted in your seat, making small circles with your foot as you held back a frown. If it wasn’t his personality that made things uncomfortable, then it certainly was the fact that he was handsome; rather painfully so for someone in his position. He had dark hair, plump pink lips and a chiselled jaw, all of which were spectacular together but couldn’t compare to his eyes; striking, intense and a sharp blue. His eyes, whilst his best feature, was certainly one of the pitfalls of being in an enclosed room with him. They were always watching; staring into your soul and taking you apart, piece by piece, limb by limb. 

Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose before pointing your hand at him in a vaguely accusatory manner. 

“Look, Doctor, I’ve had a long week. Can you spare being snarky for at least a minute?” 

“Interesting that you characterise my frankness as ‘snarky’, Miss L/N,” he said, unmoved by your tone. “It seems like you’re not used to people being direct with you.” 

“I have been, remember? You’ve been treating me for two months now.” You replied sarcastically. 

“Yes, and I haven’t seen much progress,” he said flippantly, pausing to flick through a notebook before looking back up at you. “I suppose I’m now inclined to ask how you are.” 

“I’m amazing,” you said pointedly. “Luck is on my side. I walked here because the bus broke down. Not to mention the fact that I’m four days out from my deadline at work, and I’m probably going to be sick for all of them because of the weather. And my cousin’s wedding is in a month and we still haven’t gotten invitations out, so God knows —“ 

Crane made a small humming sound that stopped your rambling, a small smirk on his face as he did. 

“Did I say something?” You frowned. This man was so self-assured that he found menial, everyday things like this amusing. He probably pitied you.  

“It’s clear to me that you’re doing a lot for other people,” he said. “Work is completely understandable, but preparing a wedding is not. You’re not under any obligation to do this.” 

You blinked, brows furrowing in confusion as you tried to make sense of what he’d said. His lips were folded into a straight line as he watched you unscramble your thoughts, his oh-so powerful gaze making you feel as if you were a blathering idiot. 

“She’s part of my family,” you said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Family help each-other…” 

He angled his head in a small nod. “From my understanding, yes; with aspects such as parenting and homemaking.” 

“Marriage is a kind of homemaking. It’s very common for families across cultures to be involved in matrimony.” You shrugged. 

“Then, what do you suggest you do?” Dr Crane said matter of factly. “Slave over fickle things like necklines and bouquets? What do you gain from torturing yourself in this process?” 

“It’s not about me, it’s about my cousin. She deserves to be happy.” You said through gritted teeth, now inexplicably becoming heated. It was clear that he wasn’t one who had many friends – if any – and a relationship with relatives seemed out of the question.  

“That statement is almost entirely untrue,” Crane said bluntly, brow raised as he cocked his head in a knowing manner. “We as humans are made to be self-serving. I’m not denying that one such as your relative does not deserve to be happy, more that you want something from making her that way.” 

You scoffed. “Are you asking me or telling me?” 

He didn’t answer, but merely swallowed, breaking his gaze with you to look around the room cooly before focusing back on you.  

“I say this because it’s not uncommon for women to experience envy in these positions. Some have the fickle idea that their assistance in the process will bring themselves further along to matrimony,” he stated. “Thus, your apparent stress on the matter paired with your reaction to my previous statement about familial obligation gives me reason to think that you’re particularly jealous of this cousin.” 

You scoffed. 

“That is not true.” 

Crane hummed and adjusted his posture. 

“Is there a significant other in your life?” 

“No…” you replied, your voice practically a mumble at the statement. You were almost a hundred percent sure that he’d known that, given he had Dr Spencer’s files in-front of him. Like most things with him, it was just another way to make you feel small. 

Again, he didn’t follow up the statement but instead moved on. 

“I could go on about how jealousy is a one of the many products of fear, but I’m rather interested about this love life of yours,” he said, placing the notebook on the table below him. “A relationship is one thing, but nowadays there are other options to companionship.” 

You swallowed. 

“I don’t do hookups, nor friends with benefits. They’re too complicated.” 

“I see,” he said. “I wouldn’t write them off too quickly. They can be a fix to what you’re currently experiencing.” 

You raised your brows and shook your head at the implication. Not only was Crane making you feel borderline histrionic for simply having a stressful week but suggesting that you were just succumbing to your base desires was even more insulting. Insulting because on some deep level, you knew it was true. 

Perhaps you just needed a good, old-fashioned fuck for that sweet boost of dopamine and mental clarity.  Truthfully, you couldn’t remember how long it’d been since you’d had sex, let alone been in a relationship, to the point that if undoing your virginity was possible you would’ve been Mother Mary herself. 

“Do you partake in masturbation?” 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me that.” 

“Once again, Miss L/N, that’s untrue,” he said, exhaling as he took off his glasses and folded them into his pocket. “I’m a doctor, and my duty is to help you. Certain ways of masturbation can affect the mind, and I presume that’s one of the sole reasons you came to a therapist. The act releases dopamine, which is certainly good for the brain, not to mention it encourages blood flow to your pelvis,” he said precisely. “Therefore, I ask again. Do you partake in masturbation?” 

He cocked his brow this time; piercing blue eyes fixated on your own. You couldn’t tell if he was getting off on your discomfort, the vision of you touching yourself, or a weird mix of somewhere in-between. For a small man, he had a tremendous way of making you feel alone, as if you were the world, yet so seen. You fiddled with your hands, avoiding his gaze as you answered to the ground, wooden flooring suddenly becoming interesting. 

“I do... I-It’s just been a while...” 

“I’d appreciate it if you answered to me rather than at the floor,” Crane replied before swiftly moving on. “I think we should use the remaining time to work on that.” 

Your heart dropped at the statement, and you finally broke your gaze with the floor to stare at him. 

“H-How —“ 

“Start by making yourself comfortable,” he began. “And place your legs up onto the table as you spread them.” 

You felt ill, yet there was a painful curiosity in your loins that made you want to follow his every command. It was clear that he wanted to present yourself to him, virtually in a platter, and as much as it made you sick that this was a man you despised, you needed this.  “Doctor, I don’t think this is necessary —“ 

“We’ve got forty minutes,” he interjected. “I suggest you make this quick.” 

It’ll make you better, you thought to yourself as you placed your feet onto the table, leaning back as you allowed yourself to relax into the couch. The hem of your skirt rode up as you did, giving him an eyeful of your thighs and up towards your pelvis. Once done, you stared at him expectedly, and he hummed (one that judging by his frown of his lips were of displeasure) getting up from his seat and adjusting you himself. Nothing was ever good enough, something always needed to be fixed. Typical Crane fashion 

His hands were cold on your skin as he spread your legs apart, adjusting your footwork so that he’d be able to see more of you. You shuddered as his fingertips momentarily lingered on your inner thigh, and you suddenly became self conscious of your clamminess derived from the sudden condensation of entering the building. 

“Interesting,” he spoke, cocking a brow as he wrote something down. “You’re clammy to the touch and your legs are trembling. Is there something you fear?” 

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. 

“Perhaps this will clear your head,,” he said softly, undeniably amused. “I’m going to guide you through your fears…Remove your underwear.” 

His voice was noticeably more breathy and ragged than previously, and you took a quick glance down at his crotch, which, if you weren’t to be mistaken, was slightly raised, his usually smoothly ironed clothes now somewhat crumpled. Hesitantly, you shifted your hips up to slide your panties down your legs, quickly unnerved at the fact that you didn’t know what to do with them.  

“Put them on the side,” Crane instructed. “Inhale, and place your hand between your thighs. As you exhale, I want you to place your fingers at the top, on your hood.”  

Your chin wobbled nervously as you did so, eyes locked on Jonathan’s own. He swallowed, and you could’ve sworn that you saw his lip tremble in the process. You didn’t know to be scared or proud that he was seemingly anxious about it all. 

“Now begin to stimulate the area as you would if you were alone.” 

You nodded, using two fingers to rub small circles on your hood. Sometimes, when you’d tried in the past, it’d been apparent that there simply wasn’t enough lubrication.  

Today that wasn’t the case. 

The action gave you a tingle, but it wasn’t enough to make you feel better. Jonathan seemed to sense this. 

“Use pressure. It’ll make you feel better.” 

It did. The force of your middle finger down on your sensitive clit hood sent a pulse down you legs, building to a steady rhythm as you resumed your motions. You let out a broken sigh and bit your lip, your restraint a great disappointment to the man across from you. 

“Why must you insist on running from your own pleasure? I want to hear you, and I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to ask twice.” 

Craning your neck, you willed yourself to let out a moan, finding that it was far easier than you’d expected. It was just one of the many things you let build up in your head. 

“Good.” Crane hummed, and you could’ve sworn that he had unzipped his pants, relieving some pressure from his swollen bulge. “Now, move down to spread your labia apart. Allow yourself to indulge in your deepest fantasies, and use more fingers. I want you to explore yourself for me.” 

Letting out a whimper, your eyes fluttered shut as you found yourself lost in the smooth timbre of his voice; sensuous, pointed, with a deep rumble. It pained you that this man – this antagonist – was the individual within your fantasies, much more the fact that he knew it. How long had he been waiting to do this? 

There was a slight pain upon entering yourself; your walls moulding to accost themselves to the unfamiliar intrusion as you pumped your hands in and out of you. Your slow but methodic movements brought you a great sense of pleasure as you spread your arousal across your fingers, stimulating your hot sex.  

Jonathan let out a slow hum as he watched your chest rise and fall, succumbing to his basic urges as he mindlessly rubbed his hand over his cock. He wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of taking it out; let alone masturbate in-front of you. No, that would come much later. 

“Take your fingers deeper,” he instructed, subtly biting the inside of his lip. “I know it worries you. Too often we fear the unknown, but if you want to feel better, you’ll do it for me.” 

You did, burying your fingers into yourself to the point that your first phalanges disappeared within you as you motioned your fingers in a controlled movement. Finding yourself growing a quiet confidence from Crane’s amused smirk, you began to fasten your pace, pistoning your fingers like a machine. 

The wet sounds of your sex filled the room, the shine of your fingers undeniable as you spread yourself apart, baring your pussy just for him. This is what he wanted. 

This was what you wanted. 

Right? 

Right. 

“Very good,” the man crooned. “It feels good, doesn’t it? If this was all it took for you to be obedient, I suppose I would’ve introduced masturbation to our sessions a while ago.”   

The differences were stark; all your spite from the beginning of the session had dissipated, and you were like putty in his hands. He’d integrated your mind like a parasite, a snake, and had carried out his word – he was making you better. 

“Y-Yeah..” you whispered, mind blank as you found it difficult to keep your legs up. Crane was stimulating himself through his trousers, small breaths from his chest ragged as he spoke. 

“Good girl,” he sighed. “Is my voice turning you on? Would you like me to bring you to release?” 

You nodded, an uncharacteristic squeal escaping your lips as you brushed past your clit. Jonathan sighed again, his lips pursed as he fought the urge to do it all for you, just for a feel of your wetness and tight walls. Alas, unlike other men, he knew how to exercise control. 

“Taste yourself.” he commanded without an ounce of hesitation. You winced, hands trembling as you removed them from inside of you and bringing them to your lips. Cautiously, you took a small lick of your juice, squeezing your eyes shut as you tasted yourself on your tongue. You’d never done that before. 

“Now touch yourself again, only faster. Keep your legs up, I want to see you. All of you. In this room, in this moment, you belong to me.” 

You wanted him to fucking consume you. Frantically, you switched between stimulating all of your zones, from your lips to your clit, a pornographic squelching sound coming from your nether regions. Crane bit down on the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flared as he palmed his cock, feeling spurts of pre-cum coat his pelvis. 

He let out a restraint grunt, and for some reason it made your loins tingle, sending a pulsing heat to your core. Given the way your head spun, and your vision became jagged, you could tell that you were close, which Crane took great joy in. 

“Perfect…” he hummed. “Look at me when you cum. Can you feel yourself lose control? This is what you needed, wasn’t it, you silly whore? Give yourself to me. All of it…” 

Had you been in a clear state of mind, you would’ve taken that as a threat, but in your bout of ecstasy it was hard to not be intoxicated by the idea. His voice was so soothing, so controlled and yet menacing that you felt like you’d sold your soul to the devil himself. Perhaps in a way, you had. 

Your legs were overcome by the force of your orgasm, quivering as you found it difficult to stay still. Squeezing your legs shut, you came around your fingers with a cry, your fluids spurting around your fingers and trickling onto your thigh and seeping down your legs.  

It felt impossible to come down from your own palpitations, and Crane’s stare was far from useful in relieving your anxieties. The man had barely moved, but he looked somewhat flummoxed, his hair slightly curly and tousled from sweat, whilst his pink lips looked raw, as if he’d been gnawing on them. 

Had he cum? Had he enjoyed this at all? Oh God, you were wondering if your therapist had cum from your private masturbation. 

The reality of what you’d done was coming back to you now, and you truly didn’t know what to think. You wanted to stay; to be petted and showered with praise for your show, and yet run and hide completely. You’d only known him for two months. 

And. He. Was. Your. Therapist.  

And so, you found yourself glancing back up at the time again.  

“That was…quite something,” Crane said slowly, clearing his throat as he nonchalantly polished off his glasses before putting them on. “I assume you’re feeling better now. I think I’d like to integrate this into our future sessions, starting with next week,” 

There was his usual detached tone. You thought orgasms brought mental clarity, but Jonathan was an enigma. 

“- It might be useful for you to wear a skirt, something accessible...I happen to like the colour you’ve got on now.” 

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

once again, congratulations on 1k, I'm so happy for you homie :)

I have a request: X 🧜🏻‍♂️🥵 and I'll leave the 4th option up to you

Listen, if this is your attempt at getting me to write porn involving Steve’s fishy parts ... you've succeeded. Happy mermay! 🧜‍♂️

Full of surprises

Rated: E

Words: 999

Tags: Mer!Steve Harrington; established relationship; explicit sexual content; explicit descriptions of mermaid anatomy

Notes: Shoutout to that one nonny who asked me if Eddie was gonna fuck the merussy in Just add water. (I opened that ask in a work meeting. I've never been so proud of my poker face.) Well, he never got to in the original story. We're fixing this now.

To say that Eddie's utterly obsessed with his boyfriend would be an understatement. 

What's not to love? Steve is sweet, handsome, has a delightfully snarky sense of humor, and he drives Eddie absolutely fucking insane. 

What he loves most of all, Eddie thinks, while Steve presses sun-warmed lips to his wet skin, chasing the droplets on his throat and chest with kisses, is that Steve’s just as head over heels for him. 

Even though head over tail fin might be more correct just now. 

It started out as just another summer night by the lake. Only the two of them, surrounded by a myriad of twinkling candles (that's another thing about Steve, he's a hopeless sap). As often, their romantic date soon escalated into mock-bickering and a heated wrestling-slash-makeout session. At least they remembered to take off their clothes before they went tumbling into the water. Steve has lost one too many pairs of pants to their spontaneous forays into the lake. 

Steve's legs last just long enough to launch himself at Eddie in a flying tackle, and then they both go down in a flurry of water and flailing limbs and glistening scales. 

They end up in the shallow water, hidden by the onset of darkness and the low-hanging branches of the trees.

They've never done this before, Eddie realizes as he slips his tongue past Steve's lips, drawing the first moans from them. Not like this. Sure, he has taken his sweet time mapping Steve's body with his lips and hands, has familiarized himself with the feel of golden skin and shiny scales, the lines where the two melt into each other. Has stroked his fingers from the base of those magnificent fins all the way to their edges and reveled in the sighs and shudders it gets him. 

But they’ve never done it in the water before. Steve has always made sure to get them back to land, where they could wait until his legs returned - naked and still glistening from the water, and beautifully eager to part under Eddie’s touch. 

Today, Steve seems to have no such plans, if the way he wraps his fins around Eddie’s legs to draw him closer is anything to go by. Or the way his hands stray deeper.

“W-wait,” Eddie manages to say, “Don't you wanna-” 

Steve does not wanna, evidently, because he lets out a growl, cupping Eddie’s naked ass in a deliciously firm hold and slotting their bodies together in the water. A while ago, when he first learned about Steve’s fishy little secret, Eddie would’ve probably freaked out now - unsure what to do with the foreign shape of the tail slipping between his naked thighs, where to put his hands. 

Now though, he traces the shape of Steve’s fins with his thumbs and licks his way back into that warm, wet mouth, drinking down the answering moan it gets him. Steve sucks on his tongue and rolls his hips - one long, powerful ripple of those incredible muscles. Eddie meets him halfway, pleasure pooling warm and tight in his belly, and grinds himself down on the tail, half-hard against Steve’s body already-

-and then he stops. 

“Hold on a sec,” he mutters. “What's this?” 

Because there's … something on Steve's tail he didn’t notice before. The slightest of dips where there should be only smooth scales, right where his cock would be if he was human-shaped. It’s kind of difficult to make out in the water and the hazy candlelight, and what can Eddie say? Impulse control is hard for him. Of course he needs to reach out and touch. 

Steve makes a punched-out sound and jerks so hard Eddie almost topples off him. 

“Careful,” he hisses. “It's sensitive.” 

“It's sensitive?” Eddie parrots, still unable to take his hand off the spot. He goes gentler, though, pressing down on it slightly. His fingers slip inside, and he gasps in surprise at the slick, tight heat that engulfs them. Steve gasps, too, but not from surprise. “What is it?” 

Steve scowls at him - or tries to. He has flushed a dark, delicious shade of pink and his eyes are glassy. His breath is coming in ragged little puffs. He is, Eddie realizes, almost painfully aroused. The thought makes something warm and urgent tingle in his own blood. 

“What do you think it is?” Steve retaliates, even as his hips twitch and his fins flutter excitedly. “Did you think I was, like, sex-less when I'm like this or what? I told you I had … parts, they're just a bit different.” 

“Well, excuse me,” Eddie blurts. His flush is trying to compete with Steve's now. “I like your other parts just fine, so I never really put a lot of thought into it.” 

Somewhere around the middle of his frantic string of words, Steve's expression shifts. 

“Oh?” he hums, and rolls his hips again, taking Eddie’s fingers deeper. Eddie can feel how he clenches around them, and his cock gives a needy little throb in response. “Any thoughts now?” 

“Many,” he rasps, “So many thoughts, none of them sex-less.” 

He curls his fingers experimentally, and Steve makes a noise he's never heard from him before. Primal and desperate and positively wrecked. Eddie’s mouth twitches into a sly smile of his own. 

“Why, fish boy,” he purrs against Steve’s lips, starting to slowly pump his fingers in and out. “You've never done this before, have you?” 

Steve whines and shudders under his touch, nails digging into Eddie’s shoulders. 

“Of course not, what d’you think? You're the first I've ever- Shit, there's only you, Eds. Only you.” 

And damn, how's a guy supposed to stay calm in the face of that confession? 

“Well then,” he murmurs, brushing back Steve's hair so that he can kiss the tiny patch of scales on his temple. “I guess we're both in for some interesting discoveries.” 

That's another great thing about having Steve Harrington for a boyfriend. He never stops surprising you. 

More celebration ficlets

[y-rhywbeth2]

Ketheric continues to be the member of the Chosen I struggle to get a grip on. Like the other three I can tell you the details of why (I think) they grew up to monsters:

Long post.

-

Let's start with Gortash: spent his childhood being told he was a selfish monster for his thoughts - apparently from birth - for the way he perceived the world, for *checks notes* wanting his parents attention as an undeveloped human being that relies on its parents to survive and thrive.

Then his parents send him to hell as part of a deal. Because that's where monsters go isn't it? They go to hell to suffer eternal damnation because they were monsters in life.

So you grow up in one of the literal cesspits of the universe, where the only people you meet are the literal scum of the universe, or those you're going to learn to see as weak fools who had to rely on others - and were ultimately willing to commit atrocities themselves - who were taken advantage of by the scum of the universe. You get to the Hells by committing atrocities, either because you want something so badly you'll fuck somebody over for it (out of greed, or because you couldn't fix it yourself (weak)) or because you did them of your own volition. And curiously, some of these people had their price tags wrapped in such subtle terms they don't even realise they did anything wrong! Lesson learned; anyone will willingly be a monster if you make the evil sound nice. Every single devil you meet has had the humanity flayed from their soul, and they got to where they are in their existences by fomenting (and committing) hate and rape and murder and everything evil under the sun as a regular Monday morning in the ultimate goal to make the universe an evil place. Devils are also 'self made men', everybody started from nothing as a lemure and clawed their way to where they are now. Every social interaction in the Hells is manipulation and abuse. Everyone there hurts everyone.

But you do have one example of a good person! There's Hope! Lovely lady, kind and sweet... Trapped in hell being abused forever going insane because of it because your ambitious sister fucked you over. That's where trust and love being a good person gets you.

And that was his entire social life. That was the people he had to look to for examples. All his early experiences were limited to a sample of the absolute worst it has to offer, and he has a very skewed view of the universe.

And the fact that he's apparently so damn good at sex a lady gave him a ring worth everything she owns after growing up around a pleasure devil whose role is harming and corrupting people with sex and has built in charm person at etc is not ringing alarm bells(!) I'm not side-eyeing the boudoir at all.

I wonder why having a child/teen spend their formative years in the evil factory literally designed to spit out monsters... spat out a monster? Kudos to Karlach, though: just how many layers of defence mechanisms has she got in her brain?

Gortash's thought processes are 50% through the lens of engineering and 50% through the lens of a devil's perspective to me. People will sell out others for their own gain, because they're too weak to do it themselves or because they're bastards. If you don't get with the programme you're the victim. You only get ahead by being ruthless. Everybody is untrustworthy, and relying on them will get you betrayed. The world is divided into the weak and the ruthlessly strong who take what they want. Yes, he's a monster. And so are his parents. And so is everyone. And then Bane saw this perfect example of his way of thinking and said 'that one.'

-

Orin: obviously we've got grooming. The fact that her formative memories include her mother trying to murder her, and the fact that she feels like the only person who has ever cared about her or supported her is her grandfather. Who is implied to have been raping her, or intending to. All she's permitted is to have her brain poisoned by her faith, which her life revolves around, and then her kin 'does it all wrong' and inherits everything she's been groomed to believe is hers. But no, 'they're not wrong,' says everybody around her 'you are!'

She's a Bhaalspawn, so her relationships with her kin are "kill or be killed," as Helena proved. You will please father by slaughtering your siblings, or you will die - or worse. You must be and stay favoured by Bhaal above all the others to be truly safe ("safe"), and Durge outranking her is a threat to her existence. Actually Durge existing is a threat to her well-being. She has no way to live a life outside the cult, never has and never will. Her life is insanely lonely and mostly consists of paranoia.

But the overlaying theme here is that she's a changeling. She's mirrorkin with no unique physical identity of her own, she can only reflect those of others. To be dnd canon accurate: she has no real facial features, no pigmentation. She's not permitted an identity of her own, and was punished for trying. She's a mirror born and raised to reflect the glory of Bhaal, the glory of her failed grandfather, the rise of Bhaal's favourite child. Never her own. Gee, I wonder why she literally wears people's skins.

Denied the ability to do anything but live according to what she's told, she does her best to live up to it because to fail is to become her parents and the countless aunts and uncles currently enjoying their damnation in the Throne of Blood. And then she's told she's doing it wrong. By everybody. She's a 'rabid dog'. She, despite having doctrine poured into her ears and probably carved into her flesh her entire life 'doesn't understand Bhaal.' And everybody is insanely patronising about it! You're never allowed to be anything but what we tell you to be, but you're still not good enough! Which is death. The Temple of Bhaal needs murder feminism.

-

The Dark Urge is my favourite little nightmare, and I've talked about them at length: much of Orin's trauma also applies to them, although where she's a mirror made to reflect the egos of others, Durge is only allowed one identity: Bhaal's. Where Orin can never seem to reach the standards forced on her, Durge is never allowed to fail to meet them, or else. Every outside connection they ever had was brutally sabotaged, and they've had 'you're a monster and only I (your abusive Father) can love you' drilled into their mind. They hate themself. We got the threat of sexual exploitation (assuming it didn't happen), there's a subtle undercurrent of incest to some interactions. The prayer for forgiveness kind of sums it all up: 'I'm sorry for forming an emotional connection that isn't blind love for you father, but don't fret, I'll destroy it with my own hands just like everything else and then finally get to kill myself just like I've always wanted.'

-

But Ketheric? Like villains don't need tragic backstories to be terrible people, but it does make them more interesting.

OK, so your bio family is fucked up and I definitely get the impression that they sucked (Malus is giving me vibes that say he'd have been a villain anyway, and might've been secretly Sharran to start with; Gerringothe seems to be drowning whatever her issues are in gold), and then the loving family you made for yourself broke: your wife died, and your daughter died, sure. But plenty of people on Toril probably have similar if not the same stories and didn't go evil overlord! Why are you doing this? What is informing these decisions? Why does your existence hinge so much on your dead daughter that your son is basically named after her and you seem to hate him for existing and not being her? Does Shar have something to do with it? Has Ketheric just carved out so much memory and emotion, so much of his own identity, that all that's left is the grief and the hunger for the pain to stop but, as per Shar's intent, it keeps coming back, with less and less positive memories to soften the pain. A wound that festers and never heals. Is the obsession with Isobel because she's the icon of everything that was good in his life, and her loss was the moment everything good was gone? Was he a rational man who turned to Shar to stop the pain in a moment of understandable grief and rage at her sister, and then was trapped in a cycle that destroyed everything that was good in that man until we get the General?

Just guess working my way through his entire backstory...

[nyxronomicon]

no, cause you're absolutely right with your tags. i too put that thought in the bag of dark thoughts that i should never open but i thought of you and said there is always someone who will be able to understand me lskdk and your tags,,, nodding fervently at your tags because i don't see him as a stepbro cause i love the age difference too lol but

i love love love love the idea of him coming into your room at night and waking you up with his fingers inside you and the bulge in his pajama pants pressing from behind. I also imagine him sitting on the couch when it's just you two, he invites you to join him to watch the game or something and it ends in him cockwarming you while playing with your nipples, you can't do anything but take it and feel it throb inside you until he finally cums inside you, but you have to do it fast before your mom/brother (choso maybe megumi) gets home from work <3 so the idea of being caught is very attractive to me

Sigh... *opens dark fantasies filing cabinet and pulls out stepdad Toji folder*

omg you did this on purpose... cockwarming while he plays with your tits??? my WEAKNESS and you added the risk of getting caught RIP RIP RIP i'm DEAD .... i'm sorry... i'm sorry for the sins... my pussy wrote this i swear...

cw: !! DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT !!, stepdad!Toji x f!reader, reader is university age, age difference, dub-con (coercion & implied somno), reader has major daddy issues, reader is touch/attention-starved, corruption, pussyjob, cockwarming, praise, titplay, risk of getting caught, slight edging, size (emphasis on Toji's big dick) pet names: princess, angel, good girl, reader is referred to as "step-daughter" but not as a pet name lol 2.2k sinful, sinful words

Your mother didn't even tell you she remarried. You got home from college for the summer to find a stranger and his son living at her place. You were resistant to the whole idea, but she made you promise to give them a chance and spend time with them. They were family now, after all.

Megumi was just a year older than you. He had one more year of university before graduation, so he was in a similar situation as you. You thought maybe you could bond about it, but he wasn't very talkative and showed more interest in his video games than you.

Your new stepdad... Toji Fushiguro. You didn't even know where to start with your thoughts on him. He was sleazy, shameless, and a little more friendly than you'd like. You couldn't really figure out what he did for work, and to be honest, you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't do anything. Your mom was a chronic workaholic, constantly gone on work trips and spending late hours at the office. She could easily support the three of you on her own.

There was another thought about him that clawed at the back of your mind. The one you immediately compartmentalized, the forbidden knowledge that once fully synthesized in your mind, you wouldn't be able to erase. It remained in a little bottle, threatening to shatter every time your stepfather got home from the gym. Or took you out to dinner. Or watched a movie with you.

You tried to include Megumi as much as possible at first, if only you have a buffer. Hanging out alone with Toji felt weird. It felt wrong, though you couldn't quite pin why. But Megumi was entirely disinterested in spending time with his dad, and only marginally more interested in getting to know his new stepsister.

After a couple of months of getting used to Toji, you were starting to notice things you liked about him. He was actually there for you, for one. Your mother was never around and in the past, and she never kept a man around long enough for you to have any kind of father figure. It was just you and her, but more often than not, it was really just you. You didn't realize how lonely you were at home but with him here, at least you had someone to talk to.

You let his sleazy comments slide. The few times you'd gone out with friends, he made sure to tell you how sexy you looked. And when you got home, he grilled you on if there were any guys you had an eye on. It always flustered you, reminding you of the forbidden thought trapped in that bottle. But as long as you didn't think about it too hard, it would stay bottled up, where it should be.

You hated to admit that your mother was right. That you liked your new stepdad after giving him a chance. You liked the banter, and he was always complimenting you. He made you feel good about yourself. So in turn, you let him get away with more. When you'd watch TV with him at home, you started cuddling with him. He was warm, comforting. Maybe you were a little old to be cuddling with your stepdad, but he smelled so nice and you always wondered what it would be like.

Your mom was at a conference. Megumi was gaming in the other room. It was like any other night, and you and Toji would be left alone as usual. You were half asleep, cuddled up to his chest, when you felt a hand on your breast. It took a second to process, your gaze suddenly shooting up to your stepdad, who froze in place.

"Oh," he smiled sheepishly. "Still awake, huh?" He whispered.

Your mind instantly replayed the number of times you'd innocently fallen asleep like this, only to wake up horny and wet. He was always sleeping himself, but surely he wasn't so brazen that he made a habit of groping you, his step-daughter, while you slept.

"What are you doing?" You whispered back, glancing at Megumi's door, which was open just a crack. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but his hand remained on your tit.

Toji pouted a little, gazing down at you. He knew it was wrong but he always had a weakness for naive college girls. "Sorry, your mother has been gone so much lately, I'm a little... pent up." His finger lightly brushed over your nipple, sending pleasure up your spine.

"Toji, we can't..." You whispered, though you made no motions to stop him. It felt good. He smelled divine. The living room was dark, only lit by the glow of the TV screen. Megumi could emerge from his room any minute and that only made this hotter.

"I know, I know." He agreed with you, but his fingers kept kneading your breast. "I just really like spending time with you. I wanted to take it a little further. Make you feel good." Heat flooded your body. You were sure if he could see your expression, he'd know about the dark thought threatening to take over.

You and your mother had the same taste in men. Admittedly you'd always been fixated on older men, maybe trying to fill the void the lack of a father had. But he filled that void perfectly. The reason it felt weird to spend time with him was because you wanted this. You wanted him to touch you and praise you. And you wanted more.

"I'll stop if you want me to." He added. It was too late, the desire in your body burning a hole in your innocence. The buried feelings you had for him shattered that tiny bottle. You wanted to fuck your stepdad.

Your face felt hot. You looked at the TV, playing sports highlights that you couldn't care less about. The sound was loud enough that you couldn't hear the clacking on Megumi's keyboard. And the sinful thought that entered your mind was that Megumi couldn't hear anything happening in here, either.

"No..." your voice was nearly silent. "Don't stop."

His eyes widened for a moment, movements paused. "Oh?" The empathetic smile on his face was replaced with one of a predator. The man could have torn himself away from you a moment ago but now? Even if you changed your mind he'd be playing those words in his head over and over until he could coerce them from your lips again. "You sure?" He added, in an attempt to appear more respectful than he intended to be.

The glow of the TV highlighted your features as you looked back at him. Your eyes were big and soft, like you were on the verge of taking back the permission you just gave him. Before you could say a word, his free hand tilted your chin, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. All the while, he massaged your breast again, your body melted against his.

"It's ok, princess. Just say the word and I'll stop." His voice was sensual, a soft murmur in your ear before his lips pressed to your neck. Shivers ran up your spine and you arched your back, giving him easier access to your collarbone.

It felt so good. His undivided attention, his touch, it was like a drug that you couldn't get enough of.

You knew you should tell him to stop as he tugged you onto his lap. You straddled his thick thighs, feeling his bulge against your clothed cunt. You knew how wrong it was for you to let him lift your top. The feeling of the forbidden pleasure coursed through you as he peppered kisses on your breasts. He was married to your mother. Thoughts of her long erased by his lips wrapping around your nipple. His tongue flicked the bud as your breathing became unsteady. He had a kid your age. But Toji Fushiguro doted on you, his son in the other room nearly forgotten as his thick fingers felt your pussy through the thin pajama shorts you wore.

Finally, finally you were the favorite. His fingers pushed your shorts and panties aside, sliding his cock into the space between the fabric and your wet cunt. It didn't matter that your mother ignored you in favor of the revolving door of your her lovers anymore. His thick girth was nestled perfectly between your pussy lips. You didn't need to grasp at straws trying to relate to your uninterested stepbrother. Toji's tip danced at your entrance, making you tingle with anticipation as you let yourself drown in his affection.

"So fuckin' sexy..." He mumbled against your breast. The praise nearly made you whimper, glancing at Megumi's cracked door as you bit your lip. "Wanna do me a favor?"

Words still escaped you, meeting his gaze with a shy nod of your head. It was almost cute, as if you were trying to play up the innocent act. Toji wanted nothing more than to flip you on your back and fuck you mercilessly on the couch until you were screaming his name. Get you to admit you'd been flirting and leading him on this whole time. After all, what kind of a slut shows this much interest in her stepdad? But with Megumi in the other room, he needed you quiet. And he knew just the perfect way to tease you.

"Just want you wrapped around me for a minute." He pushed his hips up so you could feel his cock sliding in your folds.

"Toji, we..." you trailed off a moment, considering how desperately you wanted to say yes. Your eyes were on Megumi's door again, dreading the idea that he could get up at any moment and find the two of you like this. "We shouldn't." You whispered.

"It's not sex." His hands were on your ass, encouraging you to grind against his dick. Your body moved with a mind of its own, the friction adding to the heat bubbling in your core. "Just a little cockwarming. It's no big deal."

"I don't know..." You knew there were reasons to say no but none of them came to mind anymore. You were so needy and horny and you felt yourself melting into every touch.

"It'll feel good. Don't you want to feel good?" He pressed his lips to your ear, whispering softly. His finger found your clit, toying with the sensitive bud as you rolled your hips against him.

You didn't answer, freezing up while pleasure coursed through you. Your cunt ached, desperate to be filled with him. You buried your face in his neck, panting as you whined silently in response.

"C'mon, princess." He fingered you faster, a sadistic grin spreading on his face. You were close. He could tell you were close from how fucking wet you were. Even his balls were soaked. "You want me to stop?" He slowed his ministrations, watching your reaction carefully.

"Don't stop." You immediately murmured. Your core frustratingly teetered on edge, frowning at your stepfather for toying with you like this. "Fuck," you moaned softly, careful to remain as silent as possible. You'd had sex before but college boys were nothing compared to him. You'd never ever wanted someone so bad. "I wanna cockwarm you..."

"Good girl." Toji grinned, and the praise went straight to your cunt. He lined himself up, your natural slick more than enough lubrication despite his size. It was a tight fit, he slowly eased your hips down until he bottomed out with a groan. "So good for me... my perfect angel..." admiration dripped from his lips.

The praise alone was enough for your pussy to flutter around him. Your back arched, a lewd expression on your face as your gaze met his. He smirked, now knowing how easy it would be to make you cum. "Stay still for me, princess. No matter what." You eagerly nodded your head, hoping for more praise. But he said nothing, instead groping your tits before latching on again.

He paid close attention to your irregular breathing. As his tongue and teeth tugged at your nipple, one of his hands toyed with your other breast. His free hand slid down your torso and into your panties, swirling around your clit. Your breath hitched, your cunt tightening around him. Feeling how full his big dick made you. You were getting close again as desire bubbled in your core.

You sighed with ecstasy, obediently doing your best not to move around. Slick now drooled onto the base of his cock, your sweet pussy clenching around him as your pleasure heightened, a familiar heat swirling within you. You felt so sensitive, fighting the instincts that were desperate for friction. You bit your knuckle holding back the moan that threatened to burst as Toji's movements sped up.

Your whole body tensed up, your orgasm suddenly and violently washing through you. Your cunt squeezed him as he helped you ride through the pleasure, his hands now gripping your hips to hold you in place. He continued to suck your tit, although his movement slowed to allow you to breathe. Still, he refused to pull out until he felt an aftershock or two strangle his cock.

"Such a good girl." Toji murmured in the shell of your ear, tugging you against his chest and leaning back onto the sofa.

@sourpeachsayshi

[paperbackribs]

Tags: steddie, getting together, featuring the chaotic friendship of Eddie & Dustin

🤎🌱🤎

Steve's hands are already at his hips, “Eddie, what are you doing down there?”

Eddie glances up from the hole he’d dug in the woods beyond Steve’s backyard. Looking at the dirt nearly up to his shoulders he belatedly realises that he may have become a tad fixed on his big idea.

Dappled sunlight falls through the tapestry of foliage above and the chirping of birds nearby cheerily fill the lush landscape, but none of it seems to distract Steve from his concern as he squints down at Eddie.

“Where’s Dustin?” Eddie counters like he doesn’t currently resemble a cartoon villain digging traps for the native wildlife. He resists twirling an imaginary moustache over his bare upper lip, but Steve must have an idea of his thoughts because he squints suspiciously over his arms as he folds them.

“I don’t know,” Steve says slowly from high above, “should he be here while you create what looks like your own grave?”

Eddie props his arms over the lip, tilting his chin up and aiming for charming. Playful even. “Now, why would I do that, Stevie? Life is a magnificent thing, worthy of delight and whimsy.”

“Whimsy,” Steve repeats sceptically, “like you practically digging up my backyard. You know, someone could fall and sue me, right?” Despite his scolding tone, Steve bends to kneel on the ground, his delicious thighs by Eddie’s folded hands and head hovering over his.

Eddie flutters his eyelashes as Steve waits on him, nearly close enough to kiss if he would just tilt down a fraction. “You could get in here with me, make it so there’s no room for anyone else.”

Steve’s bright hazel eyes flash and Eddie wishes he could get a handle on whether it’s because of Eddie’s suggestive tone or if it’s that Steve is simply annoyed with his antics.

Just when the silences stretches for a second too long, enough that Eddie thinks Steve might lean forward, close the gap and take Eddie’s lips in what would surely be a spectacular first kiss, he instead smirks, slyly pushing a handful of loose dirt into the hole from the high mound above Eddie’s head. It rains over Eddie’s right shoulder, which he shrugs fatalistically — he’s fairly covered at this point anyway.

“Eddie, tell me why you’ve dug a hole near as tall as you by my backyard.”

“Or what, you’ll bury me with all the other bodies out here?”

“Something like that.” Another handful rains down and Eddie sighs, “It’s a compression hole.” Steve’s hand halts, “Like the socks?”

Eddie takes the opportunity to reach out and clasp Steve’s hand, ostensibly to stop it from pushing more dirt over his shoulders but really just taking the opportunity to touch Steve. Hold the warmth of his hand within his own, stroke the silken back of it with his thumb.

Eddie steals many moments like these and Steve always lets him, but he never knows whether it's because of Steve's generous nature or if it's because he wants Eddie touching him, specifically.

“Like the socks,” he agrees, eyes sharp as Steve’s cheeks flush a faint red. Yet he retains a sceptical mien about him so Eddie further explains. “Dustin has this book—”

Steve snorts, “Here we go.”

“Dustin has this book and it says that the Aboriginals from Australia have known for ages how to take care of deadly snake bites.”

“With a hole.”

Eddie is always fascinated to see the evidence of Steve’s smiles in the shine of his eyes, and he delights in being one of the few people who often brings out its brightness. “With a hole,” he agrees with a cheeky grin, happy at Steve’s amusement.

“Bit by a Red-belly then you're in the hole for x amount of days. By a King Brown then for an nth amount of days. Placed in the hole and buried up to your neck, the compression of it all works the venom safely through your system.”

He's sad to see those pretty eyes hidden from him as Steve closes them with a deep, bracing breath. “Eddie,” he begins in a warning tone, drawing his hand away, “is Dustin finding a poisonous snake to bite you with.”

“No, definitely not,” Eddie hedges but at Steve’s stern look he squirms, “because poisonous would mean that I can’t eat them?”

“Venomous then!”

Eddie thinks that maybe he’s losing his capacity to charm Steve if the ire rising in his eyes is anything to go by. He shifts uneasily on the hard dirt below him, feeling particularly trapped as Steve’s frown deepens while looking like he’s considering burying Eddie without the bite and definitely above his head.

The sounds of eager feet crunching over dry leaves and fallen branches sound behind Eddie and he tilts his head in time to see Dustin fly through the trees with a long, wriggling animal in his hands. “Found one!” He calls triumphantly, the curls around his face bobbing in excitement. There's a smudge across his cheek that Eddie suspects was made by crawling through the dirt and bushes to find his captured prey.

About twenty inches long, thin with yellow stripes framing its scales of green and brown, the garter snake wrapped around Dustin’s left arm tastes the air in front of it with its pink forked tongue. Simultaneously looking unhappy at being captured while utterly disinterested in the humans surrounding it.

Dustin’s face crinkles in confusion as Steve starts laughing behind Eddie’s back. “What? What is it?” He asks Steve who, Eddie looks over to see, has fallen back onto his butt, head tilted to the sky as he snorts and chuckles at the harmless animal Dustin has procured for their experiment.

“Never mind,” Steve waves an expansive hand towards the two of them, “carry on. As you were.” Humour dances over his brow and broadens his smile, “Here, I’ll even help. Pass it over, Dustin, I’ll throw the terrible monster at Eddie myself.”

It’s Eddie’s turn for his cheeks to flush now and he might be more embarrassed if it weren’t for Steve catching his eye, sharing a look of amusement with him rather than at him, and Eddie finds himself charmed by Steve Harrington once more.

It's not the first time and he knows that it won't be the last. Steve has had Eddie firmly wrapped around his little finger for far too long to say now, and Eddie's only waiting for the barest hint to step forward.

He sighs and turns back to Dustin, “Let the snake go, it’s a bust.”

Dustin opens his mouth to protest, but Eddie heads him off, explaining that the only creatures in danger of the carnivore in his hands are worms and maybe a mouse or two.

Eddie reckons that if Dustin were a mouse his tail would drop in disappointment right now, looking as sad as one can as he trudges away to release the snake in a safer place deeper in the woods.

He turns back to Steve to find him crouching now, braced with a hand outstretched towards Eddie. His eyes are still bright from his earlier laughter, but an invitation now winds its way through them.

“How about I help clean you up?” Steve asks in a dark murmur and Eddie lights up, finally finding an answer to the question that's been jittering in his heart.

“Why don’t you,” Eddie grins in agreement, clasping Steve back and pushing up to meet him halfway. As he scrambles out of the hole, Eddie pats the lip of its edge in affection as he continues to hold onto Steve’s hand. He silently thanks the soon-to-be-forgotten experiment and winds their fingers together, following Steve home.

💚 More steddie here

[scoonsalicious]

5.4 Major*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, explicit sexual content (hand stuff, fingering) Minors GTFO: I don't serve your kind here.

Word Count: 900

Previously On...: Lily knows Bucky's been lying to her, and she's surmised he's on a date. That's got to end.

A/N: Posting a little early today to make up for yesterday being so late!

I've decided to postpone my break by a few days, so I will give you Chapter 6 in its entirety before I take my mini-hiatus. It's only three parts long, so I will start my break on Thursday, 5/16 and resume posting on Thursday, 5/23. It's a better place in the story to leave you, a little bit more dramatic than at the end of this chapter, like I had originally planned, lol. It felt off leaving you all here.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You flopped your body down onto your bedsheets with a giggle. “Full marks, Sergeant,” you gasped between panting breaths. “Once again.” It was all the two of you could do to get back to your apartment without ripping each other’s clothes off.

Bucky laughed and came to lay down alongside you, propping his head up on his vibranium arm. Leaning over, he bent down to kiss you. “I couldn’t have done it without you, doll” he said with a grin, but then his face grew serious. “Seriously. It’s never been like this with other girls.”

You blushed and playfully pushed at his rock hard shoulder. “Come on, Bucky,” you said with a laugh. “You’ve already got me naked and exactly where you want me; you don’t need to sweet talk me.”

Bucky placed a hand on your sweat-slicked hip, gently turning you to your side so you were facing him. “I’m not,” he told you, searching your eyes with the utmost sincerity in his expression. He pushed back a strand of damp hair away from your face. “I’ve been with… well, a fair number of girls over the years.” At the raise of your eyebrow, he held his flesh hand up defensively. “What? I’m 105 years old, doll. I’ve been around the block.” You couldn’t hold back your laugh at that, and he kissed your nose before continuing: 

“Like I said, a fair number of girls. And none of them, not a single one, ever made me feel the way I have when I’m with you.” He cupped your cheek in his hand and you felt your cheeks flame in a blush. “Come on, sugar. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too. That this,” he took his hand off your cheek to motion between your two bodies, “isn’t something special.”

“It’s been a little over a day, Bucky,” you chastised him gently with a smile, afraid to admit that you, too, felt this was something unique. “Maybe thirty hours?” Thirty hours in which the two of you had somehow managed to have sex eight times, not that you were counting. You couldn’t believe how quickly he was able to get it up again after he came, but he’d assured you that was his favorite side effect of the serum that had made him a super soldier. It had quickly become your favorite, too.

Bucky’s face fell, and you realized that he wasn’t going to judge you if you told him the truth, because he felt it just the same. “The best thirty hours of my life,” you clarified, tucking your fingers under his chin so you could bring his gaze back up to yours. “And yes, I feel it, too. It’s never been like this before. Not with anyone else.”

“Not even with your ex-husband?” Bucky asked with a playful smirk.

“Especially not with Conner,” you told him with a roll of your eyes. “Took me years to teach that man where my clit was, and even on his best days, he still needed a map.”

“Oh, you mean this, right here?” Bucky deftly slid his hand between your thighs, finding your hub of nerves almost instinctively and began to lightly trace it with his finger, sending an electric tingle through your body. 

“Fuck, yes,” you exhaled, reaching up to grab Bucky’s shoulder for support as he increased the pressure. He moved his metal arm from under his head and slid it behind your shoulders as he pulled you flush with his chest.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he murmured into your hair as he moved his fingers faster against you, occasionally dipping them down to your entrance to collect some of your slick for lubrication. You hitched a leg up over his hip to allow him better access to your core. 

“Jesus, Bucky,” you moaned, feeling yourself building to the crescendo. Taking your hand off his shoulder, you grabbed his wrist, guiding his movements so you could grind your desperate cunt against his hand.

“Do you want my fingers, sugar?” Bucky panted. You looked up at him to find his gaze locked on where his hand had vanished between your thighs, his pupils completely blown from lust. “Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers until you squirt all over me?”

You couldn’t even get out a coherent word, just a pathetic whine that turned into a near scream when Bucky plunged three of his digits into you. The air was full of the frantic sounds of your combined breathing, along with the rapid squelch of his fingers driving in and out of your cunt with a speed you didn’t know was humanly possible. It felt like he was hitting every part of you, even parts you didn’t know existed until now. Every time with Bucky felt that way.

“How you doing, sugar?” Bucky asked as he continued to drive his fingers home. “You okay?”

You nodded and grunted in the affirmative, loving how he always checked in on you. You were so much more than okay. You were transcendent. 

Soon, you felt that intense, unfamiliar build up that only he had been able to pull out of you once before, on the living room floor. The pleasure was so intense, you couldn’t see straight and you were exploding all over again, clinging to Bucky for dear life as you screamed his name. 

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

The Renegade

joel miller x fem!reader

Summary of the fic: This is why I’m writing to you, Tess. Do you see how much trouble am I? How unstable and not anywhere good for him? I can’t fall in love with him and he can’t get closer, I’m a weak bitch: I’m gonna fall for him if you don’t help me. I walked too many meters of bad decisions before, I can’t cross another ocean. You are my only hope, The renegade - Your parents ask you to try seeing a therapist, Tess, and you agree under one condition: she can't let you fall in love with Joel Miller. A fic in the format of letters, from you to Tess. 🐾

read on AO3 | masterlist | next chapter

CW/tags: Explict +18, no outbreak AU, slow burn, fluff, smut, kinda loser reader? lol, implied age gap, coming of age, no use of y/n

Word count of the prologue + chapter 1: 6,4k

A/N: This will be a quick fic, I promise! I needed to take it off my head, it was clogging everything else at this point lol I really wanted an anti-hero protagonist instead of the usual good girls I write. She is messy and adorable at the same time, I'm really proud of how the story is taking shape! Hope you like it!

PROLOGUE

Austin, July 2024

Dear Tess,

You said I could write you in any format as long I’m true to what I’m putting out. That’s some therapist bullshit, but since it’s you reading this mess, I will let it slide. I thought a lot about what to write down for you, not the usual overthinking, more of a “where do I begin?”. Remember, you were the one who told me to write this if I can’t say out loud what it is inside my head while we are in session. This shit is hard, okay?

Let me start by being the smartpants I used to be: the human brain processes a thought faster than one meter per second. If I put together all the meters my brain ran while getting bad ideas, I could now cross the Atlantic Ocean.

Do you remember when you were a kid and your parents told you to avoid certain people? That strange feeling you get when you see a trainwreck of a person, the one that didn’t exactly do something bad, they just are stuck somewhere out of this reality and you think to yourself “I would never get in that position”? 

I did get in that position. I’m stuck in that somewhere. For years now.

Wish I could tell you that something horrible happened to me when I was younger, that my mother crushed all my dreams and my dad left one day to buy a pack of cigarettes. What about a strict family or an over-the-top religious one where I’m one of ten kids? Not even close to the truth, I’m an only daughter.

Middle middle class: enough money to live more than comfortably, far from the luscious lifestyle of the riches. I grew up knowing money didn’t come from the trees, I touched some grass, okay? The only thing expected by my kinda-aristocrat parents was that I would achieve academic success prior to a life full of achievements.

Chess competitions, spelling bee trophies (if I make a mistake a few pages down, it’s been a while since it), debate club captain, swimming team… You name it and I did. At seventeen I was voted as “most likely to be successful” and second place for homecoming queen because slutty Katie gave the basketball team a sloppy blowjob after practice. I had a first kiss and gave one bad handjob under the bleachers by that age.

Then university came and nobody, no fucking body, got wowed when I got an Ivy League on my first try. My head was too shoved up my ass to notice life around me. I wasn’t a pretty girl anymore because girls in my class were prettier than me, wasn’t the smartest since I wasn’t a teacher’s pet by just existing. 

My classmates didn’t care for me because I had no clue about social etiquette: what alcohol is acceptable to bring to a frat party? How do you pick up guys and let them suck on your tongue? Do you stay inside your dorm room when your roommate is fucking or do you wait outside?

I could do it with being the awkward girl, but not with being less than perfect. By the second semester, I was crying every day in the shower and realized I had no friends, just people who had the same interests as me back home. I tried so hard to become the number one in my class that life became hell the second my teacher gave me a lower score on a significant test.

I left her class and instead of crying, calling my parents to vent, or any other shit, I walked by the first frat house I saw and decided to lose my v card there with any guy that looked remotely cute. 

Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t be a slut if I hadn’t had a penis inside me yet, but I knew that something was boiling up for years. My hand sneaking under my panties after a tiring day, humping on my pillow whenever I got frustrated, even the shoulder massager I got for after swimming practice humming on my clit did it. All I needed was a chance to forget for a moment the hell that was my life.

And I did. A sand blond guy with a shark smile that would fuck anything that moved in his direction, clearly a rich bitch whose parents got his spot in the university. I walked in his direction and took my panties off, put them in his hand, and the next thing I saw he was deep inside of me while I hopped him vigorously.

I cummed so hard that I think saw Jesus, whatever he might be. Not that the guy made me cum, I had an itch for so long that any scratch would do it. Any. After coming down my high it was clear in my mind: I would do anything that I didn’t do before.

Drink until pass out, rob beer from the liquor store, fuck my roommate's hot dad, cheat on a test. Nothing was out of limits. Well, I still had to finish university and never use drugs because that was a hard no for me.

You see, Tess, I’m so good at keeping my promises to other people and ignoring my own needs that I did finish university. Graduated with an honor badge and everything, my parents' wet dream. Expect they no longer knew me and had no clue that I spent four years whoring myself and doing everything to ignore who I used to be.

And this is why on my first day in a big company, a trainee job earned right after college, I vomited inside the bathroom stall during onboarding. A panic attack a week later when my leader delegated some tasks. You give me a few months and my mind went blank the second I started a presentation to the c level board. I ran so fast outside that I fell on the sidewalk, got up, called for a cab, and never came back.

It’s been years since it.

My parents came to you because they still have some hope. I don’t, I think they are being dumb. Yes, I have an Ivy League degree, a bunch of useless skills (except for Mandarin, I can read so fast the menu at a Chinese restaurant) but nothing to do with when I WON’T come back to who I used to be. Do you think I sound miserable now? I’m miserable but I’m free in my kitchenette downtown, with my band t-shirts and two jobs. Living the dream.

Of course I’m fucking lying to you. I hate my life because the bitch running it is so dumb (that’s me, by the way).

It used to be kinda cool. The day I ran from the office was the same day I went straight to the arcade and played Mortal Kombat II so much that I broke the machine’s record. I went there for a full week before the manager, an emo guy looking like a teenager, decided to hire me.

It wasn’t enough to pay for my fancy downtown apartment, the one that got furniture that didn’t come from IKEA, so I had to move to the shithole I’m now. A mini studio in a building so old that if the city trembles, I’m sure that I will be turning into dust.

Years in this life, day after day, and I wasn’t mad about it. I was free, after all. It took about two years for my parents to find out that I wasn’t the prodigious child anymore and they took better than I expected. My mom cried, cursed my name, and asked if someone hurt me but I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was the one who caused it.

Anyway, you already know this stuff. They told you their side of the story when letting you know that I would be your new patient. What exactly have they told you? About how I never introduced them to a guy and my dad had a very straightforward conversation with me about why lesbians were cool and he would accept me if I was one? Maybe they told you about how I got so drunk one Christmas that end up peeing on the petunias in the neighbor’s yard and my mom thought it was a good idea to tell them I was heavily sedated from a fear of flying? Nobody said it was easy to be an only child.

What you don’t know is that I have a love life, you are welcome. For years I’ve been sleeping around with a married man. I know, I know, shocking! Scandalous! His name is Peter and he is dumb as a door. But the dick is good and he sometimes treats me like a real person. I met him at a bar, gave him a blowjob in the back alley (Katie would be proud) and we see each other every week since.

Remember when I said my family isn’t religious? Thank god because that’s not everything. I have a boyfriend, a real one. It was a scorching day, the AC wasn’t working and I had to put the neckline out a bit before becoming a puddle. That’s when I see him, playing with his friends, having fun, being so fucking broad and handsome… I had to taste it.

Flirted a bit and boom, got him at the back door pumping deep inside of me while I was sitting on a desk. He was amazing, he was making me gooey to the point of screaming in pleasure. Too good to be true, when he was about to come I saw the little golden cross pending from his neck.

The next day he came back, told me how sorry he was, and asked me for an opportunity to show me how good he could be. I thought he wanted a second round, but nope, he wanted me to meet Jesus. I’m a people pleaser, Tess. It has been four months since I’m Mormon Isaac’s girlfriend. Every Sunday I attend the mess, his family knows me and I haven’t slept with him since that first day. It marks also the four months I’m trying to break up with him.

You must think that I ain’t a good person and you are right, I’m not. Not the worst, but for sure not a fucking saint. I don’t come back in my decisions, anyone else with less brain would, but not me. I’m stubborn and deal with the hell I made of my own life. Or used to, because now I’m head over heels for this guy, Tess.

Joel Miller. The stupid hunk who is older, wiser, and hot. Who I can’t stop thinking about since we met. Damn his pretty brown eyes and how they look into my soul. I’m a mess and I need some help dealing with it before he gets into my trap and I destroy him.

This is why I’m writing to you, Tess. Do you see how much trouble am I? How unstable and not anywhere good for him? I can’t fall in love with him and he can’t get closer, I’m a weak bitch: I’m gonna fall for him if you don’t help me. I walked too many meters of bad decisions before, I can’t cross another ocean.

You are my only hope,

The renegade

P.S. I won’t pay you shit, hope my parents paid you enough for this.

CHAPTER ONE

Austin, July 2024

Dear Tess,

Yes, I'm doing well, thank you for your concern, guess the rambling in my last letter got you worried about me. It’s a skill, I’m very good at making people worry. I'm marvelous, splendid, and well, fucked. By our last session, you asked me more details of how I ended up meeting Joel and I said to you “a lady never tells” and you didn't laugh, tough crowd. Let me paint you a picture then.

There are many regulars at the arcade. The asians dudes that go there after Kumon (been there, done that, I feel so sorry for them), the lone wolves of 40+ that still want to feel young since they can't get any pussy and, my favorites, the after-school reruns.

These little fuckers go there every week to burn some steam from their sugary-inflicted bodies, stay until 4 pm and go straight to their houses, to their mom and dad. I'm not bitter, I just hate teenagers.

I'm aware that it sounds like I'm on the wrong career path since they keep my economy going, but fuck it, teenagers give me the creeps. Except for the queers, they are quite nice. I have a baby lesbian (it’s pretty obvious) that I call 3 pm because she comes by this time twice a week, Ellie.

She is probably fifteen or so and everything I wasn't at her age. Firecracker, bossy with a dirty mouth – did I ever tell you that the first time I said “fuck” in front of my parents was after my meltdown? You can get it. One of the only teenagers I got close to if I'm honest. She came by one afternoon, saw Mortal Kombat II, and hasn't left since.

“Who's The Renegade?” She asked me one time, checking out the scoreboard with disgust. Remember I beat the machine record? She was right after me.

“No clue, try harder.” I teased her thinking she wouldn't care and move on with her life, like people do.

But not Ellie, she tried really hard to break the fucking record. Week after week, I watched her trying her best from my glass display while wearing the ugly bowling striped shirt that is my uniform.

I saw him way before he saw me. Doing my regular afternoon routine, cleaning the games with some rubbing alcohol to avoid the sticky hands infecting everywhere, minding my business under the neon light. All good, until I saw broad shoulders (I have a type, okay? Sue me) playing the fucking Mortal Kombat II with Ellie by his side.

Broad, so fucking broad. Dark curls with some gray here and there adorning his ears. I must have made some noise because for a second he looked back and that nose? Yeah, that was the end of me.

“You were close, old man,” Ellie teased as the fight on screen got to an end. He glared at her before looking at his score. “Nah, you're full of shit. Not even close to me or The Renegade.”

“Yeah, if I was spending that much time here I would be second place too,” he groaned before gaining full height. That voice gave me chills as I pretended I haven't heard shit, trying to not sneak a look and failing every time.

And that was it, Tess. Not exactly your meet cute, sorry. He came back maybe three or four times, always polite, nothing else. I thought it would be a silent crush, a small one until I got bored. I’m constantly bored.

My second job is a little less orthodox, if you can call my first one that. A girl has to do what she has to to get that bag. On Christmas, I’m the Santa helper with a mini skirt and sweet smiles (you can imagine how many times I picked up bored dads like that), by Easter, I’m your lucky bunny hopping around in white hot pants, when Thanksgiving is around the corner I’m the sluttiest turkey you ever saw. 

The mall manager pays me double because I let him once see my boobs and the poor guy is so lonely that he is more than sure that we will sleep together at some point.

“A vest with “can I help you?” tagline? Where is the skanky clothes?” I asked him one Saturday morning, thinking he made a mistake giving me the day costume.

“We’re getting more boomers and older visitors, we need someone to stay in a good floor spot and answer their questions,” he told me in a boring tone, the sadness in his eyes always a classic.

“Okay, if they ask me questions, what do I do? I don’t know shit about this mall except that you can buy powder by the public telephones and shouldn’t use the ladies bathroom on the second floor, that’s where Nora from Chipotle goes and that woman’s ass is rancid.” He furrowed his brows and dragged his hand on his face, taking his time to process what I had just said.

“Just be nice and bring them to someone who will be helpful, maybe a security guard, I don’t know. And don’t use cocaine while on the job, I can’t deal with another junkie here,” he said reinforcing the vest on my hands and urging me to get out of the room.

Now would be a good time to remind you that I don’t use drugs, never did. I might be many things in this life, but not a stoner. Not because I’m prudish or think drugs are bad for you, even if they are. I’m way too afraid about getting hooked once I realize that the play-pretend reality that they induce in your brain is better than this one. I’m self-destructive, but not stupid.

So there I was, in my lime neon vest, above a small platform with a big dark blue “information” written. Thinking about anything you can imagine, my shift lasts six hours and I can’t sit down, just a fifteen-minute bathroom break. One of my worst nightmares is to be alone with the dumb bitch inside my head, that’s why I hate silence.

When was the last time you went to a mall? They used to be a big deal in my younger days, but now they are dead. It’s so fucking slow, just little packs of people here and there. Not even music playing to alleviate the tension between me and my stupid brain.

“Miss?” A small voice called, I looked to the sides and saw nobody,  so they insisted. “Miss?”

I looked down on the platform and to my surprise, a toddler with big brown eyes and curly hair was calling me. Hesitating for a second, I climbed down my platform and crouched to get my eyes the same height as his, I read once that kids get more comfortable like that.

“Hm, yeah?” I asked unsure of how one talks with kids, shouldn’t he be there with an adult?

“I can’t find my uncle,” the poor kid was on the verge of tears, making me panic.

“Okay, let’s find him,” I said with very little confidence, unsure how to approach it.

Before I could think about what I would do, his hand found a place in mine, holding me like an anchor. I decided to go to the nearest security guard and hope for the best, one thing was to be a failure by myself and another was to fail a little kid.

We walked for about five minutes, the fucking mall had a small amount of guards. No fucking clue why nobody comes down there. The kid got a little tired of walking and held up his little arms, asking to be picked up.

I accepted it, letting him rest his head on my shoulder. Thinking about it now, as I write this to you, I can’t remember the last time somebody hugged me. We might need to talk about it in session.

“You tell me if you see him, okay? What does your uncle look like?” I asked still walking down the corridor, searching for the damn guard.

“Big, fluffy hair,” I laughed at how wholeheartedly the kid tried to answer it.

“Blue eyes? Dark hair?” He shook his head for the first one but nodded at the second.

Changing corridor, I saw from afar a big guy and a smaller figure talking with a guard and figured out it was the kid’s uncle. The man seemed agitated, speaking with his hands in the air. As I pressed my steps, the figures got more familiar. Made a signal for the kid, showing them when we were close enough and his face lightened up.

“Uncle Joel!” He shouted happily, as I put him down so he could run to the tall man.

That’s how I found out his name. Simple, discrete, direct. Jo-el. Suits him.

He immediately hugged the boy, kissing the top of his head. Ellie was at the side getting color back on her face, unshed tears in her eyes when she noticed me.

“I know you,” she started and I panicked a little. I don’t know why, I wasn’t doing anything weird, but something about breaking their bubble made me uncomfortable.

Joel looked up from his nephew’s face and furrowed his brows, not in a “who the fuck are you?” kinda way, more of a “wait, I do know you too”.

“Hm, yeah, I work at the arcade down the block,” I said in a monotone, looking into Ellie’s eyes, ignoring Joel’s.

“Are you safe? All good?” Joel asked in a soft tone, much softer than I imagined a man like him could do, to the kid.

“Yes,” the toddler replied searching for my hand again. My eyes got to the size of the moon, unaware of how to react.

“Thank you for helping him, we were about to lose our heads searching for him everywhere.” Joel gave me puppy eyes in his dearest manners and every inch of my body heated as he got up, gaining his tall size. 

A grown, big man being soft on the edges? The hottest thing I’ve seen and I fucked once Mormon Isaac.

I was ready to get back to my platform when Ellie shared stares with Joel, a language I hadn’t properly been introduced to in my formal education, but I think I can decipher:

Ellie looking straight, then bringing her eyebrows up - say something, Joel

Joel furrowing his heavy eyebrows and pouting a little, before looking towards the exit - no, let’s go home

Ellie rolling eyes and siding it in my direction real quick - she is right here, do something

Joel setting his jaw and looking directly at Ellie - I said no, let’s go home

Ellie narrowing her eyes and then nodding to the toddler - how did we got him back?

Joel glancing at his nephew, Ellie, and me before pouting a little bigger - okay, fine, you’re so annoying

Mind you I’m not a linguist in any way, I might have translated something wrong since I’m not fluent and the whole scene lasted no more than two seconds. I was highly confused when he put his hand on the toddler’s shoulder (mind you, who was still holding my hand) and cleared his throat.

“Are you hungry? It would be a pleasure having you with us,” he proposed in his most southern polite voice. I laughed a little, stupid bitch.

“That’s not… Necessary. Really. It’s okay!” I replied quickly, awkwardly trying to walk back. The kid’s hand grip got stronger.

“C’mon, stay. It’s the minimum I can do,” Joel insisted with another puppy eye.

“I used to g-get lost too, in the mall, you know? It’s okay! It’s just a full circle moment, but thank you!” I lied.

I was a prodigious child, way too smart for my age, and for sure not roaming around in a suburban mall. My parents weren’t strict, but they had a very clear vision of what was cool and what was trashy. Read in my room, go to museums and cinema exhibitions of foreign movies that I was able to watch without the subtitles? Hot and cool. Go to the mall, watch blockbuster movies, and eat a burger at the food court? Suburban and trashy. I got lost once at a library, though.

“He won’t stop giving you the puppy eye until you accept, c’mon,” Ellie replied gaining a double glare from me and Joel, who – in all truth – was still giving me puppy eyes.

“Some pizza wouldn’t hurt,” I said with an awkward lopsided smile. 

The duo stared at each other again, now that I had more familiarity with the language I think I can get better translations:

Ellie shotting up her eyebrows and inclining her head towards the front of her body - told ya, old man

Joel sighing before eyeing the food court direction - lead the way, brat

“Let’s go, Luke,” Ellie grabbed the kid’s hand from mine and started to walk.

“One sec,” I said before taking off my vest and placing it in the security guard’s hand, who looked at me puzzled. I would find a way out of trouble with the manager later on. “Okay, all good!”

“So… The arcade and the mall, you must be good with teenagers,” Joel started nodding in Ellie’s direction. He said in such a genuine matter that it took me back, not a single harsh reply in my brain.

“Not really, it’s more of a coincidence. I try to avoid them a little, though. They could shatter me with one comment.” I laughed a little, trying to break the awkwardness between us. He smirked a bit.

“I get it, Ellie likes to remind me that I’m no longer hip. Do people still use this word?” He asked chewing his cheek and I chuckled.

“I’m not sure. Maybe no? We are very much 20th-century material,” he smiled. 

Do I like to think it was because I hinted that I was old enough to drink, so old enough to fuck him? Yes. But I regretted it the moment that thought appeared in my head.

Don’t get me wrong Tess, even if I’m a slut I wasn’t trying to fuck Joel Miller when we got alone. It’s more of an old habit, a second skin. When I got the conclusion men were little needy bitches, I got laid often.

You pretend to be stupid and praise them on their big brain. Maybe they prefer it when you are a hopeless girl who needs a strong man to solve something that your small body can’t. Or, the classic, they just want a shy girl who has no idea of how pretty she is and is more than grateful that he is there to show her.

Men are simple creatures. The more you make yourself smaller and dumber, the more they want you. Nobody wants an opinionated woman who knows her worth, that isn’t sexy. It’s a sin being a woman who is not sexy all the time.

Something inside of me knew Joel wasn’t trying to pick me up. He was just an older guy with a life set and a family of his own, he wanted to be nice to the girl who helped his nephew.

“Your nephew is a sweet kid, very affectionate,” I said in a genuine tone, trying to clear a bit of my head.

“A good kid too, smart for his age. He will be three in a couple of days,” Joel's face lightened up talking about the toddler. I wondered if someone’s face ever got so bright thinking of me.

“Growing up fast?” I asked trying to keep up, I don’t much about raising kids except that parents feel like everything is way too fast.

“Yes, but there is a long way until he becomes a petulant teenager like Ellie,” he joked with tenderness.

“She is cool, just the right amount of sassy in her bones. Her friends too, they are well-behaved down the arcade,” I said thinking about the times I saw her with other weird teenagers there.

“Really? Good to know her friends treat her well, she needs that,” he replied quickly. I lost him for a second and couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“Why?” Could I sugarcoat my curiosity a bit? Of course, but my initial awkwardness was opening space for a comfortable conversation and I’m bad at calculating risk.

“We just moved, right before the school year. I’m from Austin, but Ellie no, she is from Boston. We lived there for a few years before moving back. Is tough to be the new kid, you know.”

The soft around the edges came back. I started to wonder how I never noticed Ellie’s accent, but it made sense.

“And why did you come back? Work?” I asked, again, without thinking further. Joel scratched his scruff while pondering how much detail he would give me.

“Boston got too heavy. Bad memories, you know? She needed a fresh start and I was missing the Texas sun.” My eyes searched for a ring on his hand for the first time, but there was nothing to see. Maybe a bad divorce? A widow?

“In that case, welcome home, cowboy,” I said mimicking holding a tip of a cowboy hat to him, who smiled a bit.

When we arrived at the food court, we went straight to the only pizza option available, the fucking Pizza Hut. The mall is shitty, if you haven’t noticed it yet Tess.

Ellie ordered everyone’s pizza as if she were introducing us to a new, exotic cuisine. Joel got amused, looking at her adoringly while petting his nephew's curls. I allowed myself to imagine what if my weekends were filled with this domestic view, if I would be happy to live such a mundane life and got surprised when the response was positive.

“Will you finally tell me who The Renegade is?” Ellie joked with a hint of truth. Joel rolled his eyes in good fun.

“A lady never tells,” I winked at her and Joel grinned with a little laugh. You see Tess, when you make a joke this is how people react, not scribbling something down their therapist's notepad. Rude as fuck.

The pizza could be better, but the company was more than good. I found myself laughing at Ellie’s puns, making comments about the arcade regulars. Joel tried to make me laugh a few times too, like an old friend. I felt good, felt normal instead of the constant weight on my shoulders.

At some point during our little chit-chat, I furrowed my eyebrows.

“How did Luke get lost? You haven’t told me that.” I questioned both of them, Ellie’s cheeks got pink. Joel made a motion for her to speak.

“Joel went inside a store and asked me to wait a little with Luke, to keep an eye on him for a second while he got something. I know,” she looked into his eyes with a guilty stare, “that I must hold Luke’s hand whenever we’re in a public place. I didn’t, started to look into a window shop thinking he was by my side.”

“It’s okay, you were holding tight to his hand on our way here,” Joel assured her.

If that man couldn’t get any hotter, he didn’t hold the weight of her mistakes against her. I swear that I don’t have daddy issues, I might have a Peter Pan syndrome or shit like that, but my dad was quite nice for a stuck-up guy. I’m not comparing dads, I’m comparing how to deal with delicate hearts: in that couple of hours I got to know a little more of them, I saw how Joel didn’t hold Ellie back, tried to shape her into something he wanted. Even inside of my own body I can’t do that with myself, be this level of kind.

I think Joel got me when it crossed my mind that I could fuck up and, maybe, he would still like me. I wouldn’t be a bitch, a bad girl to him. I would be just a person who made a mistake and he would still be there. What if my main kink is to be loved?

He paid for the meal, of course, a southern gentleman. I said goodbye, hinting I would be there when Ellie decided to show up at the arcade and she replied with a “hell yeah”. They left and I sighed, so light as if I had a spa day, but nope, just a good time with nice people. I might be lonely.

In a snap of fingers, I met the mall manager who questioned me why I wasn’t at the platform. The weight of the world came back on my shoulders, I reasoned that I was tired and wanted to go home as fast as possible.

“A kid got lost and I went to help him find his family. I think the slutty outfit might be a better idea next time, this shit is too complex,” I said shrugging before flashing him again with my boobs for a few seconds.

What? I had a nice meal with a good family, but I’m still not a saint.

Anyway, life followed its course. Saw Ellie sometimes at the arcade, Joel would greet me by name whenever he was there to pick her up, all good and normal. I told you, this is not your meet-cute story.

If you are wondering, yes, I saw Mormon Isaac the next day after the missing kid incident. Holy Sunday, couldn’t skip.

I don’t have exactly a wardrobe that screams “SLUT!”, but the vibe isn’t exactly good southern mormon girl. Jesus just wasn’t my thing growing up. My parents were a little paranoid about the christians, we avoided them at all cost. I had to thrift some stuff to attend Sunday preaching with Mormon Isaac.

It was so boring, every single Sunday. Thank God the pastor would scream from time to time on his speech, the only thing waking me up. Mormon Isaac, strangely as it seems, wouldn’t try to grab me a little here and there while we were inside the church.

“Are you okay?” I asked him once when he audibly swallowed when I touched the inside of his thigh when the pastor was speaking, or whatever.

“Yes. Please, not here, sweetheart,” he urged me and I rolled my eyes.

Every. Fucking. Sunday. For. Four. Months. He would only give me a peck after church, always in front of his family, if his parents weren’t making lunch he would drive me home and that’s it.

Sometimes we would do other stuff too. He would take me to the cinema to see a movie, always under PG-13 though. I would try to jack him off and he wouldn’t allow me, I once tried to give him a blowjob and he said he was waiting for the right time. We fucked rough in the staff room and now I was a pervert, make it make some sense.

You can imagine my surprise when, in the middle of an afternoon, Mormon Isaac appeared from nowhere at the arcade.

“Guess whose four-month anniversary is today?” He asked me while holding a box. I have no idea how to pray, but I know that I prayed for every single entity in the sky for a surprise break up as a git.

“Wow, lucky me,” I said with a fake smile. If my job was boring that afternoon, it was about to become much more boring.

From the corner, I saw Ellie picking up her backpack from the floor as I opened the box. A deep voice greeted my name and I got cold.

Mormon Isaac was looking at me like he was the best boyfriend in the whole world. Joel appeared to be curious, getting close to the glass display I call my office.

“I didn’t know you were religious,” he said looking at the bible in my hands. A fucking bible. Damn you, Mormon Isaac.

“She attends the Sunday preach every week,” Mormon Isaac promptly corrected with his most polite smile. I wanted to die.

“Thank you very much, I will cherish it.” I smiled back, looking into Joel’s eyes with a silent rescue request when Mormon Isaac glanced at his phone.

“See you tomorrow-,” he started and I cut it before he could finish that thought.

“For the bible study, yes. It will be a pleasure,” I said faking another smile, Joel looked so confused and amused by the whole situation. Mormon Isaac grinned so hard that I thought he was about to cum in his pants.

“That’s fantastic! I will let my mom know!” He said before grabbing his phone and walking out, leaving me and Joel behind.

I sighed and dropped my head into my arms, right at the bible. Joel's laugh, I sound I grew to adore, echoed and I glanced up from my arms.

“What the hell was that?” He asked in good fun, looking at how distressed I was.

“You do me a favor: never, I said never, open the door for a Jeovah’s witness. I accepted one preach from this mormon customer and now he plays rehab with me,” I said avoiding the fact that the said mormon was my boyfriend on the following day we would meet for a date.

“I will. Do you need an excuse for bible study?” He asked me looking somewhere behind me like he was forming a plan inside his head, both hands on my glass display while Ellie waited.

“Does it involve religion or any kind of cult?” I half-joked. Half because if hot Joel said he wanted me to go to any kind of religious ceremony I would have another panic attack and leave.

Joel looked to Ellie, who looked back at him and both nodded. This time I can’t translate, sorry, I’m still in the process of getting the language's grammatical structure.

“Tomorrow is Luke’s birthday. Surprise party. You don’t want to break the poor’s kid heart, c’mon,” Ellie said faking seriousness. Joel nodded back.

“There will be food?” Ellie confirmed. “Booze?”

“Do you like beer?” Joel asked, also in fake seriousness. Except that his death stare made me fucking wet.

“Pass me your phone so I can give you my number, text me the address,” I turned my palm up to grab the said phone, he smirked and Ellie laughed.

And this, Tess, is how I met Joel, got my little heart full of him just to let him slip into my life. What can I say? I never wanted to save a horse more than the moment he lassoed me.

I think you have more than enough material for our next session already. I will give you that yes, I speak more about what is inside my head like this. I think it might be because it feels strangely similar to submitting a paper, you know how much I love being the teacher’s pet.

Don’t forget: I can’t fall in love with this guy,

The Renegade

P.S. In case it isn’t obvious, I don’t have daddy issues. I DON’T. I know what it looks like, but I don’t have it. Don’t even try.

next chapter

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones XXII

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. Please note: There will be heavy subjects discussed that may be triggering.

*This chapter was previously part of chapter 21 (which again, was 30 pages?? insane) and as I have been editing and reuploading the chapters, I have since decided to split chapter 21 into two. 

shoutout to @abruisedmuse for being my number one on this journey!

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @vanserrass / @zenkindoflove / @animezinglife / @teddyhoneybear / @readthelastpaage / @positivewitch / @krem-does-stuff / @clockwork-ashes / @carolynmezzosoprano / @carnythian / @runningwiththeoceans / @secret-third-thing / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @thedarkinmansfield / @mali22 / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @moonfawnx / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @eachies / @feysandfeels / @thelovelymadone / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @sinnerrsworld / @gracie-rosee / @stormycleric / @queenofnothing1998 / @wolvesnravens / @theeternalstruggle / @the-midnightwriter / @illyrianvalkyrie / @that-golden-lyre / @ladystarrynight

Find it all here.

Something was wrong. 

Iris had started to sense it not too long after Eris had left; a sense of unease worked its way through her chest and twisted in her gut.  She tried to brush off the worry — today had been a whirlwind and Finn showing up suddenly was probably adding to the stress she was already feeling. Eris would be fine. He should be fine. Even if he was taking longer than she expected. 

She let herself focus on other things while she waited, mindlessly tidying the room, washing up for bed, and lastly, actually choosing something she deemed indecent to wear to bed.

It was a beautiful olive-green gown, the material satin with lace trimmings that seemed to have been made for her, hugging her body in a way she knew would send her husband into a nice little spiral. Or, at least she hoped it would. It was also much shorter than she’d ever worn around Eris, barely reaching her midthigh, and that — well, that made her a little more nervous than she’d like to be.

It was just skin after all. She’d gradually been showing him a little more skin with each new set but never…never this much. Iris flushed deeply and then frowned at her reflection.

“Get over yourself,” she mumbled. “It’s not like you don’t want him to touch you.” 

Because she did. If his kisses were any indication, Eris would likely be the death of her, and that had her feeling very nervous. But she had a nice long robe that would make her feel more secure. 

At least until they talked and she got answers to her questions. 

Today had been challenging in its own way but this moment, choosing to be a little more intimate with him…this was for her. For the way he had been making her feel the past few weeks. For the way his eyes always watched her with just a little hunger and a whole lot of amusement. 

But mostly…it was for the way his voice had dropped when he had made his request earlier. He had asked so politely. It would be bad manners to refuse. 

If he’d just hurry up and come back already.

Iris had been standing in front of the vanity, fidgeting slightly with the thin strap of her nightgown when a sharp tug to her ribcage had her freezing. A gasp left her lips as she steadied herself and the dread she had been trying to keep at bay came back in full force. She felt panicked. She felt — she felt pain.

Something was wrong and she didn’t understand what that was. That — that tug.

With shaking hands, she quickly slipped the robe over her gown and tied it firmly, rushing to her door and yanking it open. 

She staggered to a halt in the doorway when one of Eris’s commanders turned to face her and she blinked in surprise. 

“Oren?” she asked and straightened. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

The general took a moment to scan the hall, empty except for the two of them then took a small step towards her and gave her a tight smile. “His Royal Highness, Prince Eris wished for you to have some additional protection at this time,” Oren said calmly but Iris’s heart stuttered in her chest. She didn’t miss the usage of the formal title, especially when Oren and Eris were considered friends.

“Where is he?” she demanded. “He was supposed to be meeting with Finn earlier. Has something happened?”

The tight smile remained on Oren’s face.  “The High Lord requested him earlier. He sent me here before he went.”

Iris inhaled sharply, her grip tightening on the doorframe as another sense of unease washed over her. “I knew something was wrong,” she said quietly and Oren narrowed his eyes at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Something is wrong. I can feel it.” Iris said and rubbed a hand to her forehead. “I’m going to change then go find —”

“I can’t let you leave,” Oren stated and Iris froze.

“Excuse me?”

Oren winced and Iris cocked a brow as he took a breath. “I am under orders to watch over you,” he said more gently. “Until he returns from his meeting with the High Lord.”

“He’s never had someone stand guard when he meets with the High Lord,” she said quietly, and again, she felt that flutter of panic as Oren’s lip thinned. 

“It seems, the High Lord is angrier than usual.”

Iris bit her lip and then let out a breath. He was angry with Eris and Iris knew without a doubt, it had to be because of her. Because of her horrible father. “Fuck.” she mumbled and Oren gestured gently to the room behind her. 

“I suggest you wait inside.”

“How am I supposed to wait when I know that —” she began then cut herself off in frustration, knowing she couldn’t say anything about the High Lord that wouldn’t get back to him. “How can I just wait when I’m telling you I can sense something is wrong!”

Oren gave her a look she didn’t quite understand then again, gently said, “I know it might be hard to wait but it’s better for you and him that you stay here. He’ll worry about you less.”

Worry about her. As if she cared about herself at this moment. Knowing what she knew about Beron, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was tearing into Eris for not beating Iris alongside her father. She ran a hand through her hair and bit her lip, holding back a string of curses. 

The High Lord needed Eris. Surely, he wouldn’t do anything — but Iris immediately shook her head. The High Lord would do whatever he wanted to his son. 

And she could do nothing to protect him. 

Shame and anger coiled in her stomach and Iris wished there was more she could do — anything she could do other than sit here and wait.

She glanced at the commander once more who only gave her a nod. She sighed.

“You don’t have to wait outside. I’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “No one can come in here without my permission.”

Oren gave her a small smile. “I know. But I am loyal to one male and one male only,” he said. “And I will do as he requested of me.”

Iris watched Oren carefully. So it seemed he knew all about Eris and the way things were with the High Lord. He’d also been a friend and commander of his for so long…but she had to ask, “Why?”

The corner of the commander’s mouth shifted up. “Because I see what he’s been trying to do. And I believe in him,” he said then gestured with his chin behind her again. “I’ll be here if you need anything until he returns.”

Knowing she’d been dismissed, Iris turned to go back into her rooms. Oren had distracted her briefly but as she slowly shut the door, her hands started to shake again. She couldn’t help the guilt threatening to consume her, couldn't help the twist in her gut. How long would Beron keep his son? What would he do to him?

Her eyes flickered to the grandfather clock sitting in the corner of their living space and she frowned. It was already so late in the evening. How much longer would this meeting take?

But an hour went by. Then several more. 

And Iris spent the time pacing around their room, fighting back her anxiety and holding herself back from running past Oren and finding her husband herself. 

She had been seated, curled up on their bed trying and failing to distract herself when she heard the familiar thud of their door closing and leaped to her feet.

“You took so long! I started to think —” Iris started but the rest of the words died in her throat at the sight of Eris in front of her. 

Heat filled the room almost immediately as Iris halted a few feet away from him. 

Her husband stood before her and Iris wasn’t sure where to look. At the now tattered jacket somehow still on his body. At the blood dripping from him. Or his hair that now barely reached the nape of his neck. She couldn’t stop staring, her heart rate increasing at the cold detachment on his face and the dead look in his eyes that set her on edge. 

Iris tried to swallow, to hold back the horror and panic going through her body, to calm her shaking hands.

“What — what happened?” she asked carefully, taking a step closer to him. Eris’s gaze dropped to her feet and the step she took closer to him then back up to her face. 

A beat of silence passed. Then another. Eris watched her, barely blinking and Iris didn’t dare move or say anything more as her fingers curled into the fabric of her robe. 

Slowly and without saying a word, Eris gestured to his body, to the state he was in, and Iris tried to keep her expression from falling, tried to curb the slight panic clogging in her throat. Once again, Eris only glanced down and then back up at her but this time, she saw wildfire in his eyes. The room’s temperature spiked and Iris felt her chest tighten as anger surged around them. 

Eris wasn’t angry, no. He was seething. Fuming.

He took a step towards her, his hands clasped behind his back and her heart started to beat frantically at the flame that licked at his heels. 

“Eris,” she started gently. “Tell me what happened.”

The Prince of Autumn cocked his head as his wild eyes watched her and Iris knew whatever had happened, whatever the High Lord had done to him, it was bad enough that Eris had gone someplace far, far away. And her Eris was not back yet. 

His eyes narrowed on her and Iris couldn’t find it in her to say anything more, her body tensing instead. She wanted him to say something, anything to fill the silence between them, where the only sound she could hear was the frantic beating of her heart. Her husband had not returned as he had left and she wasn’t sure if he fully would. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself that would help him, that would ease whatever was going through his mind right now.

It was as she opened her mouth once more that Eris moved, taking one step towards her and Iris paused. She willed herself not to flinch as his hands lowered from behind his back and knew Eris had clocked the movement. His hands wouldn’t hurt her but it still didn’t stop her from watching them carefully.

They watched each other silently. 

And Eris wanted to reply to her question, to speak, but he was having a hard time trying not to vomit. He was having a hard time trying to remember how to breathe properly. He had lost consciousness at some point enduring his father’s wrath and had woken up to find himself lying in his own blood. He didn’t remember being untied, and he didn’t know how much time had passed, but he knew he needed to check on his mother. He knew he needed to get back to his wife. 

So Eris had forced himself to stand on trembling legs, his wits barely about him. He forced himself to leave the throne room and muster what willpower he had left to winnow in front of his parent’s chambers. And Eris had waited, barely able to stand as his blood dripped from him to hear something, anything to indicate that his mother was alright. But Eris had heard nothing and he didn’t know if the deafening silence was worse than the cries of pain he had expected. Only when black dots began to line his vision had he finally forced himself to winnow once more to his own door. 

He had waved off an alarmed Oren and allowed himself a moment to compose himself before walking in and standing as he stood now.

And he really, really wanted to hurl his guts because Iris was looking at him in a way he wasn’t used to in a moment like this. No one usually saw him like this. He mostly let himself go numb during his father’s unleashing and then, only when he was alone, did Eris let his anger consume him. But he had already been teetering on the edge today and he was no longer alone. 

Iris said nothing as he stood there, only watching him with a level of concern that made his chest feel tight. She cared. She cared about what happened to him. She was not his father and she was not looking at him with anything but genuine concern and everything in him recoiled at the fact that she had to see him this way at all. That his father had put him in this position, to look weak and it made him so angry that Eris went momentarily blind with rage. 

He forced himself to swallow and then do it again before he could unlock his jaw enough to speak.

“My father,” he began in a voice that wasn’t quite his and the flames licking his heels spiked up. “Wanted to give me a new look.” He held up a bloodied fist. “He suggested I choke you with what was left of this.”

Iris dropped her gaze to his hand holding — clutching strands of hair that was — she looked up at his face again then back down to his hand. 

“Oh gods.” she mumbled and her heart sank to the pits of her stomach. What had the High Lord done to him? Or rather, what hadn’t the High Lord done to him? Iris took another hesitant step toward him and started to say, “Let me —” 

But immediately, Eris held his other hand, halting her in place and Iris fell silent. His eyes didn’t leave the hand holding the strands of his hair.

He finally glanced up at her, that wildfire in his eyes. “I told him to fuck off, of course.” he continued. “He didn’t take that well.” His gaze dropped again and Iris’s eyes followed to where a few drops of blood had dripped by his feet. She couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. “He didn’t take many things well during our conversation.”

“Conversation,” she repeated faintly and her face fell at the way his own hands had started to shake. “The state that you’re in is the result of a conversation.”

Eris fell silent again, blinking down at his trembling hands. A part of him wished he’d evaporate, simply melt into the floor, and cease to exist. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel this way. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to think about how much this family had been through and how much more they’d have to suffer until his fucken father died. Maybe then he wouldn't have to worry about his wife being another body for his father to beat down. 

Maybe then —

“Eris?” 

He looked up at her gentle calling, so unlike the voice of his father who had spent the past few hours breaking him. The way she looked at him made him want to collapse.

He was bleeding and broken and there was no logical reason for it other than his father was a monster.

“How — how did you even walk the halls like this?” she finally asked and couldn’t help how choked her voice sounded, couldn’t help that she had to keep breaking his silence. Her own hands were shaking as she moved closer to him. “Let me help you — let me see wherever you’re bleeding from.”

Eris shook his head and tried to breathe. She cared and it was too much for him. He couldn’t do this now — he needed more time.

But even if he wanted to, that thread at his ribcage forced him to stay where he was. How could it not when he looked at her and it steadied him? That thread that had dragged him back here, to this room. That thread was the reason he hadn’t let his fire consume him.

It took him another moment to speak, his eyes unblinking as he watched her. “I shouldn’t be able to winnow directly in the House, you know,” he said with a hoarse laugh and swayed slightly. “But stubborn as I am, I can bend the magic to my will.” He pointed a bloody finger at her. “I think it has to do with you.”

This rooted Iris to where she stood. “With me?” she repeated in a whisper. 

“With you,” he confirmed and lowered a trembling hand to his side, his eyes unfocused. “I had to come back to you. You were waiting for me.”

Iris’s mouth trembled and she tried to swallow back the cascade of emotions surging through her body at his words. “What can I do?” she pleaded. “What do you need right now to make this moment easier?”

“What do I need.” he repeated and his eyes fell back to his hands. Iris watched his grip tighten until a flame burst in his fist and what was left of his hair was no more. Eris shook his head again, his chest rising and falling as he tried to breathe. Her face fell as he backed a step from her, both fists aflame now. “You shouldn’t be near me right now.” he said and his gaze flickered up, his wild eyes watching her. “I — I am not — I don’t —”

What was left of her battered heart broke further. He was physically standing before her but Iris could see the struggle in his eyes to connect to their reality.  She wanted to reach him. She needed to reach him and remind him, that he was hers and she would take care of him the way he took care of her.

“It’s okay.” she said as gently as possible and slowly reached out a hand. “Let me help you.”

“Don’t.” Eris snarled so viciously that Iris couldn’t stop the flinch this time, yanking her hand back immediately. 

A thick silence filled the room once more and Iris watched her husband’s chest rise and fall, his breathing starting to turn shallow, those wild eyes watching her in an almost pained resolve at her reaction.

“You flinched from me.” he said, the words barely distinguishable.

Iris swallowed and she hid her trembling hands in the folds of her robe. “It’s alright.” she said softly and saw the way he shuddered at the two words. “You — you surprised me. That’s all.” 

He took a step towards her and Iris froze, waiting as he breathed more deeply, the flame licking his body seeming to flare and then shrink with each breath. “I’m — I’m sorry.” he said, his voice guttural. “I need — I — I need —”

“You need a moment.” she said as his body shook and she fought every instinct to reach out again. She — she wanted to hold him, needed to. But he wasn’t there yet. He was still finding his way back to himself. So she tried to reassure him from their six feet of distance. “That’s alright. Why don’t you go change?”

He nodded and blinked at her, his gaze still unfocused. “Shower.”

“Okay.” she said and nodded carefully. “I’ll — I’ll ask for some tea.”

But her husband just stared at her. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t.”

“Stay.” he said then repeated, “Don't go anywhere.”

Iris gave him a tentative smile, trying and failing to hide how deep her worry ran. She tightened her grip on her robe so she wouldn’t reach out to him again. “I’m not going anywhere, Eris. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

She watched him as he watched her and again felt that tug in her ribcage that she didn’t understand as Eris swallowed hard then slowly, as if he was forcing himself to, he walked away from her and into their bathroom.

The door shut behind him and Iris’s face fell. How badly had that…conversation gone? She had no doubt her own father had played a part in it after the way Eris humiliated him but to what extent? How many more gifts had Beron given Eris? Letting out a shaky breath, her eyes fell to the drops of blood that had left a trail behind him.

An icy rage blinded her momentarily and Iris wanted nothing more than to find the High Lord and stab him violently until he choked on his own blood. Until he had enough wounds to make up for the ones he put on his son even if it would never be enough. The world would be a better place when the time came and he was gone. 

The sound of the water running had her blinking back to reality and Iris forced herself to snap into action and move. 

It didn’t slip her mind that earlier in the day, their situations had been the opposite and Iris wanted nothing more than to erase the anger and the shame that tied both of them to shitty fathers. 

She knew Eris was…not himself yet. She knew he needed a way back and Iris needed to believe that there was a way out of this — this darkness they were surrounded in. There had to be. 

No one deserved to live like this and as she wiped away any signs of his bleeding heart, Iris knew she would give him whatever he needed. Anything that would be a bright light for him on an otherwise dark night. So she had the tea tray ready with a bottle of hard liquor seated right next to it. Most importantly, she had tried to discreetly have her healing salves ready if he felt comfortable enough for her to touch him. 

She waited, too restless to sit, and paced between the sitting table and hovering by the door of the bathroom, listening in case — Iris wasn’t sure in case of what but was sure she wanted to be close by. 

Iris had just moved away from the door again when it finally opened and she immediately turned to find Eris standing in his sleeping attire. She tried not to frown at how tense his body still was and her eyes roamed his face.

“I have the tea.” she said quietly. “And um, alcohol.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up a millimeter before his expression shifted to the blank one she hated and he walked over to her, stopping a few feet away.

She waited, letting him take his time as he glanced down at his feet and then back up at her, his anger still lingering around him.

He watched her, his hands at his sides. “I made you flinch away from me.”

“You were angry.” she said simply. 

“I would never harm you, Iris.” 

His tone offered no argument and the corner of her own mouth curled up. Anger towards her had typically only meant one thing but she knew, deep in her weary bones, that Eris would never hurt her. 

So Iris took a step closer to him and made sure she met his gaze as she replied in a tone that also offered no argument, “I know.” she said. “Your anger wasn’t towards me.”

His nostrils flared at the reminder and Iris almost regretted saying anything but then he took another step closer to her. “No. It wasn’t,” he said and Iris let her gaze drop to his hands that were clenching and unclenching at his sides. “After…events like this, I usually…am alone. To process.”

The words, the resignation in them, made her ache. Iris wondered how many times he’d had to process alone, with no one to share this burden with.

She looked up again and took one more step toward him as she slowly held out her hands. “Well, you’re not alone anymore,” she said quietly and watched as his gaze dropped to her open hands. “I’m here.”

“Yes. You are.” he said so softly that it made Iris’s heart twist. It took him a moment and she felt his hesitation, as if afraid to touch her but she waited. She waited as he clenched and then unclenched his hands once more before he slid his hands into hers. 

“I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it,” she said as softly as he had spoken. “If not, I’m still here.”

His grip on her hands had tightened and she watched as his breath quickened for a moment, working his jaw. “I will. I have to,” he said hoarsely. “Or I will lose my mind.”

“Okay.” she simply said even as her chest tightened at the slight tremble in his hands. “I can’t have you losing your mind over anything except me, can I now?”

Eris tried to smile at her but it turned more into a grimace and Iris gave him a small smile of her own, wanting to bring him some sense of ease. She glanced down at their intertwined hands and let her thumb caress the back of his hand gently. “I don’t think I ever actually told you but…” she met his gaze. “I like how your hands feel holding mine. I have since that day I met the puppies for the first time and you told me I have lovely hands.”

She watched the Prince of Autumn shudder at the words and it took him another moment before he could answer her. “Not puppies,” he said and Iris couldn’t help her small smile, especially as he continued in words so quiet, she almost missed them. “I like how your hands feel in mine too.” 

“I bet you do.” she said and again, the corner of his mouth lifted but this time, it remained curled up, and again, Iris couldn't stop staring at him. He may look a little different with the sloppy cut he had been given but it didn’t change the feeling that was spreading in her chest. She loved it when he smiled, especially if she was the reason. She liked his wicked mouth too much. 

Iris made to move towards the table but Eris’s grip tightened on her and she turned to find his expression tense, his body rigid.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m only getting you a drink.” she said gently and Eris swallowed then gave a small nod and squeezed her hands once more before reluctantly letting go. Iris couldn't help the way she softened at the way he watched her, as though she was his tether to his way home. 

How many times had he needed someone but had suffered alone? How many times had she been in the same scenario? It made her wonder how often had they shared a moment like this in their separate lives…two sides of the same miserable fucken coin indeed.

The thought exhausted her and with a swallow, Iris pulled away to turn to the table, feeling his eyes on her. As if she’d disappear if he blinked. She opted for the alcohol and filled both teacups to the brim. She may have the power to heal but with wounds that ran as deep as her husband’s…she wasn’t sure if she would be enough. 

She carefully handed him his teacup and stood opposite him as they glanced at one another. 

They did so much watching one another. So much observing. They exchanged so much without saying a word and Iris wondered if he could hear the way her blood was pumping so loudly in her ears. If he knew she could hear the rapid beating of his heart. 

She gestured with her chin. “Drink.”

He glanced down at the cup in his hand and then looked up with a quirked brow. “This isn’t tea.”

“I think we need something a little stronger tonight.” she said gently and Eris gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes before lifting the cup in a mock salute and knocking it back. 

Iris switched their cups and handed him hers with a small smile at the dry chuckle that escaped him before he drank it as well. But her expression immediately fell as his body gave a shudder followed by a small grunt of pain and Iris’s grip tightened on her cup.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered and the apology seemed to dim any momentary lightness Eris had experienced. 

“For what.” he said dryly. 

“For whatever happened. For all of it.” she continued and Iris tried not to fidget beneath his gaze. “For anything that I might’ve had to do with it.”

Eris stared at her in silence, his expression tight, and the only sound in the room was the tapping of his fingers against his cup. What seemed like a lifetime later, he reached out to take the empty teacup from her hands and turned from her to place them back on the table.

He stood like this for several quiet moments and it made Iris tense again, wondering if he needed more time. If she should’ve backed off and let him be alone. Even if that was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted —

“My father wanted you with me for this little meeting.” Eris finally said and Iris blinked. 

“Why?”

Eris turned to face her again and leaned against the table. She didn’t miss the way, a second later, he moved a slight inch to avoid his back making contact. 

“You see,” he began and glanced down at his hands. “He found out about my lovely encounter with your father and didn’t quite like that.” His hands slowly clenched into fists as he spoke. “The High Lord wanted you on your knees apologizing to your father. At your father’s request, of course.”

“What?” she croaked.

“But my father also wanted me to apologize to your father for beating him. Because I did it for you,” he said and then gave her a dry smile. “And well, the High Lord can’t have his son beating people for his wife now, can he? The only person the High Lord’s son should be beating is his own wife.”

Iris’s fingers dug into the folds of her robe as anger and shame washed over her once more. For the audacity of her father and the cruelty of his. 

“He doesn’t deserve an apology,” she said through clenched teeth. “He deserves death.”

“I agree.” Eris said and he slowly made his way over to her, the room heating again with each step. “Which is why my father tied me to a flogging pole and whipped me within an inch of my life. Because I told him that my wife apologizes to no one and I certainly do not apologize to anyone either, especially filth.” he snarled softly and straightened with an angry wince. “So do me a favor? Do not apologize for their choices ever again. My wife doesn’t apologize for things she had no hand in.”

Horror slammed into her as she stared at Eris, fully engulfed in his own flame. At the way he had so casually admitted what his father had done.

“He — he whipped you?” she whispered and watched his body tense again, the temperature in the room spiking once more. 

“Yes. But before that, I broke both of your father’s legs and his face again.” he said and Iris saw his fists clench again. “So that makes us somewhat even.”

“Eris…” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. How can he ask her not to apologize when she was the reason he was hurt? When it was because of her father that he had been pulled so far away from himself.

And she hated how it fell silent between them again. She hated that he felt this way. That he was made to be feeling this level of anger and despair. As if every word that fell from his mouth took too much effort, too much work. 

Iris hadn’t realized how desperately she wanted to make him feel better. To bring back that stupid smirk she pretended to hate so much. She wanted to —

“Don’t look at me like that.” he said so tiredly and it made her ache. With a shake of his head and a deep breath, his flame went out, and he turned away from her, moving towards their bed. 

But Iris froze and every single thought emptied from her head. 

With his back to her, Eris’s shirt had clung to his skin and tiny beads of blood peppered the white shirt. 

He looked over his shoulder, meeting her horrified gaze, and immediately looked away from her, his shoulders tensing as he lowered himself to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Don’t.”

“Eris, you’re bleeding again.” 

“I know.” he managed then rubbed a hand down his face. “Just please stop looking at me like that.”

Iris bit the inside of her mouth, outraged on his behalf and hating that he felt embarrassed by any of it. She willed herself to breathe. One breath in, one breath out. They couldn’t catch a break. A small dosage of time where they could just be. Where everything between them didn’t have to get so fucken hard the moment they found a little ease.

“Look at you like what?” she finally said and made her way over to him. She sank down next to him and knew her expression gave away the panic she was trying to control. “Like I’m disgusted with what happened to you? Like I’m horrified  that your father hurt you because of me and my piece of shit father?” 

She stared at him and waved a hand helplessly. “How else am I supposed to look at my husband who left me in one way then came back another?” she added softly. “How else am I supposed to look when I want to help you so badly but I’m unsure how?”

Iris watched his throat bob as he swallowed. “Careful, wife. You sound like you care about me.” he said and Iris let out a huff of frustration, glaring at him. 

“I do care, you stupid bastard.” she muttered, flushing deeply, and the dead look in his eyes was given a short reprieve when he gave her a small smile. 

“Good to know.” he said and then fell silent, the weight of this whole day and what was left unsaid suffocating. 

As Iris watched him, she was hit by the need to kiss him. The need to run her hands down his arms and chest and scarred back that she wanted to help him heal and then kiss it all better. She wanted anything but whatever this heaviness was, anything but that awful expression on his face. Her eyes scanned his slightly ruffled hair and how tired his eyes were and her frown deepened.

Slowly, she reached out a hand to gently touch his face, giving him all the time in the world to push her hand away if he desired. But he didn’t and Iris turned his head so he’d face her and his exhaustion slammed into her.

“What happened was unacceptable.” she whispered. “And for that, I am sorry that it happened to you. Because you don’t deserve it. You didn’t do anything wrong and he had no right to treat you that way.” 

Eris scoffed faintly but at her expression, swallowed hard, closing his eyes. He seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat then nuzzled gently into her hand. He hated how desperately he needed the softness of her touch. How badly he wanted to be soothed. She was here and even if he felt like death itself, she was here. “No one deserves what he delivers.” he finally said quietly. “But we still take it.” 

“You should not have to.” 

“No.” he said and straightened with a grimace, taking her hand in his hand. He let his thumb caress her palm as he added, “None of us should have to.”

“Please let me look at your back,” she whispered but he shook his head, his thumb still rubbing her hand gently. Whether it was to soothe him or to soothe her, she wasn’t sure. "Please. Let me heal it."

A muscle in his jaw flexed and Iris had to remind herself that his anger wasn't at her.

“I can heal it myself,” he replied but not unkindly. “I’m choosing not to at the moment.”

“Why?”

“Pain is good. It keeps the memory fresh.”

Once again, the room heated at the words and Iris’s body went rigid. He was so angry and gods, she knew that anger. She had tasted the humiliation he felt. And she knew without question that beneath that anger was so much sadness. So much exhaustion. So much…yearning. For more. For different.

For love. For some sense of normalcy in a fucked up home that showed them no mercy. 

Iris could practically hear his mind whirling and it pulled at her heart because she had started to understand him in a way very few people did. Slowly, she reached out once more and gently forced him to meet her gaze.

“There is no part of you that deserves pain like this, Eris.” she said firmly and hated the way she could see his disbelief, as though it wasn’t true. 

Eris’s eyes fluttered closed at the words, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “How do you know that? That I don’t deserve pain? I’ve made bad choices. I’ve had to do bad things.”

She shook her head. “Making bad decisions and being forced to do bad things doesn’t make you a bad person. You’ve had to carry so much…give yourself some room.” she said and then added quietly, “Unburden yourself with me. Let me help you.”

Eris met her gaze and she watched the internal struggle in his eyes as he worked his jaw. Finally, he said, “There’s too much. It’s a lot.”

“I know. You were ready to tell me earlier. So tell me now.” she encouraged calmly. “You told me you wanted to know the side of me I didn’t like anyone seeing. That you wanted to see.” She squeezed his hand. “Well, I want to know too. I want to see.”

Eris seemed to pause and then his gaze hardened as he straightened. “Iris,” he began and her brows furrowed at the urgency in his tone. “You have to understand whatever I tell you, it has been kept a secret for us to survive. I do not trust anyone as much as I’m allowing myself to trust you. Don’t — don’t make me regret it.” 

She tilted her head and watched him for a quiet minute. “Have I given you a reason not to trust me?”

“No.” he said and swallowed. “But when you’ve been living in a pit of snakes for so long, you’re never sure which one will bite. Things have changed between us but…I have this doubt in the back of my mind that you’ll take anything I say and give it to the highest bidder to get out of this marriage and run.” He paused for a moment and licked his lips. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

She watched him quietly again and it made her chest tighten that even after things had shifted between them, this still worried him. So Iris swallowed and decided to be honest as well.

“And despite the changes between us…I still fear that someday you’ll realize you could beat the living shit out of me every single day and no matter how much I can defend myself, you’ll still overpower me,” she replied. “But I have not seen anything from you that would truly have me succumb to that doubt. Have you seen anything from me to feed into those doubts?”

He paused but Iris didn’t fail to notice how his thumb was back to caressing her hand softly, almost as a way to calm himself down. 

“No.” he said after a moment. “You’re my wife and my friend and my — you’re many things. I — I trust you.” 

“Good. Because I trust you too,” she whispered. “I’ve trusted you not to hurt me and you haven’t.” 

He shook his head and held up her hand in his. “It is my job to protect you. These fists will fight for you.”

Iris couldn’t help the small smile that bloomed on her face or the way her heart swelled at the words. “And I am grateful for that,” she said. “But then who protects you?”

His mouth curled into a tired smile and he sighed. “Apparently, it’s my wife with her healer hands.”

Iris gave him a pointed look and then gestured to his shirt with her chin. “Then let these hands help you.” 

Eris tensed and his grip tightened on his wife’s hands. He wasn’t used to anyone being near him whenever this happened. Wasn’t used to anyone seeing any of his scars, much less fresh ones.

But this was Iris. His wife. His mate. And he wanted her hands to touch him. To fit all of his pain in the palm of her lovely hands and wipe it away.

Could he let go? Let this part of him be free? 

He swallowed again, trying not to choke on his shame. On his fear. He was almost paralyzed by it.

But it was as if she could see it rampaging inside him, could see the struggle in his eyes. For all she had to do was give him a small smile. An encouraging one, her thumb caressing his hand in hers and Eris felt himself straighten. 

He finally allowed a dip of his chin in acceptance and promised himself that after tonight, there would be no going back. 

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

rain and mint tea and rambles

Hi maggots. It's me, thinking thoughts, again. I do that far too often.

Monsoon has begun, I do believe. The stupefying heat wave broke to let water crash onto the soil, out of which puffs the scent of petrichor. Ever so often the heat builds in the day, but yields to a thunderstorm come nightfall. Perhaps it'll only last a few weeks, but I'm so glad anyway.

I made a mug of mint tea. By which I mean I dropped a teabag into hot water, in one of the five mugs Lina bought me. I was so delighted last night when the heat slowly revealed the images of a whale emoji, a photo of me edited with Crowley's eyes, and fanart of me that said happy birthday, maggot prince with the Spotify code of a playlist you all added songs to. It's been days since my birthday, but I still keep finding bits of love that you sent my way.

I love the playlist. It's as chaotic as we are. There's Cavetown and ABBA and Queen, Bollywood dance music and sad songs and rap, Taylor Swift and a Rickroll and silly songs and Disney soundtracks.

Everything looks different in the rain. The leaves lose their dusty shroud, glittering emerald and lime and quivering in the damp breeze. The light is quieter, softer, grey. It smells of life. The sky swirls with clouds like Van Gogh tried to make art but ran out of paint, with only the greyish paintwater left.

I'm sorry about all the DMs and asks I haven't replied to yet. I swear it's not because I care. It's because I care too much, I care so much that sometimes it overwhelms me. Please don't stop sending me asks because of that, though. I promise I do read them, even if it takes a while for me to reply. You aren't bothering me. You could never. I love you too much. Be as crazy as you like. It's me.

Weirdly enough, as I wrote that paragraph, Nothing New by Phoebe Bridgers and Taylor Swift played. "Are we only biding time 'til I lose your attention? And someone else lights up the room? People love an ingenue." "How do I go from growing up to breaking down? And I wake up in the middle of the night, it's like I can feel time moving. How can a person know everything at 18, and nothing at 22? Will you still want me, when I'm nothing new?"

It's difficult to believe I'm 20 now. That shouldn't be allowed. It's such a weird age, isn't it, 20? It's so, so young, it's so new, it's so terrifyingly timid.

I swear I knew more at 14 than I do now. I swear so many of you know so much more than I do. I don't know anything at all, most days. I don't know who I am. But you do. Thank you for bringing out not the best of me, not the worst of me, but the realest of me.

I love you. I got into art school, by the way. Life is not going the way I expected it to. And the horrors persist, trapping me in my dreams, suffocating me the way a pillow never could. But then I wake up and I think about you, and that keeps me going.

Look at you, saving a guy, every single day. How insanely wonderful.

The rain has stilled. My brother will be pleased, he bought a ticket to go to a cricket match. I think I'll go for a drive with my mum and Roxie. She loves drives. She knows them as 'car byebyes'. She sits on my lap in the front seat and looks out the window, nose sniffing and getting excited whenever I say look, a bow-wow and a dog passes.

I'll scoot now. If this long letter landed up on your dash and messed it up, I really do apologise, I try not to tag these. If you read it this far, then wow, hi. I love you. If you skipped to the end, I love you. If you don't read this, I love you. I love you all, so much.

I hope you have the loveliest of days.

I'll see you soon, maggots of mine.

[formosusiniquis]

have your cake

So way back in August 2023 the steddiemicrofic challenge was Cake and 311 words, my head empty brain came up with one thought and it was Steve Munson having a bakery called Mun's Buns and so many months later I finally got around to finishing my vision

Ships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins; implied/past Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington/Carol Perkins WC: 6408 | T | tags: Future Fic, the lightest of post homoerotic friendship breakup angst, fluff, Tommy POV AO3

The bakery has a stupid name, is the first thing Tommy thinks when Carol tells him where he's supposed to meet her on his lunch break. He’s still thinking that, when he sees the place for the first time through his rain speckled windshield. It's a modest storefront, small for what Carol says is a booming business, tucked in next to a used bookstore and a music shop. There's a baby yellow awning hanging from the front just underneath a sign lettered in soft blue that reads Mun's Buns.

He's late, is the second thing he thinks after pulling up. Caught up in some stupid bullshit for his dad he hadn't managed to slip away until 12:30. Even then it had only been because Tommy had told him he was going to be late for their cake tasting. He'd rolled his eyes when his father and Greg, a guy that Tommy only considers a co-worker in the sense that they are technically on the same payroll since Greg in every other aspect is incompetent and an idiot, had winced. Shooing him away like a kid who'd just admitted that he's already twenty minutes past curfew. But catching sight of the way Carol has her arms crossed, tapping her foot fast enough to kickstart a motor, while her hair hangs limp in a way that it hadn’t this morning a third thought crosses his mind: maybe he should have been a little more worried.

Waiting isn’t going to make things any better. So he steps out of the car, let’s the misty damp cling to him in a way that makes his dress pants and button down feel like a poorly tailored second skin, and takes his licks like a man. "Late, thirty minutes late. Christ, it's the only thing I've asked from you Tommy." Her right hook stings just as badly as it did sophomore year when she punched him for asking out Erin Murphy instead of her.

Shit like that is probably why no one expected them to make it this long or this far.

When they went away to college; different schools, hours apart. His parents had been gleeful as they'd warned him that high school relationships didn't always last. That he should keep his options open, he didn't want to miss out on the love of his life just because of comfort. He didn't get offered the family ring when he decided to propose right after graduation. Carol has always been particular. Wanted the house to come back to before the wedding could happen, wanted a long honeymoon. That meant saving, a lot of it. Tommy knew and Carol did too, they'd overheard his mother and aunt gossiping in too loud voices after too much wine that they hoped the long engagement meant they were both trying to figure out a good way to break it off with one another. 

Still, over the course of their now five year engagement no one's asked once if they wanted to trade for it.

Carol thought it was horrendous anyway. She’d had her ring picked out since ‘85, styled her class ring so it would look like the oval cut diamond she wanted. Had him slide it on her finger the second it came in.

Cause in the politest of terms, Carol could be a raging bitch. She was Tommy's favorite person in the entire world.

There’s going to be a bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, even if she’s guiltily smoothing a hand down his arm now. Thrust toward the door first in offering, Carol is sorry she hit him but she’s not apologetic. “I’m serious, Tom, if we lose this appointment and have to go with Sweet Treats for our cake I'll- I'll-"

Whatever threat she was preparing is drowned out and then cut off by the echoing TONG of the door chime. A light in the back shifts color for a second, out of place enough that he wonders if he even really saw it. Head tilting toward Carol, his question catches in his throat when he notices her pinched off appraising. Better not to add to the ammunition she might already be building.

And if Carol is looking he better do it too. She'll want to debrief when they're having dinner tonight, just like they did with the florist, the caterer, the three wedding planners they'd met with, and each of the venues that they'd visited. And it wasnt because she was demanding, fuck you Greg. It wasn't because she was being nitpick-y, alright it was a little bit because she was but he liked being particular with her. He liked being involved in his wedding.

So he looked around.

The way they utilized their space -- a building that big and there's barely enough room to stand, we want someone who knows how to work with limited space for the venues we're looking at -- was the reason their first wedding planner hadn't gotten hired. Small, but not cramped. There are a handful of tables scattered in the open space in front of the counter. It’s the kind of small town cozy that Hawkins had tried for and he doesn’t see very often anymore now that they’ve moved out to Indianapolis.

It’s lunchtime, still too early for people to be seeking out the rows of deserts in their neat glass counter and too late for the breakfast crowd. But one of the tables is occupied by a teenager with long, black braids scribbling in a notebook while a slice of ice cream cake melts on a plate by her elbow. 

Everything was neat, organized, and compliant with health code regulations -- they hadn’t even made it in the door of the first caterer’s when she noticed a trail of ants and roaches marching into the open kitchen door.

Carol had always been quick when she was making up her mind about something. Like those Sherlock Holmes stories they’d had to read in school, in a couple of seconds she could spot everything she needed to make a decision. After a decade Tommy still couldn’t keep up; but he was always best at following someone else’s lead.

The smile she’s got frosted across her face is as sugary and fake as the roses on the cupcakes he can see behind the low topped counters as she approaches the only visible staff member. A girl, young in the way that nebulous way anyone younger than him was now, with thick squared glasses that magnified two distressingly blue eyes. The counters looked like they were designed to sit low enough that she could easily see over the top while in her wheelchair.

“Welcome to,” her customer service tone borders on bored. Two words into a clear script and she sighs, as if saying the name physically pains her, “Mun’s Buns. We’ve got a special series of summer flavors: Strawberry Lemonade, Lavender Mint, Chocolate Fudgsicle, and,” she sighs again, “for the grownups a boozy Blue Moon with orange zest.”

“How about a wedding cake.” He’s impressed. Carol made it through the speech without interrupting.

“Do you have an appointment?” the girl raises her voice, enough to make them both flinch back. Customer service isn’t a requirement for this part of the job necessarily, but Carol had bailed on two venues because the staff hadn’t been polite enough.

Her smile doesn’t crack though, “Yes.”

Even though he’s pretty sure this girl has to be basically blind with the inch thick frames, she levels Carol with a lethal stare. “Not you.”

From the open entryway behind her Tommy had been able to make out what sounded like the highlights of yesterday’s game. He assumed that space had to be the kitchen where these rows of deserts were made. He’s still surprised when a guy’s voice is shouting back, “I don't know, Max, do I? Why don't you check?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Max shouts back, glowering at then in stand in for her mystery boss.

“With your finger, asshole. It's in braille. When I gave you this job you said you were actually gonna work.”

“Douchebag." Her eyes never leave them, while her hands rummage around in a space beneath the counter where the cash register sits. Max offers no explanation or apology for her shouting or for her boss. A large red appointment book gets slammed down on the nearest counter, making Carol jump but the neat two by twos of chocolate frosted cupcakes don't budge. He watches, a little fascinated by the way her finger scans the page before slowing. "Did you write this or did Dustin?"

Carol has always valued gossip over professionalism, he thinks that’s why she’s done so well as a hairdresser even though she was always awful at chemistry. It’s also why he’s held off from pointing out that they could solve this a lot faster if this guy would come out from the back. "Why?" 

“Cause one of you can't spell and one of you is trying to invent braille shorthand. So I'm not really sure what to do with TomGan Wed.”

“It might be Thomas and Wedding.” Carol leans over the appointment book as she says it, using a tone of voice he has never once heard her use in the entire time he’s known her. He thinks it’s supposed to be helpful.

“Wedding sampler.” The girl calls toward the back, “It's getting late.”

“I’ve got it,” the voice from the back shouts back.There’s an effortless assurance Tommy can hear from where he’s standing. It hits him with a wave of nostalgia so strong he grabs Carol’s arm on instinct.

“Really,” she says, cutting her gaze over to him. He’s not sure what she sees. “If we could hurry this along, it's just we've only got an hour.”

“You're late.” The glare she gets shuts Carol down faster than he’s ever seen.

“Right.”

“Okay I've got it.” The voice from the back is now the voice in the doorway. Hidden for a second by a serving tray loaded with samples of rich looking cake, it’s the first time since arriving that Tommy has actually wanted to be here. Not just because he can make out strong shoulders and a body of a man that’s still very fit but clearly enjoys his work too; the hint of love handles above strong thighs. Only then that tray dips, and for the first time since 1985 Tommy finds himself looking at the shocked hazel eyes of Steve Harrington. “Oh.”

Carol reacts for him, taking in a breath sharp enough she might puncture a lung. They’ll both wind up suffocated on the floor of this stupid bakery with an awful name, because Tommy can’t manage to breathe at all looking at Steve. Still unfairly handsome, faintly pink at the shock of seeing them too he imagined.

His hair is long, is the first real thought his half fried brain manages to put together. Soft looking even where it’s damp at the temples where sweat has pooled. He has it pulled back with a couple of the same butterfly clips that Carol likes to use.

His second, somehow more hysterical thought: this wasn’t how Steve Harrington was supposed to be included in his wedding.

Tommy was six years old and knew he wanted to marry Steve. When he’d told his mom -- to ask for her ring, Steve thought it was romantic like princes and princesses that they had a special ring that they got married with -- she’d grabbed by his arm so hard it’d left finger shaped bruises. So he’d held that certainty quiet in his heart until he was ten, and suddenly it was okay to want to play with girls on the playground -- he thinks it’s because Steve got tired of there never being an even number when they tried to play kickball, he had a way of making everyone want to do the thing he was. Carol wasn’t afraid to tell Tommy C. that he was dumb or to tell Mark L. that he hadn’t actually made it to the base, Steve liked her fast. Too fast, and Tommy had to tell her that one day he was going to be able to keep Steve all to himself. But he knew that it wasn’t right to say that now, even if he wasn’t all the way sure why it wasn’t. He was ten, but he would be eleven soon, and he took this part of him that he’d kept secret for so long and he whispered it to Carol under the slide while Steve tried to convince Brad P. that he could too pick two people for his kickball team first.

He was ten and Carol said they could share. Boys can’t marry boys, but girls can. So they could both marry her and live together forever.

It became a joke when they finally shared it with Steve, thirteen and boys going out with girls wasn’t funny the way it used to be. Sarah Jane asked Carol if she had a chance at going steady with Steve. She told Tommy about it later and they both told Steve that he was too good to date any of the girls in their grade. “Well I’ve got you guys,” his voice cracked when he said it, throwing an arm around both of them. Carol didn’t care as much, but even she’d noticed the way Steve was changing from boyish to handsome.

They were sixteen and disaster was just around the corner, not that he knew that. Steve dated around but he always came back to them. The head, the heart, the body. They don’t feel complete without each other -- at least Tommy doesn’t. Mr. Kripke, who was hungover more often than he wasn't, passed out ten minutes into study hall. Carol didn’t even wait to see if he’d wake back up before she left her assigned table for theirs. She smoothed out a lined piece of notebook paper for them, and Tommy scoffed like he was supposed to. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing MASH?”

“It’s dirty MASH, and I thought you’d think it was funny.”

“I think it’s funny,” Steve had said, “that you’re getting eiffel towered on your wedding night. Who else is joining in, Carrie?”

“We couldn’t agree on who got you for their side of the aisle. So we’re taking you to bed instead.”

He was sixteen and the way that the two of them looked when they shared a joke was the hottest thing in the world. The way their smiles mirror when they turned to him, sharp and ready to flay open the softest parts of him.

Tommy’s two days older when Steve lets him kiss the taste of Carol out of his mouth.

It was three days after he turned seventeen and he had to pretend he didn't want to die when he saw how Steve looked at Nancy Wheeler. Like he didn’t want to rip his hair out because Steve was fucking infatuated with this mousy little teacher’s pet and wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

He still doesn’t like to think about the breakup. He pokes it like a fresh bruise. Less often now, but when he does he digs his fingers in. Baits Carol into fights he doesn’t mean just so he can pretend like he hasn’t lost something that hurts like a limb.

Steve Harrington turns twenty-eight next week, and he’s standing in front of them both holding pieces of what might turn into their wedding cake.

“Wow I can’t believe you’re in Indy!” False excitement grates, but at least Carol has gotten herself together enough to speak. He thought he’d have at least another few months to prepare for the thought of seeing Steve, by their ten year reunion he was going to be married and happy and over it.

“Yeah, this is- Married, wow! I kinda can’t believe you haven’t already.” He says it to Carol, his platitudes had always been for Carol, but his eyes find Tommy. 

While Carol chatters at them and for them both, nervous, he knows she’s nervous. The situation is sudden and strange and fraught. But Tommy just looks at Steve, who looks at him. He’s getting married in three months, one week, and two days from now and for the first time in eleven years Steve is looking at him.

"Takes a while to save up for when you want the best of everything. Dad's still the skinflint he always was, I think he'd pay me less than minimum wage if he could get away with it."

And those soft brown eyes look so sad, looking at him. Sometimes he thinks no one will ever understand him the way that Steve did.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting the best, or having a long engagement." Carol defends. It's the same line she's been giving everyone. Defensive of him and herself and the choices they've been making. He can't believe Steve is someone she thinks they have to defend against.

“I really hope you're happy, man," he says, and the sincerity is a balm on the sting of this conversation. He pushes his hair back from his face, the way he always has when he's uncomfortable and trying not to make it obvious. And there's a fresh new hurt when Tommy catches sight of a plain gold band on Steve's finger, shining bright between the golden highlights of his hair.

“I’m happy about this,” he can say honestly. Carol is one of the only things he’s ever been sure about. She held him steady as she could when his other sure thing left him with a cracked foundation in a convenience store parking lot. “What about you? How long after meeting the future Mrs. Harrington did you wait to put a ring on her finger?”

“Tommy,” Carol chides as the teen in the corner snorts. To anyone else it would sound like a reprimand for being nosy, he, and he suspects Steve, knows she’s telling him to stop worrying a scab that has no hope of healing right.

Married and they didn’t know. Wouldn’t have found out until the reunion. It’s not like he expected an invitation, maybe an engagement announcement sent to their parents’ houses. They’d sent one to Loch Nora when the real ring had finally made it to Carrie’s finger. It was equal parts olive branch and offering. They’d gotten it back return to sender with no forwarding address.

The bell above the door tongs again, loud enough to make Carol jump. The platter of cakes doesn't shift at all in Steve’s hand. His arm shows no sign of fatigue. It’s almost distracting enough that he misses the obvious. The bell signals someone is coming into the store.

“Sorry, Sweetheart. I know I said I wasn't gonna be late but Mike…” There just inside the door is the Freak. Undeniable even with his head down as he digs through his shoulder bag. From the riot of poorly maintained tangles that still hang around his shoulders to the expanded mess of tacky ink on his arms. The only thing that’s changed is the age in his face and the band on his shirt.

“Munson?” Carol has the reflexes and the personal grace to address him first. Shock more than the disgust it might have been when they were still kids.

Tommy feels like a kid still. Looks to Steve in an instinct he’d thought he’d stamped out years ago, only to be met with wide eyes and teeth grit tight enough to draw out the square line of his jaw.

“Christ, I still get nightmares that start like this.” Munson says, eye darting between the three of them. “Max, am I naked?”

“Don't know, don't wanna know.”

“I thought you'd be able to tell by the energy in the room.” He wiggles his fingers, still bedecked in silver, like they can divine the vibrations or some witchy shit.

That’s enough to make Steve break just a little. A soft, exhaling scoff before he finally starts to move out from the counter. Tommy catches, and he doubts Carol misses it either, how Steve passes the closer tables to set his tray down between them and Munson.

“I can tell I don't want to be here for this.” Their redheaded audience member says, “I'm taking my 15.”

“Don't go harass Mike, he's finally working,” Munson says.

“Will and El are on shift on the other side,” Steve calls out, not looking at any of them as he moves cakes from his tray to the table. A deliberate selection he seems to be making.

“Whatever, I’m gonna call Lucas and break up with him so he can play better or whatever.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Munson calls out, “I’ve only got him on a five point spread.”

If Carol’s nails break from how hard they’re digging into his arm, somehow it’ll be Tommy’s fault. Not the fact that they’ve advanced the worst part of their ten year reunion by months, and also Munson is here and knows shit about basketball.

“Sorry, think my hearing’s going, sounded like you said you want him to lose and he’s getting kicked from the next one shot. I’ll let him know.”

“She gets that from you,” Steve and Munson say in sync. Glaring playfully at one another the way Steve used to with Carol.

“I’ll tell Robin you were-”

“Do not sick Buckley on me, Max made the deaf joke not me.”

“Weird, that’s not what I heard.” Steve has always claimed his hair as his best feature. It isn’t -- Carrie liked his eyes, Tommy his hands -- but it’s hard to deny that it doesn’t look good, flipping over his shoulder. His smile is private, just for Munson, soft the way he got whenever he picked up a new girl. Carrie taps the back of his hand, two sharp smacks, their signal for years that he needed to pay attention and notice something she had. Wide, nervous eyes dart to Steve -- like he hadn’t already been looking at Steve -- so he does his best to assess the way Carol would.

Jealous, viciously, Steve had been theirs in every way that mattered since they were ten years old and Carol had never liked sharing her toys with anyone but them. She watched his face for any sign of unhappiness anytime a new girlfriend came along, and when she found one she passed it along to him. So he could pick and joke until Steve was all theirs again.

So he checked the face. Tried to ignore the way Steve was lit up from the inside out with a joy he could barely remember, and then he saw the hearing aid.

He tapped back, three times. O.M.G.

“The 1985 Homecoming court here to reveal that this has all been a long con, Stevie?”

“Yeah I faked the name change paperwork and picked up a fake ID, sorry I took my business somewhere else.” Steve says it with the sincerity he’s always made those kind of jokes with, his strange sense of humor never coming across when he always sounded so serious. 

Munson gets it though, snorts loud and ugly, before a smile pulls wide across half his face the otherside taught with a gnarly scar. “Now I know why my fake ID business went belly up when we got to the city, not like I only sold three in high school.”  He gestures to the three of them in a wide arc.

Sophomores, they had decided it was time to throw their first real party now that Steve’s parents had moved out of Hawkins in all but name. Steve was a latchkey kid of new proportions and took to self sufficiency in a way that had seemed adult to him then; and in hindsight looked more like a child fighting for his life. Steve bragged how he’d been saving up the weekly checks they’d sent to ‘sustain him’ while they worked in the city during the week. His contribution to Tommy and Carol’s vague plan to throw a kegger by the pool. When they’d floundered, immediately, with the hows, Steve had been the one to suggest going to Munson.

“Love this preview of the reunion,” Carol cuts in, there’s no bite but Munson bristles anyway like she’s being rude for reminding them that there are customers present. “Steve?”

It’s funny, Tommy thinks, the way Steve still straightens his back at Carol’s tone. All this time and he can’t fight the old ingrained instincts either.

“Dustin made the appointment,” Steve apologizes, even as he’s posture perfect and preparing his pastries. The unsaid, ‘I definitely wouldn’t have’ doesn’t go unheard and it doesn’t sting any less even this far from their last interaction.

“Munson could join us,” Tommy offers, a new olive branch since their last one was never seen. Even if it does raise three sets of brows and makes Carrie’s nervous smile tighten even more in the corner of her mouth.

“Well at least one of us has to,” Munson, Eddie, says. Just says, tone like it was meant to be something said under his breath.

He's grown up a lot since high school, they both have. Still, he's only got twenty minutes left on his lunch break and it's been a long day. "God, is that why it's called that?" Growth, he doesn't say that Steve Munson sounds a lot dumber than Steve Harrington.

"It's charming," Carol and Steve both say. Though Carrie is definitely lying and Steve barely gets it out from between his gritted teeth, a sore spot. He's always been good at finding Steve's bruises.

"It's charming," Tommy agrees, like he always did when he was out voted.

Eddie has a smirk spread across his face and a ‘too proud of himself’ look in his eyes. Mouth open to make some quip that Tommy is going to pretend is funny, for Steve’s sake. Now that they’re here, he’s going to do something to show that they could talk to one another again. Steve clicks his tongue, taps his index and middle finger down to his thumb two quick times before he can.

He turns to the girl in the corner, "Erica, scram, go help Robin and the kids with the new donation that just came in."

The teen continues to scribble in the notebook in front of her, bulky headphones over her ears, she makes no sign that Tommy can see that she's heard Steve speak. "Erica, go, or I'll tell your mother you moved out of the dorms. You're 20, it's not child labor, and you've got a timecard."

She sighs and wordlessly packs up her things, she gives Steve a scathing look that takes Tommy back to high school. The withering eyebrow and rolled eyes would have been just at home on Steve’s own face in 1985, but she marches behind the counter, the sound of her dish rattling in the sink before she disappears out the same door that the redhead had gone out.

Now that the room has been cleared, an awkward silence has found the space to squeeze in. Munson, the original, still standing in the doorway and Steve standing between his unlawfully wedded husband and the two people who had lost their chance at him years ago.

The wedding and the reunion both on the horizon had dredged up a nostalgia that Tommy and Carol had been dealing with in their own ways. Dredging up old yearbooks, Carol had found a shoebox of old notes that she’d kept. Conversations written in three different inks by three different hands, nonsensical after all this time. Tommy woke up from dreams that he hadn’t had in years. Always of Steve and Carol, a study in opposites, but similar where it mattered.

“Well,” Steve says, taking charge of the situation like he always would when the other two faltered, “you’re here for a reason. We might as well get started on it.”

Steve’s fingerprints are still on them, just like he’d noticed theirs on him, molded as they were together. They’ve always bowed to his expectations, and his whims. When he ushers them to the table with a spread hand, Tommy and Carol go where they’re beckoned.

And so does Munson.

They keep an empty chair between them, an artificial divide for Tommy’s sanity, but with the sprawl of Munson’s legs their knees still occasionally brush together. Carol had taken the spot closest to Steve, who has stayed standing. He is their gracious host, marking the head of the round table.

“I pulled out the full sampler before I realized it was you,” Steve says. Even with as off balance as the interaction has felt, Tommy doesn’t feel his hackles raising. While it’s possible he’s gotten more subtle with his digs, Steve’s vicious tongue was usually unmistakable. “I can tell you about as many of them as you want though if you want to pretend like we don’t already know what I’ll be making you. I’m sure neither of you have eaten lunch yet.”

“You are going to take us on?” Carol asks. Shock always gives her tone an extra edge, defensive and catty, even if she’s really just waiting to see if another shoe will drop.

“Obviously,” Steve says, placing a faintly orange square of cake in front of her. He slaps Eddie’s hand away from another piece without looking away from either of them. “That’s as far as I’ll be going in participation though.”

He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s mouth twitches up with the joke, a filthy smirk that leaves Tommy flushing hot. Too warm to not be a bright and obvious red at the acknowledgment of that old private in-joke.

It doesn’t get better when Carol moans, “Oh my god, Steve!” Even if it is about the cake.

He laughs, and Tommy suspects the two are actually trying to kill him. He chances a glance over at Munson who looks like he doesn’t care at all that his husband has made Tommy’s fiance moan. He is watching Tommy though, an inquisitive look like the one Carol gets when she happens to catch a nature documentary.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with Carol, “I’ll do something small with that citrus cake for you and Tom so you’ve got something you’ll actually eat on your wedding, maybe a pineapple buttercream on top like that nasty Juicy Fruit gum you like so much.”

“I mean it’s really crazy how you’re so good at this when you’ve never had any taste,” Carol compliments, she never did learn how to be nice.

He could probably count Steve’s teeth in the answering smile. Tommy can feel it like an ache in his chest how much he missed this. He snatches another cube of cake off the tray just so has something else to focus on.

“That’s the fancy one for the people who hate their guests,” Munson says as the cake has settled on the flat of Tommy’s tongue.

“It’s lavender,” Steve corrects, and the floral flavor is lodged in the back of his throat at least gives him a reason now to feel so choked up. “And it is for a particular sort of bride.”

“Are you saying I’m not fancy and particular, Munson?” Carol asks. 

She’s obviously talking to Eddie Munson, who lifts his hands up in answer. But it’s Steve who says, “If you tried to feed that to Gail she would leave the reception bitching the whole time.”

“Well go on,” Tommy finds himself goading now that he’s swallowed, “finish calling your shot, Stevie. You said you knew what we were walking out of here with.”

Carol reaches across the table, locking eyes with Eddie as she snags the piece closest to him. The one his fingers had been inching toward like he thought Steve wouldn’t notice him trying to take it.

“I’ll make a small citrus cake for you, Carrie, we’ll hide it in the back of the larger cake so you can get the pictures of you cutting it and smashing into each other's faces-”

“We will not be doing that,” she interrupts, the warning for him and also unnecessary. He already knows how she feels about being embarrassed in public.

“Then the big cake for your guests will be a chocolate cake, I can cover it in a buttercream or a fondant icing also chocolate, because it’s the only kind of cake the Hagan family will eat. Even though I’m sure John hasn’t given you a dime for the wedding, he’ll complain until Hannah gets married if he doesn’t like the cake.”

“Really,” Steve continues, “the only thing up in the air is how many people you were able to get away with not inviting, Care.”

The two of them start talking actual wedding logistics, and as Tommy grabs another bite of cake -- this one looks like it might be a normal flavor -- he figures the real show of good faith would be talking to the only other person at the table while he eats what Steve correctly dubbed his lunch.

“Y’know he never actually answered me,” he says in an undertone.

Munson seems surprised at being spoken to, only widens his eyes in response to Tommy’s unasked question.

“I asked Steve how soon after the first date he proposed, he never actually answered.”

Eddie softens at the edges before he can even say anything. Steve had a way of doing that, bringing out the romantic in a person. He loved with a passion that demanded it be matched. “Technically I proposed to him, but he says it doesn’t count because we weren’t together and I was high on morphine after a major surgery and thought he was Apollo, come to whisk me away.” The smile on Munson’s face looks dopey and drugged up now, like the very memory of whatever hospital stay is so ingrained in his mind he can feel the high now.

“But,” he goes on, “he told me we were getting married whether it was legal or not about three months after he got legally married to another woman.”

“Stop,” Steve has always been able to sense when he’s about to be the butt of the joke. He has a finger pointed at Eddie like a teacher delivering a lecture. “You can’t tell people that. It was for tax reasons, I’m not cheating on my wife.”

“You say tomato, I say whichever one of us is your least favorite has to be the extramarital affair.”

“I say, you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.” Tommy can hear the warm affection behind the insult, the way their picking is a safer way to express their passion for one another.

He thought he would be jealous of whoever finally managed to reel in Steve Harrington for good, and he is. The emotion is there, present in the snarling tangle of emotions that this encounter has left in him. One that he and Carol will have to slowly tease and pick out tonight when they’re home in bed. Trying to make sense of what each thread is and what it means for them. But the one bright pulsing thread he can make sense of is happiness. He’s happy for Steve, happy that he gets to see an old friend so at ease and obviously cared for.

And he’s sad that his time is up, his lunch hour so close to an end he’ll be late getting back to the office. Something he can already hear his Dad and fucking Greg giving him shit for. Which means they have to end their time here.

Steve walks them to the door, flips the sign to mark them closed for lunch.

“Congratulations again, you two,” he says, “I really am happy I can get to be a part of this with you all. Even if it’s a little different than we used to imagine.”

Carol reaches out for the both of them, puts her hand on his arm. Tommy finds that he’s the one who actually says, “We’re glad you found someone who makes you this happy, dude. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, he’s alright most of the time.” It's said with such fondness it becomes a declaration. It’s hard to imagine how they thought they could ever be the something that could make Steve this happy. But maybe in a different life, under different circumstances it could have been.

There’s a minute where they all stand in the doorway. He wonders if they’re all afraid that this might be the last time they see each other, speak to one another, until Steve is delivering the cake on the day of the wedding. Maybe it’s just him, he was the one who pushed back the hardest after things ended.

Someone finally gives in and pushes the door open. It’s TONG a death toll for their current conversation. But it also sends a jolt through Steve, he straightens to his full height like a shock has gone through him. “Here,” he says, “here, um.” He digs around in his apron until he finds a pen and a receipt pad. Jots down something before tearing it off and putting it in Tommy’s hands, “It's our home number, in case you have any cake emergencies or something.”

They really can’t stay any longer.

Carol takes the note, better at keeping track of these things than Tommy is. It’s hard to know if they’ll actually use it, maybe after they talk about it, but if they do she’ll be the one to do it. She’s always been braver than him.

There’s no way of guaranteeing anything but the fact that they’ll have a cake on the table on their wedding day. But he hopes that Steve might stay for the ceremony once he brings it, he can even bring Eddie if that’s what gets him there. 

Alone in his car, Tommy lets himself take a minute to think about Steve Harrington one last time. He isn’t going to get what he wanted as a kid. Doubts that he’ll ever be as close to Steve as he’d been in childhood, too much time has passed and too much has changed.

But there’s an opportunity to get to know Steve Munson, and he isn't going to pass it up. Even if he doesn’t know how to name a bakery.

[kinokoshoujoart]

CORRECT TAGS‼️‼️‼️‼️ @rn0na-lizard you are so so so correct….. my favorite ‘Normal Girl’ in hmds…….i almost never see anyone talk about these aspects of her let alone also love her for them as they should.

i feel like Leona/ DS lumina gets mischaracterized super often which is understandable bc out of all the DS candidates leona is the least like her ancestor (who i also love, for different reasons).

in AWL lumina was the only kid in the valley for a very long time, but many of the DS residents have lived in the valley their whole lives. while lumina had accepted her role as a proper young heiress by chapter 3 of AWL— and when DS begins Leona already at this point of her life— lumina still had a lingering sense of uncertainty and angst and loneliness and doubt, and unresolved worries about her parents. absolutely none of this is present with leona

in this world leona starts with Lumina’s 22 year old appearance, she’s just rich as hell and living her best life (as she deserves), she’s unabashedly shallow, puts herself first always, speaks so politely and affably yet she can be so casually cruel in the most genuine cute way and out of touch with reality and and i fucking love her and i’d die for her. my beloved girlboss girlkeep girlypop

more iconic Leona Moments

when muu/muffy asks for beauty advice leona’s recommendation is “this brand of mail order beauty cream is simply divine! and it was quite inexpensive too, just 100,000 G 🥰” everyone else looks uncomfortable and muu is like “you’re as frivolous as always….”

aside from the 3 who take literally half your money (Witch💖, moi, and thomas) leona and panama (romana) take the most money from you if they carry you home when you faint. just a couple of girl bosses holding on to their girlpire (btw shout out to sebastian, the only resident in the entire valley who carries you home for free)

neither panama nor leona attend the harvest festival, they send sebastian there by himself to test the food first lmao (if you poison it like the witch they’re harboring on their property requires you to do, sebastian is just like “i can’t serve this to Mistress Panama…”)

once again sebastian attacks mukumuku for her sake, this time not to make her a paintbrush but she told him to get her the best slippers and this was apparently the easiest way. sebastian gets fucking mauled btw

leona has hands down the best romance route in hmds. all her scenes are incredible but god the slow burn friends to lovers with your DVD player….

in her purple heart event she shows up at your house because she heard you have a DVD player, asks you to show her how it works, and then just leaves after she’s done playing with it

in her yellow heart event she has sebastian fetch van so she can buy a DVD player for herself but van’s like “i’m so sorry …. Pete… bought the last one….”

leona is so unable to stomach the idea of other people having things she doesn’t that she starts to cry and the only way to placate her is to tell her she can go to your house anytime she wants just so she can use your DVD player. that’s not a setup to a budding romance that’s her final heart event

it’s the most incredible romance arc in the world like girl you have infinite money you can just. buy a DVD player somewhere else?? “i want to watch DVDs at my house just like you!” leona you have three entire bedrooms

“rich girl love interest who has everything except love, win her heart by having genuine conversation with her”: done to death, tired, i don’t have time for that

“rich girl love interest who has everything except a fucking DVD player, win her heart by giving her expensive stuff and ‘relax tea’ and access to your DVD player”: audacious, intriguing, never been done before, innovative

if you deny her god-given right to access your DVD player she is like “Is that so……………Just let me be alone for a little bit.” incredible tragedy i understand. take as much time as you need to grieve darling

oh but her first heart event asks you to pick a side in an argument she’s having with panama and the correct answer is to say “sebastian is the one who’s wrong” (sebastian has said nothing wrong this whole time and yet both of them have just been yelling at him to shut up)

and her blue heart event is “help me find this heirloom necklace… boohoo…” and when you find it she’s like “perfect! now grandma won’t get mad at me. hmm, you seem pretty dependable…♡” augh she’s way too good at this…….!!! i’ll do anything for you!

when you propose she says “of course, i always dreamed of having a romance and a wedding♡” and says nothing abt how she feels about you <3

also if you marry her, once a week she goes to hang out at her ex love interest’s place for 6 hours straight and comes home saying “whew… i had so much fun that i must have lost track of time… i’ll hurry on home”

if you marry another girl she starts flirting with you like “I’m so envious of your wife, having such a fine husband… Pete.” (or whatever your name is)

i’ve become obsessed with her and romeo’s horrible trainwreck soap opera marriage since replaying cute in jp… it’s SO… i have so much to say about them that it should be its own post but i’ll just give the cliffnotes

shotgun wedding vibes. romeo is surprised by his own wedding. they’re childhood friends but he himself has never considered marrying her. her words to him at their wedding are “Make me happy♡” (command)

she understandably can’t stand his terrible table manners or his clothes or anything about him (except that she wants to watch him surf and have his child. but he instead walks in circles all day. coward) and he’s both really good at accidentally stepping on landmines and just ever so slightly majorly terrified of her after marriage (“but surely her angry outbursts are just her way of showing love hahahahaha” you’re going to die. she’s going to kill you). the only positive things they say about their marriage are extremely shallow. they can’t communicate with each other because romeo always says the Dumbest Shit obliviously and leona always responds by cutting him out of her life forever!!!!!! (for 5 seconds) while he has no idea what happened

they are both so melodramatic and they both just do nothing except make each other worse and run away from each other and push each other away but they can’t escape each other. neither of them ever has to grow or change if they marry each other because an elderly overworked man is sustaining both of their existences and neither of them can take care of themselves and i love them your honor

also romeo’s first crush as a kid was apparently her mom, and if leona falls for YOU she flirts by mentioning that sebastian says you look like the spitting image of her dead father. dear fucking god

they’re the epitome of “You're both just enabling each other's mental illnesses. You're both perfect for each other. Never change. Just never involve anybody else in what you've got going on.”

romeo really does feel like her stupid lackey. like the karen to her regina. they even had this dynamic in the games they played as kids… she was the Harvest Goddess and he was Servant A/Minion A (they might still be playing this game as adults…he calls her lady/mistress sometimes after marriage…)

btw leona’s best friend (wife) marivia is also just as… there’s an event where they just gossip about all the mineral town ppl and marivia says ann would win a gluttony contest and they both giggle

there’s also an event where marivia casually walks into Witch’s hut and just interviews her so she can write her into a novel. witch is left completely drained by this exchange. leona and marivia both are so chill about the horrible cruel villainess living in leona’s shed who wants the town poisoned and rewards you for killing animals and hurting yourself and is putting curses on everyone (and they’re right. she’s never done anything wrong in her life)

[tgmsunmontue]

More than movie magic... 23/24

Hangster AU. Explicit (Chapter 16). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries. So is Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTYONE TWENTYTWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

                Bradley wakes slowly, it’s already better than yesterday morning, no incessant buzzing of a phone, no alarm at all, just the slow coming back to awareness and the feel of Jake beside him, warm and asleep, little snuffling sounds he’s sure Jake will deny ever making. They only have four hours of filming today, although it will likely stretch to six or seven given yesterday’s interruptions. He feels tender, emotionally, like he’s reopened all his old wounds and reminded of the hurt they caused, like a fresh bruise, but knows from experience that the feeling will fade away again, there until he goes and pokes at it again.

                He rolls to give Jake a quick hug, his need to use the bathroom far more pressing than anything else. He tucks the blankets around Jake to make sure he doesn’t get a blast of cooler air and pads quietly to the bathroom. After finishing and washing his hands, downing a glass of water he grabs his phone and turns it on, realizing his mistake as it starts vibrating and beeping with notifications and he quickly puts it into silent mode and shoves it under a cushion, hoping it will muffle the worst of the vibrations.

                He hasn’t looked at any social media since yesterday morning, doesn’t care for it, although he does have several accounts, some of which are necessary for promoting his work, while others are private and locked down with only a handful of people. He has a non-private personal one for work, which he has Brigham manage for the most part, posting a picture every three to four days. It’s this one which has gone nuts with new followers and notifications and there it is right at the top.

                The photo Pete took last night, his nose and forehead taking up far too much space in the foreground, but then there is Tom looking resigned and quietly happy if you know him well enough, Bill smiling slightly whereas Kaye is beaming. Bradley and Jake aren’t looking at the camera, instead looking at each other, clearly caught saying something to one another just before they turned for the photo and he wonders exactly how many shots Pete took. He and Jake looks good together though, happy and relaxed and he guesses it’s Pete’s way of approving of it and supporting it. Then he reads the caption.

                Oh. Holy shit.

                He’s tagged Tom.

                Tom who is never tagged in anything except official trailers, press releases and people trying to get his attention. Never candid shots that largely feature Maverick’s nose as a starring feature.

                Holy shit.

Delicious dinner with the boyfriend, son, son’s new boyfriend and his parents. Always humbling when you’re not the most famous person at the table. Thank you Seresin family for your warm Southern hospitality.  @TKazanskyOfficial @JSeresin @2Brad2Sad @MmmKaye

                Pete has never referred to Tom as anything more than a friend, a colleague, sometimes, rarely, a close friend. Never boyfriend. He wouldn’t have posted this without Tom’s okay, and then his conversation with Tom comes into focus and he wonders if he’s going to see a picture of an engagement ring and he frantically goes searching… nothing. Yet. Oh god. What if Pete is also planning on proposing? He wouldn’t ask or tell Bradley first, he’d just go ahead and do it. If he has any grey hairs, they’re totally because of Pete.

                This is insane, and a quick scan through the comments tells him it’s blindsided a lot of people. Not anyone close to them, though he can see a few comments from people like Natasha and Bob. He lets out a long breath, taps his phone against his forehead before sending a quick message to Tom, asking him if he’s okay, if he thinks Pete is planning anything else. Not that it matters, far too late to do anything about it now. He puts his phone into do not disturb mode and slides back into the bed, grins when he hears Jake’s little grunt of displeasure at his cooler skin, pulls him close to help himself warm up and to annoy Jake a little, kisses his shoulder and lets himself savor the moment.

                “Hey…”

                “Hi. Morning.”

                “Mmm. It is morning. A good one, too.”

                “What makes a good morning?” Bradley asks, wondering if he could maybe get another hour of sleep. He still feels tired. Emotionally hungover, that’s what his therapist would say.

                “Waking up with you and nowhere to be for a couple of hours.”

                “Mmm. Yeah. That is pretty good.”

                “And no phone calls. That’s a bonus.”

                “You turned your phone off remember?”

                “Ugh. Damnit.”

                Bradley can’t help but laugh as Jake pulls the sheets and blankets over his head, clearly refusing to engage with the real world and he pulls the blanket over his own head.

                “I’m not going to make you turn it on. We can still be asleep as far as the rest of the world is concerned.”

                “Or otherwise occupied.”

                “Yeah, that works too…”

…            …            …

                Later, after Bradley’s learnt the taste of Jake’s come, had his own come licked from his stomach, mentally thanked whoever it was that stocked extra toothbrushes, they shower and dress, stomachs grumbling at the later hour. He’s so used to eating breakfast around seven that now that it’s nine he really isn’t coping, pretty sure he has the beginnings of a caffeine withdrawal headache starting behind his eyes.

                “Coffee… and then food.”

                “Good plan.”

                They walk hand and hand to the mess hall, plenty of people are out and about and it definitely has the vibe of a small village community. Jake seems to be constantly smiling and he likes that a lot, wants him to always look happy and relaxed when they’re out together. He spies Reuben sitting beside Tom, deep in conversation; Bob and Natasha getting more coffee and they follow them back to their table with their on food and coffee, all exchanging various greetings.

                “Hey Tom. Where’s Pete?”

                “Still in bed. He and Kaye drank a lot more after you two left. They’re both now suffering the consequences of their actions,” Tom says, looking serious but the corner of his lip is twitching so Bradley knows there is more coming. “Bill thought it was a good time to chop some wood this morning and I thought I might practice the piano…”

                “You… you can’t play the piano,” Bradley states, because while Tom knows music, he’s definitely more dedicated to the strings rather than the piano.

                “I know,” Tom grins, and his grin is sly and amused.

                “You’re evil,” Jake breathes beside him, and he looks absolutely delighted.

                “I control the force known as Pete Mitchell, of course I’m evil.”

                “The fact that you think you control him is delusional, but sure…” Bradley mutters.

                “You have a valid point, doesn’t stop most of Hollywood thinking that I do though.”

                “Especially now. Boyfriend,” Bradley says with a smirk, shoving a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. Tom lets out a sigh and looks to the ceiling like he will somehow get strength from some heavenly body, but Bradley knows it all a front, especially considering their conversation yesterday.

                “What? What are you talking about?”

                “Have you still not turned your phone on?” Bradley asks and Jake shakes his head, expression clearly indicating that he still doesn’t particularly want to turn it on. He pulls his own phone out of his back pocket and unlocks it, opening Instagram and placing it on the table so Jake can see.

                “Oh. That’s a nice photo…”

                “Apart from Mav’s nose and forehead, sure.”

                “I meant a nice photo of you. Us.”

                “Oh. Yeah.”

                “Yes. You look sickeningly in love and the whole world can see it,” Tom says dryly.

                “I’m glad you said what we were all thinking,” Natasha says and Bradley pulls a face at her, which makes everyone laugh at him, including Jake.

                “You’re meant to be on my side,” Bradley mutters and Jake just leans against him, firm warmth and whispers I am under his breath, which gets them eye rolls and gagging noises from his friends.

…            …            …

                He doesn’t see his mom or Pete all day, which is probably a blessing, but he does see his dad and Tom puttering around, his dad using the golf cart to drive them around and he likes that they seem to get on. Probably bonding over being with over-the-top extroverts, which is something they definitely have in common. He works through scenes with Javy and Callie. Is glad that he likes them both, makes work far more enjoyable.

                They aren’t working with any horses today though, nothing more dangerous than a couple of steps and he knows Bradley is off somewhere working on something, he’d said exactly what it was this morning, but Jake had just gotten distracted watching his lips move he’d not been paying attention to what he was actually saying. He might not even be able to pay attention when Bradley no doubt tells him about it later. It’s getting hot, the afternoon heat making them all sweat and there’s only so much the wet-wipes and shade can do to help.

                “Here, got you some water…” Bradley says, walking toward them holding several bottles, cold enough to be dripping condensation.

                ‘Well, he’s certainly thirsty for something,” Callie murmurs and Jake shoots her a look, but Bradley simply looks pleased. Jake grins, reaches up to give him a kiss, ignores the little worm of anxiety and worry when Bradley pulls back.

                “You’re filming, I don’t want to mess you up. I already get enough dirty looks from makeup…”

                “God you’re perfect,” Jake murmurs, reaching up with a hand instead to brush a thumb over Bradley’s lips, smiles wider when Bradley presses a kiss to it, the worm of anxiety dissolving.

                “No. I’m not. I am really really not. At all.”

                “Hmm. Maybe not,” Jake agrees, although he’s pretty sure Bradley is perfect, as in, perfect for him, as cheesy and corny as it sounds and feels. “I know you’re not. But you are very competent. And that does it for me apparently.”

                “Does it now?” Bradley asks, stepping closer and Jake can feel the extra warmth from his body being so close.

                “Like you didn’t know that already,” Jake mutters, knows he’s flushing.

                “I can’t cook very well, and I’m not interested in learning to be better. I miss obvious things. I’m stubborn and set it some of my ways. And I have a thing for your accent…”

                “Not me all dressed up in my cowboy clothes?”

                “Nope. Prefer you naked in bed.”

                “Well, aren’t you lucky that’s exactly where you can have me every night…”

                “You do know I’m right here, right?” Javy asks, the look on his face a little horrified, bottle of water halfway to his mouth.

                “And whose fault is that?”

                “The sun shade!” Javy says, waving his hand at it with exasperation. “We’re all protecting ourselves from the sun. Unfortunately we can’t protect ourselves from you two.”

                “You want me to get Natasha over here?” Bradley asks and Jake’s eyes fly to Javy’s face, Javy’s mouth opening and closing like a fish and Jake hadn’t realized that at all, then again he’s been busy untangling his own feelings for Bradley to pay too much attention to Javy, and he’s not even been home a week.

                “You’re not that unobservant…” Jake says to him, then turns back to Javy. “Callie doesn’t seem to mind.”

                “I’m much less of a whiner,” Callie states, smiling sweetly and Jake cracks up at the indignant look on Javy’s face at the subtle dig.

                “I’ve got to go, I’ll see you later though okay?”

                “Yeah, course,” Jake says, watches a little distracted as Bradley kisses his own thumb and then proceeds to press the pad to Jake’s own lips. He smiles and kisses it, a little embarrassed, except Bradley had just done the same thing moments before, kissing Jake’s thumb rather than ruin his makeup.  Then Bradley’s striding away and Jake watches him, because it’s a nice view.

                “Man have you got it bad,” Javy says.

                “Yeah. I do. But that’s not a bad thing.”

…            …            …

                He’s walking to dinner when he gets a message, Tom’s notifications never silenced due to the fact that he never sends any type of message. Until now.

                I didn’t get to propose before he did. Check Instagram.

                He knew it!

                He fucking knew it. Fucking Pete. He looks around, steps to the side so he’s not blocking the doorway and opens Instagram. There are dozens of notifications, 99+, the little red bubble informs him and he presses on Tom’s profile, a little worried but a lot more curious. There’s another photo, Pete and Aunty Kaye sitting on the sofa, the room dark enough he kind of has to squint to see them. Pete looking very green around the gills, Aunty Kaye leaning against him but with what looks like a wet facecloth covering her face, another one over Pete’s forehead.

Someone partied too hard last night. And as of 5pm fiancé is the correct title. Because I accepted his half-assed proposal. Wonder if @2Brad2Sad is too old to be a ring bearer? What do you think @PeteMitchell?

                There are hundreds of replies, and he’d thought that Pete posting something was to take the spotlight off Jake, but he doesn’t think either him or Jake care about the spotlight anyway. It’s going to be on them eventually. He sees Natasha’s response I’d love to see @2Brad2Sad in a flower crown and he lets out a huff of amusement. Tom posting this, it’s putting the spotlight on them, but it’s not making their relationship the biggest news. He wonders if this is what they’d planned. He taps out his own response.

@TKazanskyOfficial We have a strict no returns policy.

                He slides his phone back into his pocket and heads inside, lines up for his meal and spies his friends sitting at what he now thinks of their usual table. It all feels a bit like high school, with the different cliques, except for the fact that everyone is far less precious about people mixing it up and sitting wherever that want. Tom is there though, sitting with his friends, along with Freddie, Javy and Callie. Jake is nowhere to be found, and Bradley knows he was planning on going home for dinner. The fact that Pete is also nowhere to be found makes him a little uneasy, but Tom smiles at him calmly, which helps settle the worst of his nerves and he sits down opposite.

                “I guess congratulations are in order?”

                “Yes, I guess they are. You do know him very well, but I don’t think he quite planned it.”

                “What happened?” Bradley asks, and he notices that everyone else around them has fallen quiet and is now listening, something Tom clearly also notes with a sardonic eyeroll.

                “I brought him a cup of coffee and some Tylenol. He said he loved me and asked me to marry him. So I said yes.”

                “Of course that’s how it played out. I’m betting that didn’t help his headache.”

                “Nope. He threw up.”

                Bradley snorts, feels bad, because he shouldn’t be laughing at Pete’s misfortune, except he brought it on himself. He’s sixty next year and should know better.

                “Romantic. Is he even going to remember?”

                “Why do you think I posted it to Instagram?”

                “And who helped you do that?” Bradley asks, because as much as he loves Tom, he also knows there are other reasons he doesn’t use Instagram.

                “Rueben. Natasha was too busy laughing at me,” Tom mutters, and he’s looking a bit dejected, because Natasha has never been intimidated by Tom, which he’s liked for the most part.

                “Yep. Sounds about right,” Bradley says, and Natasha appears to still be laughing. “Also, for the record, I’d totally rock a flower crown.”

                He feels a hand on his back, fingers trailing between his shoulders and he turns to find Jake there, face split with a wide grin, he leans down and gives Bradley a quick kiss, pulling an empty chair from a nearby table over so he can sit down, clearly not at the table or interested in eating, but wanting to be close.

                “Do I want to know why you’re going to be wearing a flower crown?”

                “For the wedding,” Natasha says, and Jake rears back, eye wide.

                “Pete and Tom’s wedding,” Bradley interjects quickly, pulls a face at Natasha, although she just laughs some more. Fortunately Jake hadn’t looked horrified at the idea of a wedding, just surprised and he tucks that away for later reflection. “You still haven’t turned your phone on huh?”

                “Well, I did, but only to take a video of my mom. She’s lying on the sofa and very hungover. I’ve never seen her hungover before. Dad said she’s been there all day. I’m not sure if it’s awesome or a sign of the apocalypse.”

                “Definitely the apocalypse if you don’t delete the video. Tom already posted a photo, but at least you can’t see your mom’s face and she isn’t tagged in it.”

                “Oh shit… did you really?” Jake asks and Tom nods. “Wow. I think her days of having a crush and hero worshipping you are well and truly over…”

                “Your mom has a crush on Tom?”

                “Had. I mean, maybe she still does? Pretty sure posting an unflattering picture isn’t going to exactly endear you to her…”

                “I don’t need to endear myself. It’s why I left them alone to their drinking,” Tom mutters and Bradley looks at him, raises an eyebrow. “They were talking about me.”

                Bradley’s now even more amused, because he’s heard enough of Pete’s drunken soliloquys about Tom to hazard a guess as to the nature of the talking, and if Aunty Kaye was throwing in her thoughts, okay, he can imagine why Tom left them to it and then had zero guilt about banging away at the piano this morning.

…            …            …

                He expects Bradley to be waiting for him in the trailer, but it’s empty and he goes through their last conversation, certain that they’d agreed to meet back here. Of course, if Bradley’s plans changed he has no way of contacting him, his phone is off again and he pulls it out of his pocket and turns it on.

Come by the bunk house?  -BB

                He sends back a quick message, saying he’s on his way, glad it’s only a few minute walk, taking the steps two at a time, knocking at the door even though it’s already ajar, pushes it open further when Bradley calls out for him to come in. Pushing the door open Jake looks around at the half-packed bags, reminds himself to not jump to the worst-case scenario.

                “Going somewhere?”

                “Uh. Well, I thought maybe I could move into your trailer, but then realized I should maybe talk to you about it before I just packed my bags and moved in. Ask you.”

                “Oh,” Jake says, realizing that it’s a best case scenario instead. “Yeah. That would be great.”

                “Great,” Bradley says, his smile easy. “You can help me finish packing then.”

                “Moving in together. You don’t think it’s a little fast?”

                “I can stay here…” Bradley says immediately and Jake’s gut clenches and he’s shaking his head.

                “No!”

                “Jake. This is our relationship and our timeline. I like the idea of sharing a space with you. If we can survive working together for the next couple of months and living in a trailer then… well. I was going to say this is like training wheels. But instead it’s the opposite. Trial by fire. But I am not afraid of these flames at all. Don’t feel like I’m in any danger of getting burnt.”

                Bradley has moved close to him and Jake swallows, lets his hands settle on Bradley’s hips, rests his forehead against his neck.

                “Listen to you, being all poetic.”

                Bradley scoffs.

                “I’m just… how often are we going to be working together on the same film, same location and sharing a trailer? Our future is going to have chunks apart, seems a waste to not spend every moment I can with you while I can.”

                Jake nods, breath shuddery in his lungs as he processes the words. Future. The surety and calmness of Bradley’s tone is centering and he pulls back to better reach his lips and kisses him, lets himself enjoy the scrape of stubble and Bradley’s moustache across his skin, already feeling the curl of warmth that everyone is going to know just by looking at him that he’s been kissing Bradley. A lot. It’s a gentle kiss, tender, one he feels is filled with promise and understanding rather than the desire to arouse someone. Sweet.

                “I love you,” Jake says quietly, the truth of it washing through him. Bradley’s grin is slow and Jake is reminded that while he’s mostly nothing but lovely and sweet, Bradley can also be a bit of an asshole. “If you Han Solo me right now I’ll –”

                “I love you too.”

[bizlybebo]

sorry hold on was rambling this in the tags of somebody else’s post but it got too long.

(MEGA spoilers for all of s1 and s2 of prime defenders)

there’s something soo insanely gutwrenching about the way the greyscale arc kind of turns these characters on their head; shows how they’ve changed— for better or for worse, it’s up to you to decide— over the years since season 1 episode 1. you see the way they’ve grown and you see these fundamental aspects of their characters having changed dramatically.

william used to be skittish and awkward and too scared to speak up against douches at school. episode 32 he’s chasing down a man with reckless abandon and sticking an axe in his leg.

vyncent used to be apathetic towards killing people, unsure of if he’d ever return home, and all around kind of lost. he found himself, found his home and his people, and gained the strength to speak up and not be held back by indecision— to try to pull a friend back from the edge or at least take their hand and fall with them.

dakota used to have a very black and white worldview of sorts, a worship of heroes, and a very strong front put up to create a barrier between dakota cole and dakota damascus— and hide dakota damascus away. he formed trust in the people around him and learned to accept the grey areas to an extent; reached into that grey area to try to pull mark out of it and encourage him to do the right thing to save who mattered most.

and yet these are still all born of their fundamental characteristics, and even if they’ve changed, those innate features are still around.

i think the best example of this is william. william’s fear didn’t disappear, it simply adopted a different form. he didn’t cower away from terrifying situations; he dove into them headfirst with his teeth bared instead, like a nervous dog who bites. he did that until his actions became a haunting mistake, and then, he wilted away from fearful situations. he couldn’t bear to look the trickster in the eyes; tried to turn on his heel and run from it because he was so petrified. when he dies, he’s forced to dive into the outcome of his worst fears again and delve into what scares him at the core of it: his biggest fear is himself. he has to accept what— who— he is to create a permanent shift in that relationship with his fear.