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gh0stbunnywriter · 2 years

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Steve Harrington was a child actor.

During the mid to late aughts when the Capitalistic Mouse was pumping out teen stars like it was nothing, the Harrington family hopped on that train and rode it until Harrington was written across the t-shirts of every pre-teen girl across america. His face was EVERYWHERE. And yeah, he was the teenage heartthrob pretty boy that was lead singer of his band.

Eddie Munson couldn't escape this mother fucker. Not at school, on the radio in his uncle's car, at every social setting he was forced into.

On the TV in his room with the volume turned so low only he could hear him.

Eddie Munson was a very secret super-fan of Steve Harrington. He owned all his plastic albums and a handful of powder pink t-shirts. He had a poster he kept rolled up, stuffed in the back of his closet right next to his sexuality. Because no one could know that Eddie Munson, the trailer park kid with Metallica always blaring from his smashed phone, liked a fucking boy band.

But trends changed, and Harrington faded off, cutting his contract with The Mouse to live his own life- He’d disappeared for a while- He’d stopped craving the spotlight a long time ago, and Eddie had admitted he was a little more than heartbroken. So Eddie Munson, shoebox full of Steve Harrington paraphernalia shoved under his bed, moved on.

That was, until he heard a very familiar voice on his radio on his way home from work. His aux cord had busted so he was stuck on the greatest hits of the current time, rather than Metallica or Judas Priest.

"Back from his long hiatus, with his new hit single that's topping charts across the globe, here's Steve Harrington!"

Eddie almost swerved off the road.

Of course, when he got home, he was googling shit for hours before finding out that Steve had decided to step back into the spotlight on his own terms, and the public had received him because they loved him. That debut song was the kickoff point. He didn't make a full album or announce his tour until after the tell-all Netflix docu-series that was number one trending every Thursday night for a month. Eddie took off work to watch them the second they released.

He wasn't shocked that the company that made him treated him like a puppet- it'd been seen before with other child stars. It was his family that had Eddie floored. They’d forced him to work, took all the money he'd made up until he was eighteen, and he never saw a dime of it. He didn't even talk to his parents anymore, and they hadn’t contacted him. So, between diner jobs and writing his own music on the side, he reconnected with his old bandmates and decided it was worth trying again, because it had never been about the money for Steve.

So there he was, center stage of a sold out arena, glittering with fresh confidence and a new sound- but the same voice that had snatched Eddie's heart when he was twelve years old. The voice that forced him to have the terrifying realization that he liked boys. It was even more terrifying now that Eddie was just feet away from him in the pit, singing along with every other twenty-something that had snagged floor seats for Steve's return tour.

And in a rush of glittery adrenaline and sweaty bodies, the show was over and Eddie was wandering by himself down busy city streets. He wandered into a shitty hole-in-the-wall gay bar that he was certain only he knew about, because it was always dead when he came around. He slid into his usual seat at the bar and ordered his favorite drink, over the moon that he'd been so close to Steve. It was like all his childhood dreams had all come true. He was lost in his own thoughts when a fresh drink he hadn't ordered was slid in front of him.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Eddie hadn't been facing him, so he could hide his expression when he recognized the voice. It was a voice he knew like the back of his hand, one that had been blasting his eardrums out not an hour ago. He collected himself as quickly as he could, trying to convince himself he was hearing things. He took the cup in his ring-adorned hand and brought it to his lips.

"I dunno, can you?"

Eddie somehow played it cool for the first time in his life. He pretended he didn't know him, when he saw his face. He did let himself get lost in his eyes, though, and Steve probably noticed. He treated him just like he would have treated any other guy that hit on him, except he actually liked this one. And Steve seemed pleased, to not be recognized.

So he took Eddie back to his hotel room, took his number, showed him a good time, and called him the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that.

Steve kept calling him, and Eddie kept answering, twirling his hair and kicking his feet like a schoolgirl because Steve was actually really nice. Down to earth and kind, and he never talked about his work, even when he admitted to Eddie what it was, and Eddie acted shocked. ‘Oh, you have like, a little band? Cool, cool.’ After weeks of back and forth and eventual ‘I wanna see you again’s, Steve asked Eddie to travel with him while he toured, and what was Eddie going to say? No, I'd rather sit alone in my tiny apartment and work my life away in a dull record store? Like hell.

And at the end of the tour, once Steve formally asked him to be his boyfriend and Eddie almost passed out, they bought a cute little house and settled down. Well, as much as a pop star could. He still made music, still played shows, did the usual TV appearances and played in Times Square on new years eve.

Steve Harrington kissed his boyfriend Eddie Munson on national live television, in front of millions of people and the undying internet, and they made headlines.

But, after all that. All the glamor, and the tabloids, Steve went on a break again. Eddie learned that Steve was genuine, and Steve learned that Eddie was hopelessly devoted, and he married him. Eddie took Steve’s last name, of course. It did take some convincing for his uncle, though. To accept the name change- Not that his nephew was gay and in love with a world class pop star.

So, with matching gold bands and wide smiles, they visited Wayne Munson for their first holiday season where Steve wasn't busy working. Eddie showed Steve his childhood bedroom, which had long been turned into Wayne's TV room. They'd spent their holiday bundled up on his tiny old couch, watching age-old holiday specials and napping through the afternoon.

Eddie woke up to Steve on the floor beside him, sifting through an old, weathered shoe box, its contents strewn about the floor, and he wondered if he was in a nightmare.

He dove for the box but the jig was up, he was found out, his goose was cooked, he was a goner, he was fucked. Steve was going to hate him for life. He apologized over and over as he scrambled to tear his Steve Harrington collection away from Steve fucking Harrington himself, but Steve just laughed and held up a sticky note, faded and crumpled, and Eddie wanted to fall through the floor, through all nine circles of hell, and die.

"Eddie Harrington, huh?"

Eddie snatched the dumb note from his school days and apologized again, but Steve was grinning from ear to ear.

"I thought you'd admit it one day, but I'm impressed, babe."

"You knew? How- How long have you known-"

"How many men do you think I see jamming out at my shows? That know every word off my first album from when I was a kid? That aren’t there because their girlfriends dragged them? I had Robin follow you to that shitty bar I found you in because- I had to meet you. I wanted to know who you were. And then you just… Treated me like a human. You pretended you had no fucking clue who I was, man. That was the hottest shit ever."

Eddie didn't know how to react to that. The whole time he pretended not to know who Steve was, Steve was waiting for him to crack. And now, it's five years later and they're married. He supposed they both had a bit of a secret, then. What, with Steve sending his best friend to seek out a fan so he could hit on him? Oh, for shame, Stevie.

"This has gotta be my favorite, though. I'm keeping it."

Steve held a photo up, discolored and worn. It was of Eddie, head shaven, young and free of any of the tattoos and piercings he had now. His arm was slung around a very young Steve, who was about a head taller than Eddie at the time- But they were laughing, because Eddie had just said something that made Steve's eyes light up. Wayne had paid for Eddie to go to one of Steve’s meet and greets before a concert- He was up in the nosebleeds but the meet and greet was all that mattered to him. It had been his christmas and birthday present all wrapped into one, and he’d been so happy.

“You can’t just steal that, it’s my favorite photo of us.”

“Even more than our wedding photo, huh?”

“Oh, it’s not even close, babe.”

Likes and reblogs appreciated ❣️

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington headcanons #eddie munson #eddie munson headcanons #steve harrington x eddie munson #fanfic #stranger things #ficlet #modern steddie #modern au

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yuadokjon · 1 month

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a hierarchy not based on strength

summary: he's a gym owner.

-----

New job, new life. When you finally heard back from your dream job, you couldn't hop on a plane fast enough away from the hellhole you unfortunately called your hometown. Sure, it would start as a mostly administrative position at the bottom of the totem pole. Sure, the pay wasn’t great. And, sure, the only way you would be able to afford living anywhere remotely near your workplace would be in a shoebox of an apartment in the sketchiest side of the city. But, hey -- new job, new life. And, most recently, new gym.

Within the first few weeks of moving in, you were sifting through yet another smashed-in pile of new resident mailers until digging out a glossy, colorful flyer for a gym. Malevolent Shrine, huh? You eyed the neon-colored temple, the sharp edges of the skulls and teeth littering its base piercing into the two words it centered. Loud. Bombastic. And unbelievably douche-y, you noted with a raised brow at the captions splashed haphazardly across the page in tribalistic all-caps:

‘ONLY A HIERARCHY BASED PURELY ON STRENGTH MATTERS.’

‘DISCOVER THE HUNGER TO TAKE HOLD OF YOUR DESIRES.’

‘STAND PROUD. YOU ARE STRONG.’

Was this for a gym, a rave, or a cult? What kind of business owner signed off on this? It just screamed frat bros and gym rats, and you were pretty sure you weren’t the target market. But it did its job of grabbing your attention and, a quick search of its close location later, considering its relatively reasonably priced offers. Brand new members could even sign up for a 30-day trial with zero dollars down as an offensively yellow spike in the corner shouted. It couldn’t hurt. Maybe you needed something of a familiar routine to help better ground yourself. Help adjust to this lonely foreign land that you hoped to eventually replace ‘home.’

Of course, you, ever-diligent skeptic, had to uncover all the public secrets you could before stepping one foot inside. Not that there was much to find. Nothing much was on their official site other than current promotions and classes in that same gaudy font from the ad. No social media accounts. No gallery of staff or trainer photos. Not even an ‘About’ page. It was opened sometime in 2018, going by the sparse Internet reviews and photos you did find. You would have been impressed a business could survive in this day and age with such a specter of an online presence if you weren’t so frustrated. But it was indeed a real gym, one with decent reviews and a decently large layout providing enough spacing among machines to retain some level of privacy while easily cycling through them. No Wi-Fi, televisions, or cafés peddling the latest health fads but 24/7 with great showers and sauna. A very no-frills gym. You could appreciate that.

The next day some kid in a white-pink ombre bob took down your information, not offering a smile or tour throughout the entirety of the speedy sign-up process. You could barely get a word in that wasn’t a simple affirmation or denial as they reviewed your application and drilled through the gym policies and rules in a monotonous drone, pointing vaguely in the respective directions of the few amenities before ushering you out of their office with a handful of brochures and a temporary gym badge. You think you might’ve signed something and mumbled a thanks right before they neatly shut the door in your face. You weren’t sure if you had even caught a name. But you did recall them confirming something about a free cancellation policy within the first thirty days, so you took full advantage of it whenever you could.

Today was day 22 of your trial period, and so far it was...fine. Generally everything was fine, except for...your eyes scanned cautiously around the gym's perimeter. You felt the squat bar you were resting against lurch and whipped around, coming eye to eye with a pair of scarlet ones. You squeaked and jumped back in surprise, immediately earning the icy stare of a certain manager that chilled the back of your neck. You hissed and huffed as you adjusted your clothes for no apparent reason.

“Ugh, Sukuna!”

“Afternoon, gorgeous,” he greeted cheerily in return. You merely crossed your arms over your chest and scowled back at the grin that only widened at your defensive display.

“First time seeing you here during these hours,” he casually continued as he pushed himself off the bar he’d been dangling over and peered down at you from his full height, “Missed you this morning.”

“I was hoping to, actually,” you sighed and shooed him away from your rack, hands on hips until he obediently bowed out outside and around the metallic cage, “For the last time, leave me alone.”

Yeah, generally everything was fine save for this pink-haired menace that terrorized your every gym visit since popping up out of nowhere one day.

Sukuna had smoothly inserted himself into your routine and refused to let you recall ever knowing a peaceful start to your day since joining Shrine. He was there. Always. Every early morning -- or even the occasional late night -- it didn't seem to matter when you timed your pilgrimage. Sukuna was always there, waiting for you outside the locker rooms with that suspicious smirk and two fresh towels slung over his shoulder. What are we working on today? How about we try pushing past your PR? Need a spotter? What am I saying, of course you do. Wave after wave of rhetorical questions and light barbs always buffeted you first as he followed around after you like an eager kitten. What protests you eked out during his infrequent ebbs were patiently listened to but quickly drowned again, swept up by the tsunami of suggestions from someone who was obviously more experienced at this than you. Though you would always insist on sticking to the schedule you had already carefully laid out prior to each session, you always found yourself drifting away and towards his instead by the end. It was a ritual at this point.

You couldn’t deny that your physique was the best shape it’d been in a while, his challenges helping you push past limitations that had long been entrenched for years. And he was also useful in warding off other goers, whose numbers you were surprised to find even during the odd hours you purposely chose. A singular distraction with honest -- if crude -- motivations, you could handle. Multiple ones wanting who knows what from you? Especially from around this part of town? One close brush was close enough for you. No, Sukuna was decidedly the lesser evil that you knew. Probably.

You understood their caution and had shared it when he first stepped up to you. He was taller and bigger than any of the regulars you now recognized. Wide muscled thighs and arms that seemed to strain the basketball shorts and cutoff tanks he always wore that would have blanketed any other man. Perfect limbs that balanced vertically at the convergence of his comparatively slimmer waist. Bulging veins that recorded a history intimate with everything within the gym’s interior and scars that suggested a familiarity with dangers past the confinement of their brick walls. Like a wrathful Buddhist deity rendered exquisitely in flesh and blood. Not that you were ogling. He was just hard to not notice.

But more than his imposing build or the tats he unabashedly wore across its expanse, it was the air around him. Heavy. Intense. Suffocating. He was a planet, its inescapable gravity forcing further down the lowered heads and eyes from everyone encircling his orbit. His presence both demanded and eschewed attention, the correct answer of the two one might realize only afterwards (and possibly much too late). Nobody dared to approach you now, even in the past thirty or so minutes you were free of him for once within this gym.

Other than the flirting, however, Sukuna seemed harmless enough as you got to know him over the course of your visits. He hadn’t yet given you any reason to fear him, though he left you plenty to question everything else. You weren’t sure how or why such an intimidating man took an interest in you at all.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he chuckled and sidled in behind you while you checked over the loaded discs that flanked the opposite ends of the steel pole and the clips holding them firmly in place. His big hands hugged the centimeters of space above your hips as he leaned down, smirking, “You know how to get me to stop.”

“For the last time,” you repeated to his reflection in the mirrored wall in front of the two of you before slapping his hands away, “I don’t go out with jobless losers.”

“Hmph,” he pouted but eased back again as you swung underneath the bar and shouldered the metal onto your squeezed blades, “What makes you think that again? Spread your feet farther, doll.”

You rolled your eyes but complied. His hands now hung loosely under yours that tensed and tightened their grip. You peeled your gaze away from them and onto your reflected form as you took a deep breath and started your descent.

“One,” Sukuna voiced aloud your thought as you came back up, the deep reverberations scattering away what focus you had managed to muster. You furrowed your brows.

“Loser because obvious. Jobless because,” you grunted as you steadily lowered yourself again, “How else could you always be here? And in the middle of the day.”

“So are you,” he scoffed.

“I’m only here now because I took the day off.”

“I could have, too.”

“Doubtful. Wish I could take a day off from you for once.”

“Two -- aw, hurtful. Are you trying to avoid me, [Y/N]?”

You didn’t answer. You tried to ignore the heat emanating from the body that followed behind you as you continued with your reps and he with his count. You fixed your eyes on your heaving diaphragm to blur out the thicker frame that overshadowed yours several times over. Your heart was pounding. Your head was starting to spin. Maybe you had already overdone it. Or you should’ve drank some more water beforehand. Breathe, you thought you heard your partner warn, don’t forget to breathe. You shut your eyes as you struggled to drive up the bar a final time and quickly re-racked it with his help before doubling over to catch your breath. He bent down in concern before shooting back up as a pointed finger stabbed the air in front of his face.

"One. Date," you panted, shakily but emphatically jabbing the singular digit skyward again, “Got it? One. One date then you'll leave me alone to lift in peace.”

He blinked. An unusual softness crept into his features that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared when you looked up and awaited his response.

“One,” he agreed, the usual snark now returning in full glory, “So…how about now?”

“No.”

“But you just said you had the day o--”

“No.”

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fic #sukuna #jjk #fics #wips

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purelyfiction · 1 year

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Small Doses - 2

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x F!Reader | Part 1 |

Summary: After a very spontaneous weekend full of unpredicted characters, Knockout returns to work - only for the same character to greet her as well as a whole host of problems that follow him.

Word Count: 7,003 words

Content Warning: This story will have TopGun: Maverick plot line elements to it and will possibly spoil the movie for you. Please be aware. This - and all of my stories - is 18+. By continuing to read you agree that you are 18 or older and that any content you come across is by your own discretion. || HEY THERE’S SMUT DOWN THERE SO YOU BETTER BE 18!!! (unprotected piv (don’t be hangman - use protection pals), fingering, light bondage, spanking, more really hot and reckless nonsense)

Author’s Note: um... so hey! long time no see i know, i know - life has been crazy and hard to keep up with and I haven’t been able to finish up this chapter. It’s been driving me up a wall and giving me the worst writers block. But!!! Y’all can thank @callsignthirsty because she single handedly brought it back to life for y’all. i’m getting back on the proverbial horse so to speak and will hopefully be getting more regular about my writing. I missed these two and all of y’all so I hope you’re ready for more Knockout and Hangy :)))

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

You had to take a day to get your sights re-centered after the spontaneity of running into Hangman at the Hard Deck.

In fact you’d been so distracted, even Amelia had something to say when you’d picked her up that day.

“You’re being weird,” she instigates from the passenger seat - a spot she rarely gets to sit in since it's usually the three of you and you are always in shotgun.

“Am not,” you retort, glancing at her before looking back to the road.

“Your shirt is on inside out.” Frazzled, you glance down to see the seams of the shirt you’re wearing - the telltale sign of an inside out shirt.

You nod and sigh. “So it is.” A clearing of your throat comes as the teenager tries again.

“So what’s the deal? Is it work? You got some big secret mission you can’t tell us?” The spitting image of Penny starts tearing into you before she gasps. “It’s a boy.”

“It is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Is too!”

“I broke the lamp in my room,” you confess. Amelia’s face stretches, a hand covering her mouth.

The reality was, you couldn’t give a shit about the lamp right now. Or the fact that you technically hadn’t broken it — Jake had.

Jake had done a lot of damage this weekend.

“Mom is gonna lose her sh-”

“Finish that sentence, I dare you,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head.

After losing fifty bucks, the lamp in an old shoebox under your bed is the furthest conversation topic you and Amelia focus on. Conversation shifts and the weekend goes on without a hitch.

Until you’re at the base, about to enter a conference room with Cyclone and Warlock at the head of the table. Receiving word that you are sought out by both the Admiral and Rear Admiral puts you in a bit of a tailspin. The entire walk to the conference hall has you tracing your steps, wondering if you’d made a huge error. You take a centering breath before opening the door. You’re seemingly interrupting a conversation with a third-party, which makes you pause in your step, hand still on the doorknob. Warlock clears his throat before redirecting the discussion.

“Which is why we’ve decided to bring you a second set of eyes.” You smile at the man standing at the foot of the table as you finish your step. Apparently, this was also your conversation too. As Bates begins to introduce you, you turn and direct a respectful nod to him.

“Meet Lieutenant Commander Benjamin, callsign, Knockout. In turn, I introduce Captain Pete Mitchell, call sign: Maverick.” The brunette gives you a smile and the small glint of recognition that dots your memory begins to expand when you realize how stiff he’s become. And for good reason. Your brain starts into a montage of discussions between you and Penny while you were about to embark to TOPGUN for the first time. How she’d met a pilot that ended up teaching at Miramar shortly after his tenure there and how every now and then she’d run into him. Amelia then informed you, when she was old enough, that every time he flew into town they’d end up picking up where they left off and it was a vicious cycle.

The same old flame that Penny kept reginiting is your co-instructor.

You retrain your focus to hear more about the mission at hand, learning that you’ll have a month or so to get every aviator in shape. Seems like a tight timeline but you’ve learned not to argue with Simpson, seeing as he is pretty rigid. The two admirals then instruct you to meet them in the hangar in the next fifteen minutes.

Maverick joins you as you walk towards the respective hangar. “So… Lieutenant Commander,” he speaks up. “That’s… a big deal for your age,” Pete begins as you step with his stride, sunglasses perched on your nose.

“Yes. I’m incredibly proud of it.” You keep conversation short for now, primarily due to the fact you’re trying to get into your teaching mode.

“As you should be.” Mitchell is quiet for a few steps before piping up again: “Benjamin. You wouldn’t happen to be related-”

“Yes. I would.” You watch from behind bronze lenses as he meets your gaze and nods. “I also know far too much about your reputation, Captain,” you warn as the contents of the hangar become clearer. Pete shuts up as you get within earshot of the group, walking into the metal skeleton of the hangar above you as Bates finishes Maverick’s introduction. The older of the two of you starts his soliloquy of sorts, leaving you to look over the faces of the group. As you do, you begin to recognize each of them by name.

You’d met all these people at the Hard Deck on Saturday-

“It’s my pleasure to introduce my co-instructor, Lieutenant Commander Benjamin, callsign Knockout.”

In the past five months, there had only been one day you’d been nervous to take on the task of teaching at TOPGUN. That’d been day one.

And today, as you lock eyes with unmistakable green ones.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

The dismissal of class has you nearly darting out of the hangar but not quickly enough. At least, not fast enough to avoid Hangman’s voice.

“Lieutenant Commander.” You keep walking.

“Benjamin.” Four more steps -

“Knockout.” Finally, you fold, stopping and turning to look at him. Jake’s hands are out at his sides, a look of ‘what the hell’ on his face.

“Yes, Seresin?” You’re careful to keep a professional boundary between you, hoping it’s drawn clearly enough for him to catch on. It takes a moment but his expression twists as he clears his throat.

“When were you going to tell me you got a promotion?” It’s not the question you’re expecting out of his mouth, but once it’s there, you struggle with an answer.

“You… never asked.” A shrug as you look around you to make sure the coast is clear. “We… need to discuss a few things.” The reminder is clear and he nods in agreement.

“Yes. We do.” Jake drops to a whisper: “My place… I’ll text you the address.” A nod and he stands upright before you dismiss him, letting him move at his rushed pace back to base, his shoulder grazing your own as he swiftly departs from the airfield. You follow his pace to head home, to freshen up and regroup.

After a quick change and a rinse off in the shower, you grab the keys to your Jeep and give some excuse to Amelia as you run out. Penny is at the bar, so you’re grateful that the young girl is finally old enough to be left at home alone. Climbing into the vintage baby blue vehicle, you turn the engine over as you enter the address Hangman sent to your phone.

You pause, seeing the last message in your chat history.

Seresin: Happy Birthday, KO. Any plans for the day?

Benjamin: Not many, but that’s fine LOL

Then he’d called.

The rest of the chat was similarly structured: two or three bubbles on each of your birthdays. A rouge message for a holiday here and there.

Shaking the sullen feeling spreading through your chest, you shift gears. Soon after, you’re throwing the phone onto the spare seat next to you, as you pull away from the curb and head in the direction provided by the robotic voice coming from your phone.

As you pull into the apartment parking lot, you realize: he never called. He said he would, as he’d slipped out your window, but he didn’t. It’s only been two days, so maybe you shouldn’t hold it against him. After all: here you were, at his apartment.

Four flights of steps later, you’re knocking on the door of 4B, rocking on your heels. You’d changed into the first thing you’d seen in your room, which had happened to be a pair of leggings and a flowing sports top. Paired with the sneakers, you looked like you’d gotten lost on the way to the gym. When the door finally swings open, Jake has already walked away from the door and made himself at home on his couch. With a light scoff, you enter the apartment, shutting the door behind you and watching him as he leans onto his hand that’s propped on his thigh.

“So this teacher thing is… a new development?” he questions, meeting your eyes as you nod.

“No…yes? I mean I’ve been teaching since I got here…” Your answer doesn’t seem to be enough to stop the inquisition of questions from him.

“You said you’ve been here for months. Why didn’t you tell me? First the promotion and now this? You mean to tell me you didn’t know about this? I seriously doubt that.” he gripes, leaving you standing in the entryway of his apartment, mouth gaping as you avoid his eyes.

“No, Hangman, I didn’t know this was a thing until this morning. They pulled me from my current assignment for this. Now would you stop asking questions for like,” a pained sigh leaves you as you take the far end of the couch, “two seconds? That’s all I need, two measly seconds.” As you fall to the couch, Jake stands and rotates in the direction of the kitchen.

He tugs the fridge door open, grabbing a glass bottle from the door. By the time you can even think to ask for one, he’s already got the top of it off and is drinking it. You give a less than amused glare toward him before prying it from his hands once he sits down.

“Thanks for the beer,” you sneer before taking a swig. Hand frozen in a drinking motion, he looks at you with a scoff.

“You’re welcome,” he groans as he stands back up to retrieve another. “So. Lieutenant Commander.” There’s a song-like tone to his words, leaving you to look at him with one eye as he sits in front of you on his coffee table, opening up the beer bottle with the class ring on his hand. You pause the sip you’re taking to watch as the cap falls to the cheap wood and begins to spin on an axis until it falls on its face — leaving you looking at Jake, face to face.

“Nice trick,” you mumble as he takes a swig of his own beer, but continues on his thought process.

“You gonna talk, since, that’s why we’re here?” He leans back on the table, a large hand gripping its side. You finally can take a second to notice what he’s wearing: a pair of gray heathered sweatshorts and a cotton graphic tee. The shorts are riding up ever so slightly, showing evidence of the California sun on his skin in the form of swim-trunk tan lines. A small bit of gunmetal pokes out from beneath his collar — dog tags. Can’t say he’s not consistent. The metal is a sharp contrast to the overall comfortable aesthetic. There’s something softening about seeing him like this. The last time must have been in his dorm back in Nevada…

“Okay, okay. What are we doing about Penny’s lamp?” you try, just as you start sipping at your beverage, seeing his face twist from unamusement to a shake of his head, a small smirk on his lips as you start to giggle with the bottle on your lips.

“This again? She must really fuckin’ love that lamp, Kody,” he snickers and you shrug.

“It’s vintage, I don’t know what to say.” You finally reach forward and set the glass down on the table, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Obviously, I think you know-”

“Did your parents raise you in a damn barn?” Jake scolds, grabbing a plastic coaster at the end of the table, only to wiggle it in your face, picking up the bottle and slipping the disc under it before setting it back down. “Coasters, LC. Coasters.”

Your jaw drops with mock surprise as an astonished laugh leaves you. “Oh I see. IKEA street tables that you saved from the landfill get love and care but Penny’s Tiffany lamp gets shoved under my bed.”

“I am offended you think I would subject my apartment to street trash.” Jake tsks you before leaning forward. “Ten bucks on Craigslist. Target Exclusive table.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Oh, of course. That makes it so much better.”

He smirks. “I like to think so.”

Finally, you begin trying to tackle the difficult conversation that’s waiting for the both of you. “In all sincerity, what happened Friday night… it can’t happen again. Not with work being the way it is now.”

The blonde tilts his head with a look of feigned confusion. “Really? I thought the teacher-student thing would’ve been right up your alley. We can try a nurse and doctor routine if that suits your fancy.” He’s leant on his knees now, a wild smirk on his face. You give him a disgruntled look and he sits up again. “Really, Kody, it’s not as big of a deal as you’re making it.” He lets the alcohol hit his lips as you sigh.

“It is Jake. This could be detrimental to my, hell, to both of our careers, which is why it can’t happen again.”

Jake is grabbing your drink before you finish speaking and pressing it into your hand with a shake of his head.

“Who’s gonna know? It’s after hours at the end of the day, so why should they care? And hey, we got through bootcamp without a problem, didn’t we?” he asks with a small cheers of his beer against yours before he sips it.

Your stomach drops when he asks the question, encasing you in ice.

Jake doesn’t give you a chance to respond, let alone get too in your head about what he’s just said. He sets his own beer down — on a coaster of course — a cold hand landing on one of your thighs, a warm one on the other. “But, I get your concern.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his statement.

“Really?” You lean back further into the couch as he nods. “I guess that settles it then. Right?”

“Yep.” Jake simply replies, his focus no longer on the conversation, which is clear as his fingers start to run along the elastic fabric of your leggings.

“We agree… we can’t sleep together while this is going on,” you try again, a grip of his hand changing your tune slightly as you finish your sentence.

“Absolutely. Couldn’t agree more.”

You find it hard to believe as he shifts to your side of the couch, lips pressing against your neck.

“Jake. I’m trying to have an adult conversation about this,” you warn, but your body is already betraying you as his grip trails up your sides, carefully pulling you closer.

“Oh, I know, keep going, I’m listening.” It certainly seems that way as he continues to tongue at the spots he’s been messing with along your neck.

“Jake,” you huff, hoping that you don’t sound as breathless as you’re beginning to feel, “come on.”

“Come on and what?”

“You know what.” You can feel the smirk on his lips as his breath trails along your skin — silently taunting you despite the fact you can’t see his features.

“Come on and get on with it? Or, come on and stop?”

“The second one.” As you answer both of his questions, his hands are moving to your hips and guiding you backwards, further and further until you’re flat on your back on his couch.

“Then say it.” He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips and you lean into it before you can stop yourself. “Tell me to stop, Kody.” You’re following his lips as he pulls away further, dark eyes meeting yours.

Your jaw is slacked, your breathing heavy, chest moving at double its normal rate. Words fail you, and while you’re trying to think of something, anything, to give a solid, rational reason — he returns to the spot under your jawline.

“Because, you see, Kody–” the words are hard to make out with his lips latched to your skin, tongue glazing over every spot as he drifts along “–I don’t think you want me to stop.” His hands begin to roam from their spot on your waist. “No, no, I think… that you want me to touch you… to keep you under me as long as I want. To get rid of every important thought in that pretty brain of yours — forget the world… work… everything.” There’s a near hiss to the sentence, so low and sultry it sends a shiver up your spine. “But I need to hear you say it, first.”

His fingers dip below the waist of your leggings, but they freeze there as he sits and listens. Your mind tries to work through the white noise, the consistent bah-bum bah-bum of your heart clawing up your throat until it’s reverberating in your head and making it hard to string together a coherent set of words.

Jake’s lips curl into a smile that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Baby, I mean it. You just say the word and I'll do all the thinking for ‘ya. I'll be in charge of making the decisions. Make you feel good. How's that sound?” Although patronizing, it flips a switch in your mind.

You aren’t the lead for this assignment — Maverick is. He makes the hard decisions. He leads the lessons. If no one knew about you and Hangman… nothing would change.

So really, what would it hurt?

From above you, Jake retreats a hand from your torso to bring it to his mouth, mockingly holding a radio receiver, and making an intercom noise. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. The cabin doors are closing and we're about to take off to pound town, so if you would like to get off the plane, this is your last opportunity to do so.”

You’re not sure whether to laugh or roll your eyes, so you’re doing the former and knock your knee against his in a swift upward motion as he hovers above you. He looks down at you expectantly. “I can’t believe you used pound town in a sentence.” Your tone comes off as slightly disgusted, yet Hangman tilts his head.

“Gotta say something fast, because flight crew is about to close the cabin door for the taxiway.” You roll your eyes. Can’t believe he’s doubling down on the pound town thing. Then he leans in close, husks against your ear: “Do you not want me to tie you up and wrap your thighs around my ears?”

You groan, caught between annoyance and want at the mental image he paints with those words. “Fuck yes, why didn’t you lead with that?” Finally, you reach up and pull his head down to level with yours, his lips feverishly capturing yours as you kick off your shoes. His fingers quit teasing at the waist of your leggings and tug them from your hips, carelessly tossing the fabric somewhere — out of sight, out of mind.

His lips cascade down your neck to your collarbone, exposed by your slouchy top. Your casual outfit is making this process of getting you out of your clothes so much quicker for him and he isn’t complaining.

“Can you” a kiss “wear this” a nip “more” a lick “often? I’ll have you naked in seconds and it's so efficient,” he hums along your skin, kisses sneaking between words.

“Why are you still talking?” you lament in response.

Propped up on his knees with his hands caressing the exposed skin of your sides, Hangman gives you a hard look. “This coming from the woman who said this was a bad idea,” he sneers.

You’d roll your eyes, but it’s true. “I stand by that,” you repeat, defending your previous position even as green eyes turn mischievous and his hands come to grip your waist.

“Actually, you’re lying under me,” he hums, a gasp leaving you as he presses your torsos closer together. “Kinda’ defeats the statement.”

“What? You’ve never chased a bad idea before?” you tease. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You keep saying this is a bad idea.”

“Shut up, Seresin.”

“Can do, LC.” You watch his smirk stretch as his fingers undo the tie from his shorts. He pulls the braided string free and presents you with his palm. You raise an eyebrow in question. What does he want? A medal? “Hands,” he instructs. You lift your arms and he takes each wrist gently in his one hand. Dilated jade eyes meet yours, and you find yourself waiting on his next instruction with baited breath. “You have a word?”

A safe word, of course. It’s genuinely been so long since you’ve needed to have a safe word that it had completely skipped your mind. But within a split second you have one. “Nevada.”

Hangman stops short, cord slack where he'd been trying to figure the best way to wrap your wrists. When his eyes meet yours with a nod, the smallest smile flickers over his features. “Nevada it is.” Jake returns to the task of tying the cotton string around your wrists.

You watch him intently, when an idea pops into your head. “Always prepared, huh?” you ask, mentally cheering as Hangman takes the bait, a prideful smirk splitting his face.

“Of course, gotta be ready for anything.”

You mirror his smirk as he falls into your trap. The only thing better than Hangman in your bed — “And you call Rooster a boy scout.” — is an irritated Hangman in your bed. You watch with glee as his face falls and he pulls your restraints tighter until the braided string burns against your skin and your wrists are bound in front of you.

“Shut up, Benjamin.” It’s grumbled under his breath as he puts the final touches on a knot against your skin. You stay quiet for a moment as he finishes, tucking the strings away before looking him dead in the eye as you test your bindings.

“Make me.”

Hangman smirks and pulls his shirt from his shoulders before tossing it to the floor with your leggings. Instead of the witty repartee you’ve come to expect, he readjusts you on his sofa to give himself more room to work with. Then, without giving you a second to breathe, he crouches between your legs and pulls your underwear from your hips. You inhale sharply as his breath ghosts over your slick folds, now exposed to the cold air of his apartment, but he doesn’t make a move to close the distance. No. He lets you relax first. Then he pounces.

Your back arches as your hips try to simultaneously jump away from and into the warm press of his tongue, your lips parting in a sultry noise that has Hangman smiling. His lips are slick with your arousal, pupils expanding to overtake the verdant green of his eyes. “I don’t think I will,” he says with another lick, this one barely brushing your clit and you jolt. “I think I like it much better when I can hear you.”

As Hangman makes good on his promise and wraps your legs around his head, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. It tastes like his coconut chapstick, blended with the slightly stale taste of hops from your spontaneous happy hour — but the thought barely registers, because this time, Hangman doesn’t pause before he’s on you.

It’s almost instantaneous how your body reacts to him. Hips jolting, bound hands attempting to reach out to him — failing, of course. The thought of having your hands bound seemed so sexy while they were free, but you’re beginning to regret the makeshift bind now that your fingers itch to lock into his hair. To push and tug and encourage him with each lap of his sinful tongue. Instead, you rock against him only to whine when he shifts back and a strong hand presses your hips into the couch. It would be hot if it wasn’t so frustrating, the sudden lack of friction makes you dizzy and a light groan slips from you before you can try to bottle it up.

You feel like soda that’s been shaken up. You want to stretch out your arms, to dig your nails into the cushions above you and scream as the electric tingle spreads through you until you’re ready to burst. As it is, all you can do is clench your fists to secure yourself for the pending wave. With your wrists locked together it only boosts your temptation to grab something. Your inner thighs are already pressed so tightly against Jake’s sharp jawline, it doesn’t seem possible for them to squeeze even further. Inevitably, there’ll be bruising, that you’re absolutely sure of. You clamp down harder anyway, grabbing at him any way you can and your back arches, which really speeds things up. In response, Jake’s grip on you tightens and he pulls your hips towards himself as they instinctively try to jump away.

“Where ya goin’, darlin’?” It’s muffled by the curves of your skin but dripping in promise, dark eyes glancing up at you with a devious grin to match. “I ain’t done with you.” He licks a fat strip up your cunt and smacks his lips. “Now, be a good girl and cum on my face.” The words go straight to your gut, forcing a strangled noise out of you as Hangman doubles down on his efforts, your thighs quivering where they’re still pressed to his ears. Your shoulders rock against the couch under you, barely keeping a constant pattern in your breathing as your entire body is set ablaze. Large hands smooth over your thighs as you come down, a gentle effort to calm the jittering motion as warm strokes of his tongue work to clean you up. Finally, he’s patting one of them, trying to pry his head from your grip. “Not so tight, baby,” he keens, pulling himself up onto his knees, a hand moving up to wipe across his lips, only to caress his jaw in feigned pain. Your breath is returning to you after its jolting disappearance mere seconds before, a slight laugh leaving you. “I thought you said earmuffs?”

He scoffs before twisting his head in an attempt to crack his neck. “Yeah, earmuffs not a fuckin’ vice grip.” A hand pushes through his hair, an attempt to reset himself, like a bird preening his feathers. ”It’ll be in the New York Times headlines tomorrow,” he cracks, before annunciating each word with a flash of his hand: “Pilot Dies Doing What He Loves Best.”

You let a roll of your eyes follow your miffed expression. “What, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

You don't feel his hand as it sneaks its way between your thighs, but you know something is coming when his lips curl into that infuriating smirk. ”A finger, maybe,” he huffs, said finger sliding in with ease, before he crooks it up against a sensitive spot within you. “Besides, I thought we’d established last time that this–” his finger retreats “–is mine.” With a heavy hand, he plunges in again, forcing your hips to jolt up at the sharp movement. The waning oversensitivity. You let out a whine. “Isn’t it, darlin’?”

“I dunno,” you hum, watching a questioning expression flit over his face, “you might have to remind me.”

He huffs, his hand withdrawing just as quickly as it had appeared. “Well, now you’re just asking for trouble.” Hangman curls two fingers around your bindings and pulls you up until you’re almost chest to chest, only your bound wrists between you. You smirk, leaning in to close the distance between your lips, teeth clicking around air where you’d expected to find Hangman’s bottom lip.

Fingers curl around your chin as Hangman chuckles. “Bad girls don’t get kisses, Kody,” he taunts. In the next instant, he’s got your knees on the floor and the rest of you bent over the same damn coffee table he’d been boasting about earlier. Before you can say anything smart, a hand comes down on your ass and you jump, hip bones smashing against the edge of the table. “They get spanked,” he says and you can hear the satisfaction coloring his words, feel it in the way his palm rubs over your hot skin. “So what d’you say? You ready to apologize?”

“For what?”

“That mouth, for one.”

You roll your eyes even though you know Jake can’t see it. “You love my mouth.” You yelp as his hand comes down on your other cheek.

“Oh, I do,” he agrees, “but it keeps getting you in trouble.” Your thighs tense when his hand disappears from your skin. “So what do you say?”

You huff, giving in if only so that your ass won’t be too sore to fly the next day. “What am I apologizing for?”

“Take your pick,” Jake drawls, hands smoothing up your spine and lips brushing over the red splotches on your asscheeks. “Calling me a bad idea.” He is. “Trying to bite my lip off. Insulting my coffee table.”

“You want me to apologize to your street table?”

“Target exclusive.” A sharp nip to reddened skin. “Sorry it doesn’t have a name like Penny’s ugly lamp. See, apologizin’ isn’t so hard.”

Your forehead thunks against wood veneer. “I’m sorry I was mean to your coffee table.”

Hangman hums. One of his hands trails over the knobs of your spine until calloused fingertips whisper around your cunt, the skin tacky with a mixture of his drying spit and your arousal. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Bite me.” You regret your words instantly, but instead of biting you, Hangman merely grazes your skin with his teeth.

“Next time,” he says, scooting closer to you until the hot line of his cock nestles along your cunt, rutting against you in a tease of what you hope is still to come. Then, absentmindedly: “I wonder if I could fuck some manners into you.”

Your shoulders bunch in a shrug. “Worth a shot.”

One of Hangman’s hands plants itself near your head, his other helping to guide himself into you. “That’s my girl.” But he stops with the fat head of his cock pressed to your slick folds. “Now ask me nicely.”

“Jake,” you whine, pressing your hips back but only succeeding in driving yourself a little more insane.

“Come on, baby. Use your words.”

You turn your head to get a look at him over your shoulder, hot cheek pressed against the stupid coffee table. “Please fuck me stupid, Jake,” you groan, half from exasperation. “Need it. Feel so empty.”

Hangman leans over you until his chest presses against your back and leaves a lingering kiss on your cheek. Your jaw goes slack when he finally pushes in. “That’s it, baby,” he groans against your ear before hiding his face in your neck, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him. “Taking me so well. Always so good for me.”

“Fucking move, Jake,” you curse. A moment later, the hand by your head shifts to gather your hair at the base of your neck, only for Hangman to use it to arch your back slightly, lips to your ear.

“Nicely, Kody.” You outright moan at the display of domination and go slack in his grasp. “Don’t you want to be good for me?”

“Please, Jake.” You swallow to wet your dry throat, lashes fluttering to brush against your cheeks. “I’m sorry I made fun of your street table, but I’d like it a lot more if you fucked me over it.”

“Knew you’d come around,” Jake says as he lowers you back to the table, but you’re to the point where you just hope you cum. You don’t have to worry about that, though. Not with Jake. He may have left all of the others hanging, but never you. At least, not in this regard. “It’s a great table.”

Hangman lets go of your hair, but that doesn’t stop you from throwing your head back when he locks onto your g-spot with an eager thrust. “So good!” And you’re hardly aware of anything except the way his body plays yours like a fiddle, but Jake can take your answer however he likes - he could take it to hell with him so long as he doesn’t stop. So long as he stays stretched over you and inside of you. His voice in your ears, and ambrosial taste on your tongue.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he grunts, wrapping his hand around the edge of the coffee table for more leverage to fuck into you. “Thought you could just quit this? Thought I’d let this pussy go?” Your only answer is a drawn out moan. History would say yes, but fuck you’ve never been happier to be wrong in your life. You’ll gladly be wrong more often if it means finding yourself under Jake. You rock backwards to meet him halfway, the clap of sweat-slick skin dampened by the roar of blood rushing in your ears. It’s almost as good as flying. The rush. The light, dizzy feeling. Like a high. Each moment is unique but blurring together and vaguely familiar.

When he pulls back too far and slips out of you, you raise your ass up and give it a tempting swivel. Greedy hands capture your hips and hold you still so he can push back into you.

This, proves to be the coffee table’s undoing.

You yelp, only avoiding a faceful of apartment floor thanks to Jake’s quick reflexes as a loud crack echos off the walls. Broad forearms have slid under your waist, stopping your momentum as Jake’s prized possession meets its demise on the carpeted floor. Both of you are panting — both from the sudden cease in activity and in some semblance of surprise. When you finally register what’s happened, you can’t stop the terribly loud laughter that leaves you as Jake pulls you back up to your knees and eventually onto the couch, away from the scene of the crime.

“Shut it, Benjamin,” he mutters, haphazardly pulling sweats back up around his waist — not that they stay up since the drawstring is still digging into your skin. He looks back at you from over his shoulder, where you sit with your bottom lip between your teeth, biting back laughter. The longer he looks at you the more his own expression cracks as he joins you while you continue to laugh.

“I guess it’s a good thing I apologized to your table,” you wheeze when you manage to get enough air back into your lungs. “You know, now that it’s no longer with us and all.” The laughter continues as Jake covers his face with a hand, both of you reeling, stomachs aching.

“So,” you draw out. “You wanna untie me so I can help you clean this up, or…?”

And while Hangman shakes his head no, he reaches out to untie your wrists all the same. “Leave it,” he says as he massages the red, bloodless lines crisscrossing your arms. “We’ll pick it up after.”

“After?” You grin, eyes half-lidded as you give Jake a onceover. He’s still hard, cock tenting his loose shorts.

“Yeah.” He tosses the drawstring to the side, intending for it to land on the coffee table, but it lands, instead, on top of its debris. “Gonna have to take this to the bedroom unless we want splint–”

Knock! Knock!

“Yo, Jake! You good?” It’s Coyote. Your wide eyes meet Hangman’s.

“What is Coyote doing here?” you hiss as quiet as humanly possible.

“I think we were supposed to get drinks.”

“You think?” It’s a struggle to keep quiet, but Coyote finding you in Jake’s quarters — naked in Jake’s quarters — could mean the end of both of your careers. You’re his commanding officer, dammit!

“Jake?!” Coyote’s sounding a little more frantic and you’re worried that he’s going to try the door next. God, did Hangman remember to lock it when you got there?

“Yeah, man!” he’s shouting a response and already wide eyes look pleadingly at green ones, silently begging him to get Coyote the fuck outta Dodge. “I’m good.”

“Alright, so… you gonna open the door?” You’re in the middle of locating your clothes from around the room, pausing as Jake looks at you — as though he’s incapable of selecting the correct answer, which is obviously ‘no’. You shake your head frantically, leaving Hangman’s response.

“‘Fraid that’s not happening, Machado.” You’ve finally located your shirt on the floor but before you can grab it, Hangman’s hands grab your hips and pull you off balance and onto his lap.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ you mouth at him, brows drawn in a stern frown.

“Why’s that?” Oh, you know, just a typical Monday night with his very naked commanding officer on his fucking lap in his living room. You watch as the gears turn in Jake’s head, you’re nearly about to tell him off and try your luck climbing out the window when he replies.

“Got a girl in here, man.”

“Ha!” Coyote barks a laugh. “You work fast.”

Not fast enough it seems. You try to stand but Jake’s grasp around your waist is impassible, leaving you stuck between a proverbial rock and a hard-on. Despite the situation, Jake’s lips curl into a smile against your neck. “Please,” he continues, falling into the same teasing back and forth he and Coyote have always had, “you would too with a face like this.”

God, you want to smack that look right off of his face.

“And that body!” Coyote laughs back.

“Javy, please,” Jake chides, an ever growing smirk on lips that continue to tantalize your skin, trapped in his arms and the worst possible situation. “You’re making me blush.” The blonde snickers as his friend joins him from the hall. Like a cat trying to escape a child’s manhandling grasp, you continue to push from Jake, which he finally catches on to. “Alright, man, unfortunately, I’m gonna have to ask you to get goin’.”

“What, you don’t wanna share?” the other pilot propositions from behind the incredibly thin — I mean, seriously, what kind of door allows a damn conversation like this to happen through it — door.

You stiffen at the insinuation. The idea that Coyote could find you out. Flush your entire career in an instant.

“Not this one.”

Your expression softens at Jake’s answer. In the line up of answers A through D, that was not one of the responses you’d anticipated. To be fair — the question itself was rather unpredictable to start with.

“Ten-four. Just make sure you wrap it.”

Jake answering grin is lecherous when he turns to you. “Ah, come on, baby. You’re not gonna make me wrap it, are ya?”

Exaggerated heaving noises filter through the door. “I’m leaving.”

“Good riddance,” Hangman calls after him as you breathe out a sigh.

“Thank god.” Jake’s grip is still tight around you. Neither of you are exactly fighting to move just yet. Maybe that’s why his hands find your waist, lips trailing down the back of your neck and along your shoulder. Normally, you would’ve melted into it, but right now? Your stomach is doing somersault after somersault after the entire interaction. “Hangy,” you mumble, hearing his hum from behind you. “It’s dead.”

He chuckles as he sits back finally. “Dead as the table?” A sad laugh leaves you as you finally slip from his fingertips, standing up and looking at the wreckage below you.

“Oh yeah.” You nod, finally snagging your shirt from the floor and pulling it over your head. “Ashes to ashes.”

“Dust to dust,” Jake continues, slumped into the depths of the couch.

“Street trash to street trash.”

“Hey!” he corrects, brows furrowed, and you can’t help but giggle at your jab, relishing in your own amusement.

When the both of you finally sort yourselves out, you offer to help Jake carry what remains of the coffee table down four flights of stairs and out to the green dumpster in the parking lot. You set the broken pieces on the asphalt, stretching out your back slightly once it's down.

“Did you, uh…” With one of the legs in your hand, you point to the table before your eyes rise to meet Jake’s — facial features filled with annoyance. “Did you want to say something?” You gesture to the table, slapping the leg in your hand against your free palm.

“Shut up, Kody,” he snides, picking up the broken and disassembled parts of his table and throwing them into the dumpster.

“Alright, I’ll say something.” You look at the stained wood table leg in your hand, clearing your throat. “Ikea table–”

“Target,” Jake’s correction comes, leaving you to glance at him, nodding.

“Target table: Our acquaintance was short lived. Much like you were.”

Jake lets out a low chuckle, he’s trying to hide it, but he’s not doing a very good job of it.

“You were mediocre at best.”

“Excuse me?” Jake interrogates, an eyebrow raised in silent retaliation.

“I was talking to the table.” A scoff comes from him before he squats down to pull said table from its spot, up and into the dumpster as you hold the lid open. With a thud the lid returns to its closed position as Jake lays his table in its final resting place upon a bed of trash and brushes his hands free of dirt. He starts off in the direction of your car but even in the few feet he’s managed to get between you, you can hear him mumble under his breath.

“Brat.”

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

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moonchild-in-blue · 6 months

Text

The Mist (Sleep Token)

So this is the aftermath of this very cool post by @reveries-of-my-mind. I was supposed to get it done weeks ago, but alas. It is here now I suppose.

Basically is Vessel as a kid (he's adorable here 🥺), wandering around in the woods, and encountering a Magical Clearing with a Strange Mist. Slightly different from my original idea, but it's actually kinda cute?? This was supposed to be much shorter, but once I start writing, it's hard to stop lol. 2k is not too bad though, right?

Anyways, here it is. I hope you like it Kay 🍄 (Also I used your picture for the divider, hope you don't mind!) 🌿🌹

The Mist had been with him ever since he could remember. As Vessel looked over his window, morning coffee in hand, a thin layer of fog covered his garden, speckled with red flowers.

---

It was a Saturday morning like any other. The sun peeked shyly behind grey clouds, extending its warm fingers to the earth bellow, still wet from the earlier rain.

His grandparents’ garden overlooked the great forest behind, lush trees and a sparkling creek impassively waiting behind the white fence. For any eight-year-old boy in the midst of summer holidays, with no friends around and plenty of time to kill, the woods were the perfect playground.

Everyday he would venture into the forest. He knew each and every rock and bush that formed the path to the stream. He knew which berries were the sweetest; which tree provided better shade. His grandfather had taught him to recognize the different singing birds and where they nested – under his bed, a shoebox containing his growing collection of nature findings was filled with all types of feathers, carefully catalogued in a piece of crinkled paper.

Today, he had decided to be a little braver. He would go on an adventure. With a very nice stick in hand, and a backpack full of sandwiches, two tangerines, and a water bottle - lovingly provided by his grandmother - the blonde boy ventured further into the woods.

---

After a little while of walking, his first sandwich long gone, the boy reached a tunnel encrusted on the base of a ridge, no bigger than his little frame, completely dark aside from a very faint light coming from the opposite entrance. It seated inconspicuously behind a curtain of leaves and vines, barely visible to anyone not paying attention.

But to the adventurous boy, nothing escaped his sight. His little blue eyes twinkled with excitement. Finally, something new. He adjusted his backpack straps, took a deep breath, and crawled his way through the hole.

With scrapped knees and spider webs clinging to his hair and clothes, the boy stood in an unfamiliar clearing, tall and quite proud of himself for making it through the dark, scary tunnel.

The first thing he noticed was the silence. Usually the woods were brimming with life, the sounds of birds, shuffling creatures, and buzzing insects, serving as companions to his lone hummings. But here, on the other side of the mysterious passage, the sound seemed to deafen to a low whisper, almost as if the ground itself was vibrating. As if the trees were talking amongst themselves.

Then, there was the mist.

The clearing was a small, rounded meadow, carpeted with soft grass and a shallow brook, towering trees adorning the edges. A gentle shadow, cast by the leafy canopies, draped the enclosure in green light. And hovering over the grass, swirling in intricate, delicate patterns, was a fine layer of white mist.

Whenever a sun beam pierced the strange fog, the mist parted like tiny crystal prisms, painting the glade with translucent rainbows. The boy was elated – he had never seen or imagined something so extraordinary, not even in his wildest dreams. And this place, this enchanted forest, was all his!

The boy suddenly felt very important. He knew this place was special, and it had must be protected, like a closely guarded secret. His little heart thumped with excitement and wonder, sparkling blue eyes drinking in his surroundings. As he walked further inside the clearing, the boy noticed how the mist seemed to halt its movements, as if it could feel his presence.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I’m an explorer! See?”

He brandished his stick in the air, proving his harmlessness to the Mist.

“Can I seat here?” he asked, pointing to the soft grass bellow. The Mist seemed to respond, swirling ever-so-slightly around his pale ankles.

Satisfied with this reply, the boy slumped down on the ground, glad to be able to rest after what if felt like hours walking. He took off his shoes and socks, and laid back on the grass, singing contently to himself. What an amazing discovery! I should keep this in my notebook.

From the dirty backpack, he produced a colourful sketchpad and a pencil case, along with his water-bottle and snacks. The pad was halfway filled with a myriad of drawings: several birds and leaves, his grandparent’s yard, countless types of mushrooms and insects, and even some strange-looking forest gnomes, no doubt inspired by the bedtime stories his grandfather would read him. Anything he would come across during his adventures was recorded in his notebook, and this mysterious place, this important secret of his, deserved several pages dedicated to it.

After a few hours of drawing the clearing and the swirling fog, and when the last of his food had been consumed, the boy knew it was time to go home. Before leaving, he chose some of the prettiest pebbles he gathered from the brook and made a neat little pile in the place he had been seated earlier, as a thank you to the mist for showing him such a wonderful place.

“Goodbye trees! Goodbye Mist! I’ll come back tomorrow, okay? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about this place – I’m very good at keeping secrets you know?” he waved his little arms farewell, hoping somehow the forest would hear him.

The Mist twirled over his little rock offering, and the boy left with a grin, very pleased with himself for being able to talk with the magic fog.

---

When he stood in front of the dark tunnel the next day, his stomach felt funny with dread. What if the misty clearing was no longer there? What if it was all his imagination? No, it was there! It’s all here on my notebook. Once again he took a deep breath, adjusted his backpack, and crossed the dark passage to the secluded meadow.

And there it was – the strange vapour, the leafy canopies, the soft grass. Just as he had left it. He could hardly contain his excitement, blonde hair bouncing up and down as he skipped over to his pile of rocks. Curiously enough, a single flower bloomed next to it, five deep-red petals sprouting beautifully, filling the air with an intoxicatingly sweet scent. It was the only form of vegetation in the whole clearing, aside from the giant trees and verdant grass.

(Later that night the boy would show his drawing of it to his grandfather, and be met with half disappointment, half curiosity, by learning that the flower had no name, nor had it been sighted anywhere else before.)

He spent the day much like before: drawing, playing in the brook, napping under the giant canopies and the feather-light touches of the dancing cloud. At last, the time to leave had come, and just like the previous day, he left a little offering with sticks for the Mist, this time near the entrance to the tunnel.

---

And so the boy spent his summer. Everyday he would come to the clearing, no longer afraid of the once scary tunnel, and find a new crimson bloom near his offerings. He had learned that the Mist was somewhat sentient – the low rumble he had once thought to be the trees talking seemed to come from the Mist itself. It was almost imperceptible at first, but his curious child ears had become attuned to the quiet murmur.

The boy also learned that the Mist liked to hear him sing. Whenever he started to hum to himself, the swirling intensified, as if dancing along to his music. He couldn’t quite make out what they all meant, but his twinkling blue eyes began to recognise some of the swirling patterns as a language of sorts.

The summer turned into months, into years. The once young child, with colourful sketchpads and scrapped knees, his little heart full of wonder and joy, became a teenager - lanky, brooding, and lonely. Instead of drawings and sticks, he now carried black notebooks, full of poetry, of musings, of songs. Every holiday, and whenever he had a long weekend, he would make the trip to his grandparents’ house and to his secret garden.

Throughout the years, the clearing had become his safe place, a haven from all the pain he had had to endure. He liked to lay back on the grass, as he had so many times before as a kid, and sing to his heart’s content, while the Mist happily twirled around him.

He was certain the Mist could talk, too. Whenever he closed his eyes, now dark blue with hurt, eager to sink into the warm ground beneath him, he could feel it whisper in his ear. Sometimes it was loud and clear as day, others it would be little more than a quiet purr. It wasn’t any language he could recognise, much like the queer symbols and patterns he had now memorized, nimbly scribbled on the margins of his notebooks.

But he heard it all the same.

The Mist knew him like anyone else. In the clearing, he had the freedom to be himself fully. The boy had shared every joy, every pain, every heartbreak with it. And in return, the Mist would grace him with feather-like touches, with new swirling patterns, with long naps and vivid dreams; with bouts of inspiration, whenever his music felt inadequate.

And with flowers. Always those strange flowers, red as blood, and oh so very fragrant.

---

Time passed, and the boy was now a man.

He wasn’t quite sure why he was there. It had been years since he had last been in this clearing, real life catching up on him. He wasn’t even sure he would still be able to find it. The forest had considerably changed since the last time he had been there. The house in which he had once spent long summers in no longer existed.

It was silly, really. To seek comfort in what if felt like an imaginary friend. To run back to childhood safety once things had gone wrong.

Oh, and how they have gone wrong.

He stood there, expecting to see the crimson flowers and sparkling brook. To feel the soft grass beneath his feet once more. But the flowers were gone. The once gloriously green canopies loomed dry and brittle over him. All that remained were the little piles of rocks and sticks he had so carefully arranged many lifetimes ago. Gone was the lush grass and soft ground.

And gone was the Mist.

The man fell to his knees and wept. How did things get this way? How was he supposed to carry on living without a heart? Without her?

He sobbed himself to exhaustion, unconcerned about the impending night time, about his fate. Maybe it was for the best.

Oh child, we know that is not true. Why are you so distressed, my little one?

For the first time in years, the sweet fragrance of the red flowers enveloped him completely. His exposed skin prickled with emotion and fear – he had never heard the Mist this clearly before. Suddenly he was his teenage self again, longing to be embraced and understood by the one who knew him best.

“I’m truly alone now. And I don’t want to be. I’m tired.”

Oh, child.

The Mist chuckled, a low purr vibrating in the man’s chest. Their voice was unlike any other. It was wind, and water, and music combined. Somehow he knew to keep his eyes shut.

I can sense your pain. You don’t have to be alone anymore. I am here, am I not?

“I don’t even know if you are real. Maybe I have gone truly crazy. Clouds don’t talk.”

Humm. Such disbelief. I liked you better when you were young.

“What do you want from me?”

A rush of cold wind swept his blonde hair back. Every cell in his body was screaming to get away, and yet he was unable to move.

I can take your pain away. I can stay with you, make everything better. Would you like that?

“I… Who are you?”

Humm. Another chuckle.

You can call me Sleep.

#oh look at her being whimsical again lol #little vessel is very cute to me okay?#can you tell i so very desperately wanted to expand that ending? had to censor myself - this was NOT supposed to be long #ignore the use of the word adventure like 3 times in a row. i cant be bothered to edit further #sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #darya is unhinged

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jo-harrington · 6 months

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Rise of the Guardians

I can only imagine this is a request for Hymns and not just…asking what I think of the movie? (Because I love it. Jack Frost and Periwinkle from Secret of the Wings was a fluffy ship I had for a short bit.) I hope you enjoy this little blurb. It's a little...angsty.

(Literally poor timing as today is Halloween and this is set in December but idgaf.)

TW: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Eddie and Reader/OC have a little fight and then reconcile, but with a supernatural element involved.

Find Hymns of Heaven here.

And find the Master List for As Above, So Below here.

December 1984

Your night-in wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But that's what he always thought when the two of you fought. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not with you.

And inevitably...it wasn't.

A little verbal tousle never led to anything disastrous or relationship-ending. It was just...him. His abandonment issues. His need to be...needed.

The night started pretty normally. December, talks of Christmas, a last-minute visit to K-Mart before it closed to get hot cocoa (and fuck around in the toy aisle because you both were still kids inside after all), and then you regaling Eddie with the origins of Santa Claus as he flipped through your shoebox full of cassettes for something decent to listen to.

"...the story of Saint Nicholas of Myra is cool, but I always liked the legend of the Guardians better."

"Guardians?" Eddie asked, only semi-present as he stared at the faded track listing on one tape to see just what it was.

"I read it in a book once," you explained. "The Guardians of Childhood. They're meant to protect children."

You went on and on and explained each of the Guardians, who they were and what they did. Wonder and memories and special surprises made with magic and happiness. Your hands gestured wildly as you spoke and it was easy to see the sparkle in your eyes as the street lights illuminated your face every so often.

But the longer you went and the more Eddie heard, the worse he felt.

The Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus.

He'd been hearing about them for most of his childhood. All of it. Heard about them, though. Never experienced.

He'd always felt...slighted.

Now, as an adult...hell...even back in his childhood he knew. Knew that those things weren't real.

When he lost a tooth growing up, his mom would pull together a handful of change from the tip jar at Benny's for the Tooth Fairy to leave him. He could hear her count the coins as he laid awake in bed, hoping to catch the elusive sprite that first night. He always said he lost the teeth from that point on, not wanting to be burdensome.

His family didn't celebrate Easter. He'd heard all of the "he is risen" crap from church-going classmates growing up. He always questioned how it tied in with rabbits and eggs and chocolate, with no definitive response. At best, he and Wayne indulged in Cadbury Eggs as a special treat every year, with a few stashed away at the back of the freezer whenever the mood struck. But the meaning of the holiday was lost on him.

And his dad had pretty much dashed all illusion of Santa Claus immediately when he was younger. He couldn't remember a time when there had been any extra gifts under their mediocre tree.

"Isn't it amazing?" you asked by the time you were climbing the steps and entering the trailer. “Like…ok…admittedly I kind of think kids are the worst but…Guardians protecting the innocence of children. It deserves to be protected.”

“Does it?” He asked flippantly as you went on about how fun it would be to go to the North Pole one day and see if Santa’s workshop was real. “Do they?”

“And he—w-what?” You furrowed your brow as you dropped the bag of cocoa and marshmallows on the counter in the kitchen.

“I don’t know about you,” he laughed dryly as he fell onto the couch. “But there was no one magical and fantastical protecting me. There was my mom, then Wayne and Rick, and now…now I look out for myself.”

“Eddie…I…” you looked like a deer in the headlights. At a loss for words.

He knew you didn’t mean any harm with your story, but he couldn’t help but bicker and bitch and yell. And when he finally turned his frustration onto you instead of his situation, your expression got darker. Because you weren’t going to stand there and take this misplaced anger.

And that’s all it was right? Bickering and picking and mourning the loss of a childhood and a loss of innocence in both of you. You had more in common than you had differences—

Shitty, absent parents whose only priorities were themselves.

A guardian who sacrificed everything for you, to their own detriment.

The obvious fact that you were different from everyone else and there was nothing you could do to change that.

The idea that you were the only ones in the world who could understand each others plight.

—it’s just when you got to feel bad for yourselves that it all turned to shit. Unable to see what the other saw because you couldn’t see past yourselves.

So, back and forth you both went. Deeper and deeper. You didn’t understand. No he didn’t understand.

“I would think,” you scoffed, tears streaming down your cheeks. “That you, out of everyone, would feel some kind of…kinship with this. I didn’t say it to make you feel bad Eddie. You protect all of those kids. Your friends. Me. Instead—”

“You’ve made it very clear, the only person you need to protect is yourself. You only care about yourself. Otherwise why…why would you keep all of these secrets from me?”

You choked a sob. It shook your entire body.

And suddenly he didn’t see red anymore.

He saw…you, his girlfriend, who knew how much he enjoyed magic and fantasy and whimsy as an escape. You, who enjoyed all manner of monsters and cryptids and tall tales as a way to connect with the world around you that, most times, didn’t want to connect back.

You, who didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his bullshit.

After Eddie’s dad got sent away, his mom had a better head on her shoulders when it came to arguments. To protect herself, protect him. She always chose to walk away from a fight with Rick when one of them got mean. And taught Eddie to do the same.

“You’re gonna hear people say, don’t go to bed angry,” she told him once, as she tucked him into bed after a verbal tousle. He’d asked if they were ever gonna see Rick again. “But that just encourages people to fight more until it’s over. You want to go to bed. Because the Sandman will bring good dreams and help you realize how silly it all was in the first place.”

And that was the philosophy you both had agreed to after your first fight, over Mountain Dew of all things.

So he knew, now, once you controlled your tears, controlled your breathing, that was what you were planning to do. And he couldn’t object. Keys in hand, coat shrugged back on so you could trek out to your car. No goodbye. Because sleep would make it all better.

It had to.

He’d just sat down with his head, full of regrets, in his hands when you knocked on the door, needing to get back in.

“Car won’t start,” you whispered, unable to look him in the eye.

“I can take a look in the morning,” he offered weakly. “You can have my room. I’ll sleep on Wayne’s bed, not like he’s here to mind.”

The two of you went through the motions, calming yourselves down but still not ready for a kiss goodnight.

Eddie fell asleep with the sound of your soft sobs echoing in his ears, whether they were real or imagined.

It was Pitch Black and his thoughts swirled around him.

Literally.

They took the form of spectral creatures, smoky and abyss-like phantasms that grabbed and pinched at his skin.

He was tied down on the ground, held by each of his limbs, by his throat. He choked on his apologies.

“Please please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you the way I did.”

They bit and pulled and tore at pieces of him. Filled his mind with dark thoughts. Images of you crying, screaming, burning in fire.

“Please no. Forgive me. I fucked up. I fucked up.”

And then…

They stopped.

He was released in a puff of smoke, the inky, insidious tendrils evaporated and he was left to lay…on a glowing golden cloud.

Eddie looked around and saw…in the distant darkness…another cloud lazily approached. And on it there was a rotund little man with glowing skin and a beatific smile. His eyes crinkled as he got close enough to Eddie where their two clouds merged to become one.

“Who…are you?” Eddie asked dumbly. “Is…”

The man grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Is she ok?” He felt relieved when the man nodded sympathetically. “Where are we?”

The man’s eyes closed and the void they were in brightened to reveal…

Unicorns and sword-wielding elves and a palace spire that reached the sky. A stage with a crowd of roaring fans, a large gaming table with a group of eager participants, a comfy sofa and a coffee table with a bowl of popcorn and two steaming mugs of cocoa resting atop it.

All made of golden dust.

“Dreams,” he muttered. “My dreams.”

One of the man’s hands landed on Eddie’s shoulder and the other over his heart. He pressed down carefully and raised a brow in question.

“I do love her,” he whispered to the man, easily able to understand despite the silence. The man patted his hand twice. “And I know. She loves me too.”

The man’s brow became stern and his fist clenched then knocked on Eddie’s chest again. Eddie frowned, and then the man huffed a sigh. Above his head gold dust swirled and suddenly…there you were. A tiny version of you with a sword in one hand and shield in the other. You slashed and hacked as the gold dust turned black and attacked you.

“She’s…” He nodded. “She’s protecting me.”

The man smiled and nodded, the little dust mirage disappeared.

His hands then went and cupped Eddie’s face. He leaned in close and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

For the briefest second, Eddie felt the most serene than he had felt in his entire life.

And then it all disappeared.

He woke with a start, tears dripping down his face.

It was dawn, the living room glowed with the rising sun, and you were there. Puffy-eyed and somber, with your hands on his cheeks.

“Hey it’s ok,” you told him. “It was just a nightmare.”

“No, no,” he shook his head. “It’s…it was…it was a dream.”

“Yeah?” You quirked a smile at him. Before you could make a joke, he was upright, engulfing you in a tight hug. “You, uh…sure it wasn’t a nightmare?”

“I’m sure,” he spoke, words muffled in your neck as he willed himself to become one with you. To no avail, of course. Your hand ran over his back, through his hair and you let him have the time he needed.

“Did you know…” he finally spoke. “Did you know that the Sandman is a Guardian?”

You got stiff for a moment, body immediately on the defensive, but as he pulled away to look at you with—he hoped—an apologetic gaze, you relaxed.

“Oh yeah?”

It wasn’t an apology. He could get to that later. But it was enough of one for now, one that you were willing to accept.

“He is the Guardian of Dreams. And he…he doesn’t talk. Did you know that?”

“Well obviously he doesn’t want to wake anyone up,” you gave him a small nod and a smile.

Eddie thought about it for a moment.

“…that actually makes sense.” He pressed his lips to yours for briefly. “I was so…occupied with what I didn’t have that I forgot what it was that I did.”

“Your dreams?”

“Yeah.”

He’d always been a dreamer. Always thought of fantastical far away lands and the most epic future. Filled with adventure and laughter. Friends and fans.

But there was one dream that was his reality, and he would never forget it again.

“And you.”

#hymns of heaven #aasb #as above so below #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie Munson angst #eddie munson x oc

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powderblueblood · 1 month

Note

i need to know whats the most embarrassing thing lacy has found in eddie’s room and vice versa! (and ronnie too actually, cant forget our queen)

god this is so near and dear to my heart you have no idea

first thing, the overarching constant motif with this little non-throuple is whenever one of them leaves the room, they yell to the other, “DON’T SNOOP!” and naturally they immediately begin snooping.

eddie’s is the thick manila folder detailing (heavily detailing) the life and times of his fictional tiefling girlfriend who is named finore aurora. finore aurora. one more time i’m gonna give that to you, finore aurora. say that out loud. five times fast. that’s diabolical, eddie.

how does lacy know she’s his girlfriend? well, there are several longhand accounts of him dancin’ and romancin’ this creature which, though genuinely quite moving and beautifully written (and dirty!), make her feel like she is losing her mind. kind of out of jealousy, a little bit. so oftentimes, when she’s in a shitty mood, she’ll hit eddie with a little, “i don’t know, why don’t you go ask finore aurora, asshole?”

lacy’s took some digging to find because she’s an expert in the art of squirrelling herself away. but deep deep deeeeep under her bed is a shoebox with a little tape recorder. and in that tape recorder is a tape, which features lacy doevski… pretending to be interviewed. like she’s on dick cavett. like she’s on johnny carson.

eddie only got as far as lacy saying that, “no, i like being on tv… as long as it’s not my job. i like being on tv, it makes me feel like an american. it’s like owning a car,” before he heard her footsteps and he had to slip the tape in his back pocket because there was no way he wasn’t sparking a joint in the van and listening to her harp on for what turned out to be twenty full minutes. just talking to herself. waxing on about successful books she hadn’t yet written and society pages she hadn’t yet featured in. there’s a part where this supposed interviewer asks her something about loneliness, and lacy goes, “do i have a fear of loneliness? no. loneliness is an inheritance. i’m trying to figure out how to spend it wisely.”

that stuck to eddie’s ribs.

one day, in the van, seemingly apropos of nothing eddie does ask, “baby, do you miss owning a car? do you feel like… less of an american, no longer owning a car?” not a drop of blood is left in that poor girl’s face.

as for ronnie, this was a joint discovery made by the gruesome twosome. they were rushing out to the hideout for corroded coffin’s weekly engagement and ronnie asked them to grab something from her wardrobe—not realising that when they opened it, they’d find a bunch of barbie dolls, all sat in a semi circle.

“no way. i’ve known ecker since i was knee high to a grasshopper—“ “—okay, grandpa—“ “—and she’s so not a barbie girl.”

but you don’t know about women, eddie munson! you don’t know about the secrets they keep. the speculation of this little collection of wide-eyed, attentive dollies ranged from satanic ritual (real this time) to homosexual experimentation (“a dry run, before she hits the bars in college.” “what, like making out with the dolls? making the dolls make out?” “you’ve got so much to learn about girls, babe.”) to practicing for her valedictorian speech with a non-judgemental audience.

the last one was the closest, for ronnie’s real use for her cluster of barbies was… well, look. listen. before lacy, she had a zero sum of female friends. her life was incredibly testosterone filled, between hellfire and the band, and because of that, ronnie got a little stunted when it came to making friends with girls. so she used these barbies (which she did have since childhood, she just hid from eddie because ew… girl stuff… the horror of internalised misogyny) to have, y’know. girl talk.

she called it the state of the union, if that makes it any better. it doesn’t! lacy’s still trying to figure out a way to bring it up to ronnie because eddie’s too scared that the dolls might be haunted.

#powder room talk #potatobeanpies #hai brainrot #edlacy #ronnie ecker vs the world #r. ecker by powder #e. munson by powder #l. doevski by powder

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saywhatjessie · 4 months

Text

Drunk on Christmas

Day nineteen of the Advent calendar! Using this list. Day 19: Secret Santa Fandom: Ted Lasso - Pairing: RoyJamie 2.2k[Ao3]

“Oi!”

Everyone in the locker room immediately quieted, giving Roy their full attention. He bit back a smirk.

“We’re doing Secret Santa,” he told them, lightly shaking the shoebox in his hand. Phoebe had decorated it so some red glitter fell gently to the floor at the movement. “I know the idea of Christmas is so fucking prevelant in this country, people don’t think of it as a religious holiday anymore and that’s extremely fucking annoying to those of us who aren’t fucking Christian–”

Some whoops went up from some of the boys and Roy nodded at them in approval.

“-but giving and receiving gifts is still nice. So we’re fucking doing it anyway. Come pick a name from the box.”

Everyone cheered, scattered talk coming up from everyone about gift ideas.

Roy passed the box off to Isaac who manfully didn’t grimace at the amount of glitter that was about to get all over him, and turned to go back to the office.

He paused at the door to turn back to them. “Oi! And no booze!”

Most of them started whining at this but Roy shut them down with a glare.

“I don’t want to hear it!” He said. “You’re not just gonna go trading bottles of liquor, you’re going to think about your fucking teammates and deliver something heartfelt or all of you are doing laps until your feet blister so badly they get infected and drop off.”

“Well that’s vivid,” Jamie commented, idly.

Roy bared his teeth at him. Jamie winked back.

Roy growled and turned into the office, closing the door behind him.

“That was sweet,” Beard commented, not looking up from his book.

Roy growled at him, too, coming around to sit at his desk.

Nate peaked his head through the door from his office. “What’s sweet?”

“Roy making a no alcohol rule for Secret Santa so Jamie wouldn’t be singled out or receive a gift he can’t drink,” Beard answered, looking over the top of his book to smirk at Roy. Who wasn’t looking. He could just feel it. “Real thoughtful, coach.”

“I will set your book on fire,” Roy said.

Beard blew him a kiss.

“Is the no alcohol rule for staff as well?” Nate asked, worriedly. “I mean it’s a nice sentiment and all, I’m just not sure how well I actually know Karen from finance.”

“Spoilers,” Beard said, scandalized.

“There is no Karen in finance, he was being hypothetical,” Roy said, rolling his eyes. “And that’s up to Rebecca so we can ask her. I think she’ll be fine with alcohol, though. Her problem is the spending limit.”

“I think we should just let her spend eight thousand pounds on Kenneth the bus driver,” Nate said, smiling. “I think it would be funny.”

“And Kenneth could use it,” Beard said. “His MLM is hemorrhaging money.”

Roy sighed.

Later that week found Jamie curled up on Roy’s couch frowning at his phone as he tried to figure out what to get Zorro for Secret Santa.

“You really shouldn’t tell me this shit,” Roy said to Jamie’s grumbling, looking up from his book on the other side of the couch. “I shouldn’t be involved.”

“You’re not involved,” Jamie said, wiggling his toes further under Roy’s thigh for warmth. “That’s why I can tell you. You’re on a whole different Secret Santa. So it’s fine.”

Roy grunted, acknowledging the logic in that. “I’ve got Will,” he said. “Figured I’d just get him some nice noise canceling headphones. He hears too much.”

“That’s by design,” Jamie grinned. “Kitman’s a little freak. Good lad.”

Roy grimaced. “I don’t like that.”

“Prude.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Fine, so no headphones. I’ll think of something else.”

Jamie hummed, a crease between his eyebrows from his frown. Roy fought down the impulse to rub it away with his thumb. “You’re lucky all your other shopping is done,” Jamie said. “Hanukkah was so early this year. I still have to buy for mummy and Simon and Keeley and Phoebe and–”

“Why are you getting Phoebe a present?” Roy asked. “You already bought her those pokemon cards for Hanukkah. Which she’s obsessed with, by the way.”

“Obviously,” Jamie said, but he still preened at the praise. “But she celebrates both, don’t she? So I gotta get her presents for both.”

“You don’t,” Roy told him. “Have to. You already give her so much.”

“Yeah, and I want to, so lay off, grandad,” Jamie looked at Roy over his phone, his chin jutting out stubbornly. “She’s the best kid in the world and she’s my friend and I love her so I’ll do what I like.”

Roy swallowed, his chest feeling tight. He grunted, nodding at whatever Feeling this was giving him, and turned back to his book. Jamie made a triumphant little “Hmph” and turned back to his phone.

Roy had been having this Feeling a lot lately. When Jamie laughed at a joke or made himself at home at Roy’s house or looked at Roy after he’d done something particularly clever on the pitch, sort of proud and seeking approval. He didn’t know where the Feeling was coming from or why it was happening. But it was there and Roy couldn’t figure out what it was or what to do with it.

But, to be fair, he really wasn’t trying that hard,

“What do you think about skin cream?” Jamie asked. “For Zorro, I mean. He’s got that big bald head, it’s gotta need moisturizing, yeah?”

Roy hummed. “I say don’t get anyone soap products unless you know what they’re skin is like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jamie frowned at Roy, kicking him a little with one of the feet still tucked under Roy’s legs. “I will break you, by the way. I will find a skin care routine that doesn’t harm your delicate skin with impure metals.”

“Leave my doctor prescribed body wash alone.”

“Why are you using body wash on your face?!”

“Fuck you. No, do not buy Zorro skin cream.”

Jamie grumbled, turning back to his phone.

“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is,” Roy said. “You’re great at giving gifts. It’s annoying.”

“You only say that because of the gifts I’ve gotten you.”

“Well, yeah, what other gifts would I have to go on?”

Jamie whined, pulling his feet out from under Roy and plopping them in his lap instead so he could sink further down on the couch. “It’s easy to get gifts for you. Been obsessed with you since I was a kid, haven’t I? I already know what shit you’d like or find funny.” Jamie sighed, letting his head think back against the armrest. “I haven’t always been the best teammate.”

Roy put his book down, resting a hand on Jamie’s ankle. “Yeah. You were shit.”

Jamie dropped his heel on Roy’s thigh in a gentle kick, not picking up his head.

Roy breathed a laugh. “You’re not now, though. So get the fuck over yourself – your gift will be fine.”

Jamie snorted. “I can do better than fine. It’ll be mint.”

“Fucking prove it.”

Jamie picked his head up, smirking at Roy and looked back at his phone. He left his feet where they were.

Roy smiled when he was sure Jamie wasn’t looking at him anymore. He watched Jamie’s hair, worn loose even after all the walnut mist had grown out, as it fell delicately over his eyes. Jamie made a stupid face when he was concentrating: his mouth all pouted out, his top lip coming up to touch his nose. He whined at Roy every time he pointed this out, saying he wasn’t doing it on purpose and Roy’s face was more stupid than his could ever be.

Fuck, there was that Feeling again.

“Do you know what part of Canada Zorro’s from?” Jamie asked and Roy had to rush to fix whatever his face was doing before Jamie looked up.

“Montreal,” Roy answered. “Why?”

“I’m trying to find locally sourced maple syrup,” Jamie told him. “It’s gonna cost a fuckload to ship but what’s all my money for if not to show my teammates I love em?”

And Jamie had said the word before when he was talking about Phoebe. And he told Keeley he loved her and he signs off every phone call with his mum with an “I love you”.

But something about Jamie saying it just then, his warmth on Roy and his face all soft and looking perfect against the backdrop of Roy’s house – of Roy’s life – made that fucking Feeling rocket like a pinball from his chest into his brain and go clink.

“Fuck!”

He shoved Jamie’s feet off him and stood up, moving quickly to the kitchen.

“Oi!” Jamie complained from the couch. “Be gentle with these feet - they were kissed by God, remember?”

Roy pressed his forehead against his fridge and tried to breathe. Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck fuck.

“You let me know when you’re done with whatever that magical realization was,” Jamie called. “I still want your opinion about the syrup thing. They also have syrup candy? But it seems like you make that yourself. That could be fun to do as a team.”

Jamie was still talking. Roy’s entire life just rearranged itself and Jamie was still talking.

“There’s also this Canadian brand called Roots or summat. It has sweats and stuff? But also hats. That’s something I can get him to protect his bald head. Man, you’re right, I am good at this.”

Roy slammed his hand against the fridge and stalked back to the living room.

Jamie looked back, taking in Roy’s stress position but looking completely unconcerned. “Oh, good, you’re back. I think I’m gonna do the syrup and the hat. That way he can eat one and keep one, yeah?”

“Are we in love?”

Jamie jerked, his phone nearly flying out of his hand. “What?”

“You and me. Have we been in love this whole time? I just found out.”

Jamie’s eyes were wide, both his hands curled around his phone, held to his chest like he was protecting it. A strand of his hair was somehow caught on his stupidly long eyelashes. He looked so beautiful.

Roy was going to punch himself in the dick.

“Fuck!” he cried again, collapsing back on the couch. He put his head in his hands and waited for his stupid heart to feel normal again.

That was looking less and less likely, though, as Jamie moved closer to him (slowly, ever so slowly) and put a hand on his back.

“Um–” Jamie started, and his breath hitched a little. “I mean, I am. In love. I mean.”

He let out a frustrated breath and Roy turned to look at him.

The crease between his eyebrows was back and Roy actually did reach out a hand to smooth it out this time.

Jamie leaned into his hand. “I hoped, you know?” Jamie said. “The way you let me hang around so much and how much time I get to spend with you and Phoebe and you’ve met my mum and she loves you and your sister seems to trust me which is mint and–” he took a deep breath. “I thought maybe you loved me. Since you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

Roy grunted. It wasn’t a nice enough sound so he tried words next. “What about you?”

Jamie snorted, moving closer to Roy until their sides were completely pressed together. “Man, I’ve been in love with you for years. First I was just a fanboy, you know? Wanked to your poster, studied your play, wanted to impress ya. But then I knew you and you were better than I imagined. Because you were a fucking prick.”

Roy snorted, shaking his head.

“No, really!” Jamie continued. “Before that you were like a god, you know? Untouchable. But then you were mean but gentle with your niece and a little clumsy and believed in ghosts and you were a person and there was nothing on earth that could stop me from loving you.”

Roy sighed, letting his head dip down and rest against Jamie's. He took a deep breath in, inhaling Jamie’s air.

“So we’re in love,” he clarified.

Jamie laughed, turning his head to kiss Roy’s temple. “Yes, Royo, we’re in love.”

No one else was surprised they were in love. Higgins already had the paperwork set aside when Roy asked for it. Rebecca took out a bottle of champagne sticky noted with ‘For when Roy finally gets out of his own way.’

Beard turned out to be Roy’s Secret Santa and gave him two tickets to Marbella in his and Jamie’s names.

“For the off season,” Beard shrugged. “If you want them.”

Roy growled. “This is definitely over the price limit.”

Beard smirked, flipping his sunglasses down and crossing his arms.

Roy looked past him and into the dressing room where Jamie was receiving his Secret Santa gift from Bumbercatch: a pair of huge pink mittens. HIs face was so bright and happy and Roy loved him so much.

He had to look away. It was so embarrassing having feelings in public.

He looked back at Beard who was holding out a shot of spiced whisky.

Roy took it with a grunt. “Thank you,” he threw back the shot. “And fuck you.”

“Fuck you too, bud,” Beard raised his class and threw his own shot back.

Maybe alcohol was needed for Secret Santa.

#Ted Lasso #RoyJamie #writing advent #oops I wrote a thing

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bullet-prooflove · 3 days

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3500 Follower Celebration: A Little Too Late - Vostanik Sabatino x Reader

Tagging: @thiashazzywriting @words-and-seeds @novamariestark @whateversomethingbruh @a-noni-love @reneejett4 @trublu2u @stelacole

Nik doesn’t know about the letters from Kessler, not until he accidently opens one of them because he’s been up most of the night, chasing a fugitive up and down the country and he’s dog tired.

At first he thinks its from an old boyfriend.

My angel, it reads, you have no idea how much I think about you.

He rubs his palm across his mouth as he reads the words written in another man’s hand. It’s a love letter, he thinks, something twisting in his chest. He’s reading a fucking love letter.

You don’t understand how disappointed I am that you married him.

Vostanik Sabatino…

Do you say his full name when he makes you come or do you call him Nik?

It’s only as he continues that the tone shifts. He feels his jaw clenching, the paper crumpling between his fingers as the words sink into his brain.

I am going to fuck you Alana. I’m going to hunt you down and I’m going to make him watch every filthy thing I do to you before I kill him.

It gets worse from there, he goes into detail, so much detail that Nik can see it playing out in his head like he’s watching a video. It makes his stomach churn and bile climbs up the back of his throat as he forces himself to continue.

It’s when he makes reference to the other letters, that Nik realises that you’ve been keeping secrets. This isn’t the first one Kessler has sent you, it’s just the first one Nik knows about.

He’s waiting for you when you come home, the rest of those letters spread out across the kitchen table. He’d found them tucked away in a shoebox stashed at the bottom the closet, they were wrapped in an elastic band, sorted in date order. He’s spent hours reading them, going over each and every awful thing that Kessler has written and the only thing that’s stopping him from heading upstate and murdering the other man is knowing that his incarceration is about to become a lot more uncomfortable. Nik’s made sure of that.

“You should have told me what going on.” He says, his voice rough as he pushes the latest depiction of Kessler’s nauseating fantasies towards you. “I would have put a stop to it the second I heard about it."

“That’s why I didn’t.” You tell him, your gaze coming to rest upon the letter. “I don’t want you to stop it, you saw what he wrote at the end about the girls, he’s giving me another lead…”

“Alana, he is lying to you.” Nik snaps, jabbing his finger at the letters. “He’s been manipulating you since this whole thing started.”

“Nik, if there is a chance…”

He can hear the desperation in your voice and he knows that’s what this all stems from. Kessler had been trafficking minors for years before you’d caught him, selling them on the darknet. That last shipment, you’d missed it by barely a couple of hours. Three tender age girls sold to men who would brutalise them the same way that Kessler had. That’s what this psychopath is holding over your head, the possibility of finding them, of rescuing them from their misery.

“Alana.” Nik says, his tone softening as he meets your gaze. “Those girls are gone, they were gone the minute Kessler delivered them. All of this is just a way of torturing you and you’re letting him…”

Nik’s voice breaks because this, this has been going on for months. He suddenly understands what the nightmares are about, the restlessness. He thought it would settle now that Kessler was in prison but now he knows you’ve been trading little pieces of yourself to a monster, feeding him, sustaining him.

“You need to let this go.” He tells you, swallowing hard against the ache in his chest. “He’s killing you Alana and you don’t even see it.”

“You can’t tell me what to do Nik.” You say quietly, your eyes lowering to the letters laid out across the table before you use your fingertips to shift them back into order.

“No, but I can hope you make the right decision, that you chose yourself over him.” He says as he picks up his jacket from the back of the chair and pulls it on over his shoulders. “I’m going to give you some time, take a beat, but those letters, they need to be gone by the time I get back or I swear to God I will burn them myself. I won’t have him in our home Alana, he doesn’t get to have that.”

***

It’s a couple of hours later that Nik returns, he lets himself in quietly, toeing off his boots by the door before he hangs his jacket up on the coatrack. He’d gone to the studio tonight, taken up one of the private booths. His throat is raw from the singing, his fingertips tender from playing guitar.

You’re standing in front of the sink when he steps into the kitchen, the scent of smoke fills his nostrils and he watches as you ignite the final letter with the lighter you use for candles before dropping it into the basin.

“You were right.” You tell him as you watch it burn amongst the ashes of all the others. “He got in my head, he’s been living there rent free ever since the first one came and I let him…”

“It’s more complicated than that.” Nik whispers as he comes to stand beside you. His lips brush over your temple as his palm comes to rest on the nape of your neck, his thumb rubbing soothing circles that tense spot. “He weaponised your guilt.”

“I failed them.” You say and he can hear the agony in your voice, the devastation.

You’re crying when he wraps his arms around you, tears leaking down your cheeks. They soak through his shirt as he cradles you close.

“No.” Nik says resolutely. “You didn’t fail them, you did everything you could. Sometimes, sometimes we just get there a little too late.”

Love Nik? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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#erik palladino #vostanik sabatino #vostanik sabatino x reader #vostanik sabatino x you #sabatino #sabatino x reader #sabatino x you #nik sabatino #ncis los angeles #nik sabatino x reader #nik sabatino x you #ncis la

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losingherface · 1 year

Text

Women in Uniform

Ellie x fem reader

Warnings: enemies to (secret) lovers trope

Info: Both in the business of public relations, Ellie & Reader have been going head to head for years and have despised working with each other until after one night.

a/n: had to write a long paper for my public relations class so I ended up thinking about this lol. Also, I am writing another part that will be shorter I hope 🤞

•

The phone rang throughout your shoebox-sized office, you had been rushing to get it with your salad in your hand and a mouthful of it. Once you reach the phone, you can finally breathe.

“Hello, this is Y/n’s office, who am I speaking with?” You answered. A few moments later you had ended the phone conversation and already begun planning a great dinner gala.

Unfortunately, your spotlight would be shared with another woman in the office, Ellie. She was often asked to help set up these galas because she was creative and always threw a great party.

Ellie was about her work and she would never let anyone take full credit. She was well respected within the office, so you didn’t have anyone to even vent to about her. All the built-up frustration you had towards Ellie and her perfectionist behavior was driving you insane.

“Knock Knock.” You hear Ellie’s voice on the other side of the door. Ellie was well aware of your feelings towards her yet she persisted in being friendly to your face while messing up your career behind your back.

You opened the door to her with a large box of files in her hand. She made herself at home, immediately placing the box down onto your desk, and pulling out specific files.

“What’s all that for?” You ask, lifting your head a bit to see what she was doing.

“We’re planning the gala together, these are my ideas. The people are two famous authors celebrating their wedding in a form of a gala. They want paparazzi, they want actors, singers and the whole thing. You should start calling these people while I get the decorations ready.”

“Well, I wanted to decorate.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “What’s your idea?”

She asked as you sat down in your office chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“I want a dark red gala. Everyone elegantly dressed, classical music performances and warm apple cider tea being served.” You say smiling at the beautiful idea of it all.

“….Sounds terribly boring.” Ellie interrupts your thoughts. “Get on with those calls. I’ll be the one decorating thanks.” Before you can argue, Ellie exits quickly.

•

It was a chilly night at your apartment and a long day at the office. You hated when galas or any party of some sort was in your hands because of how mentally taxing it was.

You unlocked you apartment door, sleepily walking in and shutting it behind you. You threw your files onto your counter and walked over to the living room.

Your favorite thing about your apartment was that it was in the middle of the city. you had these wide curtains that you loved pulling apart and looking at the view.

After your shower, you warmed up some Apple Cider tea and lay on the L shape section of your couch, bundled up in your favorite blanket before having an epiphany.

Ellie & you were supposed to be working together on this gala. So you began writing all of your ideas.

Ellie typically made it to the office at around 7 am and you at 8 am. Which always gave her time to get her ideas out there. So you needed to get to work about two hours before you usually get there.

•

The next morning arrived. Your large stack of plans had been in your hand as you looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. Ready to finally be heard at the office.

You arrived at the meeting room, awaiting your coworkers to have a seat. You slowly began to unpack your file briefcase and place it on the table.

“Goooooooood morning.” Your neck snapped at how fast you turned at the sound of a familiar voice, Ellie’s voice.

“What are you doing here so early?” You asked a sense of disappointment in your voice.

She moves into your personal space and you swallow

“I told you that i’m in charge of decorating. It’ll be so irresponsible of me to come here late.” She whispered to your face, subtly looking down at your sheer blouse before turning around to your pile of papers spread out over the table.

She made you feel so small. She was awesome at being terrible.

Ellie and your boss along with about six other co workers who were also part of the gala, came in as the meeting began. Ellie and you sat across from each other as she flashes you a quick smile.

“So…Ideas. I need to hear them. The gala is two weeks from now, we need a location today, tomorrow we’ll send out decorators to get started.” Your boss said.

You looked at Ellie as she was about to go on and on about her idea and you quickly stood up to have the chance to talk first.

You looked at your boss. “Am I not responsible for decoration ideas here?” You asked. Ellie sat back in her chair looking so upset which satisfied you.

Your boss looked at you with confusion. “….Yes. You and Ellie. I thought I made that clear?”

“Well I have a perfect location and decoration for the gala. Ellie has yet to contribute.”

“Let’s hear it.” Ellie says.

“Attendees will wear their best classic formal wear, performances will be restricted to classical only and we’ll only work with the best chefs in town.” Your boss looked impressed, she looked over to Ellie.

“Ellie….Any thoughts? I thought you’d come more prepared.”

“I have my files. I just think that…y/n has a great idea. It should be at the palace downtown.” Ellie suddenly felt small. You tilt your head and smile a bit.

It was a great feeling. But you sort of felt bad for her even though she’s only tortured you since you started working there.

•

At home, you followed your routine. Undress, shower, open the giant living room curtain, turn on the fireplace, and bundle up with a cup of warm tea. Tonight you felt at ease. It was the first time you felt heard in a long time.

As you sink into the couch, you hear a knock on the door. An unexpected visitor, you hated that.

You take a look through the peephole and see Ellie.

You open up the door. “What's up?” Your arms are folded as you stand there looking at her feeling defeated.

She doesn't answer and instead looks at you. “Okay. I’m sorry for acting like a child.” You say although it should be her that is apologizing.

“It's just that... Everyone knows I'm the best at decorating these events and I'm always in charge of it. It's what I love to do.” She says attempting to gain some pity and she succeeded like with everything she does.

Her mood suddenly changes, its optimistic.

“I actually came to see you.. And apologize. They approved of your gala theme.”

You smile, not sure how to take the news.

She continues.

“At first, someone else thought it was boring. But, I felt bad since you've been putting in the work, a lot more work than I have. So i stayed after the meeting and convinced them that yours was perfect.”

She shoved her hands in her pocket, waiting for your response. All you could do was blush a bright red. Ellie notices and does the same, smiling to the ground.

“Come in.” you move against the door to allow her into your warm apartment from the cold.

“What's that simmering?” She asks.

“..Apple Cider tea. Want some?”

“Sure.... You're not going to poison it right?”

You laugh a little, walking her mug to the couch and patting the seat for her to sit.

“You can take the coat off you know?”

Ellie did so and sat down on the couch. There was a small gap between the two of you and an air of awkward silence.

“Really pretty Christmas tree you've got there.....” Ellie says.

You look at your half-decorated tree and look back at Ellie.

“Thanks....how’s the tea?”

“I could see why you wanted it to be at the gala.”

Ellie turns towards you and you eventually do the same. You rest your head on the pillows while still looking at her. Ellie comes closer and stares for a while.

The both of you didn't know what to do but it was clear at the moment how you two felt for each other. Ellie's lips were soft and pink. Her hair was in a messy low bun and her skin was warm.

The fireplace had been facing you two, making the moment even hotter. You place your and her mugs down on the coffee table before moving in closer.

You caress her soft hand while her thumb rubs your hand. You took this chance to lean in and give her a nice kiss. She pulled you closer before pulling away.

“We have to meet the authors tomorrow.” She says.

“Please, stay the night.”

Ellie pauses to think about it for a moment. You walk closer to her, hands on her forearms.

“Fine. At the office though, we can’t be seen this way.”

“I know Ellie, I'm not stupid.” She gave you a kiss on the cheek and you led her to your room.

•

The morning after, you had woken up to Ellies arm stretched out around you. She was completely naked and so were you. You kissed her arm a bit before preparing to get up.

“Ellie. Ellie. Ellie.” you tapped her a few times before she woke up. Immediately, she smiles after seeing you which makes your heart jump a little.

“The authors. They want to see us at 1.”

“Oh. Right. I have to get to my place and get ready for that.

“Okay. Well, I'll see you there.” You say putting on your robe and helping her get dressed.

Ellie began walking to the front door. She pressed her soft lips once again on your lips.

“I'll see you there.” She leaves and as you shut the front door all you could think to say was “What the fuck just happened?!”

•

thx for reading!

#lesbian #the last of us 2 #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #i love lesbians #tlou ellie

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rockmiyabideusexmachina · 1 year

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2023 Megaman Secret Valentine Event Gift Art Reveal!

❤️ Happy Valentine’s Day to all!❤️

And here is a little gift art exchange from Soul Rokkuman to all of you. Thanks for drawing the results post art for me again, Souly!

Thanks to all 30 participants for making this a relatively smooth gift art exchange event. A few small hiccups, but with a short window to create, and trying it this way for the first time, I wasn’t expecting it to be perfect. Appreciate you all giving it your best! Unfortunately, we had two participants unable to complete their gifts on time. One backup was able to create quickly, but there is still one pending, last minute. So I apologize to @skyyism for the delay in yours, but know you will be getting a gift soon.

Due to those issues, today’s post will just be all of the gift art for each participant. Tomorrow, while I have a day off, I will handle the prize money and fanzine raffle results in a separate post. Sorry to delay it slightly!

After the break, I’ll pull all of your Valentines out of my digital homemade shoebox and show them all off!

Just as a reminder, artists, you are free to send messages about your gift/larger files to your recipients at any time, if you haven’t yet done so. But for many, this might be the first time you are seeing your gift. I will link to each piece individually, plus you can view everything in a full gallery here. In alphabetical order by recipient’s alias ~

AbilityField, here is your Secret Valentine gift from sshrimpiee!

@aw-colorcat, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @feliner!

BinglesP, here is your Secret Valentine gift from CyborgWizard!

@cherry-lemonaid, here is your Secret Valentine gift from STAR0VERHE4D!

CyborgWizard, here is your Secret Valentine gift from MithClearwell!

@dahlia-the-nurd, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @dragonmarquise!

@digitallyfanged, here is your Secret Valentine gift from Dr. Fresh!

DinnerSonic, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @cherry-lemonaid!

Dr. Fresh, here is your Secret Valentine gift from DinnerSonic!

@dragonmarquise, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @skyyism!

@feliner, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @nightopianfoxgirl!

@jade-everstone, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @dahlia-the-nurd!

Karokuri, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @sunchaserwings!

@larytello, here is your Secret Valentine gift from your backup, @aw-colorcat!

Megagamer829, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @velcrowme!

@megagundamman, here is your Secret Valentine gift from RobArts!

MithClearwell, here is your Secret Valentine gift from Spectrum W!

@nightopianfoxgirl, here is your Secret Valentine gift from Megagamer829!

@pstart, here is your Secret Valentine gift from Zyrphia!

RobArts, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @larytello!

ShidoniDrella, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @tinyreploid!

@skyyism, here is your Secret Valentine gift from your backup @dahlia-the-nurd!

sshrimpiee, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @jade-everstone!

Spectrum W, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @w1nt3rlyn01r!

STAR0VERHE4D, here is your Secret Valentine gift from Karokuri!

@sunchaserwings, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @pstart!

@tinyreploid, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @aw-colorcat!

@velcrowme, here is your Secret Valentine gift from AbilityField!

@w1nt3rlyn01r, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @megagundamman!

Zyrphia, here is your Secret Valentine gift from @digitallyfanged!

Hope you all enjoy your gifts! And once again, update on prize winners tomorrow! Thanks, everyone!

#Rockman #Megaman #Mega Man #Rock Miyabi's 2023 Megaman Secret Valentine Event #Gift Art Exchange

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eriquin · 2 months

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The Trolley Problem, Part 25

Will brings his friends in on the adventure.

(master post)

Will was full of jitters all day Monday. He tried to chalk it up to being chased by a monster, but it wasn’t just that. It was everything put together. He’d been rescued by a knight with a sword. Steve was from the future. There was a massive conspiracy, and out there, somewhere, was a girl with psychic powers. It was baffling how everyone else in school could be so calm. Well, almost everyone. His friends must have caught on to his excitement, because they were also practically bouncing in their seats.

Last night, he had tried to tell Jonathan the truth about what had happened. He told him about the monster on the road, and running home, and how it followed him. He told him how Eddie and Steve had showed up to rescue him, and then he’d dragged him outside to show him the place where it had come through to take Eddie. He told Jonathan everything, and Jonathan hadn’t believe him. Jonathan told him that it was probably a prank. He didn’t have a very high opinion of Carol, Tommy, or Steve, and he said that they had probably done it to scare him. They had fought about it, and Will couldn’t convince him that it had been real.

He’d gone to bed disappointed. Steve had been right when he said that people wouldn’t believe him without proof. In the morning, Will had gotten up first and gone outside to look at everything in the daylight. He had retraced his steps through the woods to get his bike back, but didn’t find anything that would have proven that the demogorgon had been there. He also gathered up the pieces of Eddie’s sword and put them in a shoebox under his bed, along with the machete that Steve had dropped in the backyard. All of those things would have just further freaked Jonathan out, but it was something to show his friends later. In the meantime, he did have one thing that he could bring with him to school.

In his backpack was a green, spiral-bound notebook with all the things that were supposed to happen after the monster attacked. He’d found it on the floor of Steve’s car, and now he was going to use it to help rescue Eddie.

When the bell rang at the end of Mr. Clarke’s class, Will jumped out of his seat. He wanted to gather all his friends together and finally, finally tell them about everything that happened the day before, but his friends all ran up to Mr. Clarke’s desk instead. He heard Dustin asking if something had shown up. Mr. Clarke built up the excitement by delaying his answer.

It was the Heathkit radio that Mr. Clarke had ordered for the AV club. Will had completely forgotten that it was coming in soon, and now here it was. On any other day, he would have been thrilled to see it. His friends were all going nuts over it, fiddling with the dials and asking how far its signal could reach. Today, however, he needed to get them to focus on something else. He hung back and waited until Mr. Clarke left them alone with the new equipment. It took a while for any of them to realize that he was waiting on them.

Mike was the first to notice. “Do you want to try to contact Australia, Will?” he asked. When Will shook his head, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Guys, I need to tell you something,” he said quietly. That got their attention. He went to the door and locked it, then over to the radio and made sure it was switched off. The other boys looked confused. “What I’m about to tell you is a dangerous secret. I need to make sure no one is listening. And I need you all to swear that you won’t tell anyone else. Not your parents, not Mr. Clarke, no one.”

Will could see it in their eyes. He not only had their attention, but they were fully on board with whatever he had planned. But he had to be careful that they didn’t immediately dismiss it as a prank or a game. He took the notebook out and put it down on the table, keeping his hand on the cover. There was nothing on the outside to say what it was, but it was clear that there was something written on the pages.

“What I’m about to tell you... I know it’s going to sound like I’m making it up, but I swear it’s real. This is about things that happened and that are going to happen. I need you to keep an open mind. You might not believe me. It’s pretty unbelievable.”

Lucas shook his head. “We’ll believe you,” he said. “Please tell us!”

“Jonathan didn’t believe me,” Will said, “and he came home right after it happened, last night. He saw the other people involved and he told me they were just playing a joke on me, but I swear it was real.”

All three of them were hooked on his every word. It was even better than when he got to be DM and told them stories about their characters. They all leaned forward, and Will dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Last night, as I was biking down Mirkwood to get home, something came out of the woods.”

He told them all the details he could remember. They stayed quiet through his whole story. Dustin was the first one who started looking skeptical. Will could tell when he got to the part about Steve running back in the house that all three of them thought he was making it up, even if they were interested in the story. He sighed and crossed his arms.

“Wait, what happened?” Mike asked. “Did the monster get him, too?”

“No, his friend ran in after him to get him out of the way.” Will looked down at the floor and scuffed his shoe on the linoleum. “Then the monster came charging out after both of them and Carol hit it with her truck.”

They all brightened up at that. “Woah, really?” Lucas grinned. “That’s cool. Like something out of an action movie.”

“Yeah! Bam!” Dustin smacked his fist against his hand. “That’s great. You can totally see it coming out of nowhere.”

“Well, not really,” Will said. “I mean, I was in the truck, too. I saw her, like, rev it up and drive at the monster when it came out of the front door. It was kind of scary. I thought she was gonna hit Tommy or Steve, though maybe that would’ve been better than them getting eaten or dragged into the Upside Down.”

Mike frowned. “Yeah, but... I mean...” His face was conflicted and Will could tell that he was searching for the right words.

“You guys don’t believe me,” Will said.

The three of them looked guilty. “I mean, it’s a good story,” Lucas said.

“A great story,” Dustin added.

“But you think I’m making it up,” Will said. “I’m not making it up! It really happened!” He picked up the notebook and held it to his chest. “Look, I didn’t even get to the weird part.”

“Something weirder than monsters coming out of the wall?” Dustin asked.

“This is Steve’s,” Will said. He flipped the book open. “He knew what was going to happen, and he and Eddie were there to rescue me. See, the first time it happened, I was the one who got taken.” He pointed at the page with a rough timeline for the week. The top said ‘Will taken to Upside Down’ in Steve’s handwriting. It went on from there, with things scribbled in at an angle when Steve had remembered something later.

The other boys stared at it, reading over the list. “What is this?” Lucas asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Steve’s from the future,” Will said, getting straight to the point. “He remembers all the things that happened the first time around and he’s trying to stop it.”

“Woah,” Dustin said. He tapped his fingers over a part in the middle, near where it said ‘Will fake body found’. “Like, he’s a time traveler? That is weirder than just monsters.”

“Yeah! I got this out of his car and I’ve been reading it. There’s still stuff coming. All of this happens over the next week—”

“Wait, Steve, like, Steve Harrington?” Mike asked with a sneer. “That douchebag that Nancy’s been mooning over for the past month?”

Will gaped at Mike, wondering what had happened between Steve and Nancy that made him have that kind of reaction. Usually, he didn’t care what his sister thought about people. “Yeah, that Steve,” he said.

Mike crossed his arms. “I’ve seen him. He’s not from the future. He’s just some stupid high schooler.”

“No, he’s not—” Will sighed and rubbed his forehead. “He didn’t literally come from the future. He just woke up one day and remembered all the things that are going to happen. That’s why he doesn’t look any different.”

“Okay, but then what...” Dustin trailed off and started flipping through the pages of the book. “This is really detailed. Isn’t this Steve guy, like, kind of a dumb jock? Did he just make all this stuff up?”

Will tried again to explain what had happened, and tell them what he’d figured out from the book. Mike still looked annoyed, and Lucas was confused. Dustin kept reading through the book, and seemed like the one most willing to believe him.

“Look, I can prove it,” Will said. The other boys all looked surprised at this, and he shuffled his feet. “Well, sort of. I have stuff at my house that I can show you, and we can go talk to Steve. He really does know stuff he couldn’t possibly know. He knew that we fought the demogorgon yesterday, and he wrote a bunch of stuff about us in the book.”

“This is really cool, actually,” Dustin said. “Apparently, there’s a girl with superpowers out there, and the first time around, we found her in the woods and hid her in Mike’s basement.”

Will nodded and pointed at the book. “Yeah, like that. We need to find her again. We need her to be able to rescue Eddie. We can help!” He looked at each of his friends in turn. “Please, guys.”

Mike stared back at him and Will could see him give in a second before he nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’m in.”

Dustin nodded. “Yeah, me too,” he said. “This is cool. I want to meet the superpowered girl.”

Lucas grimaced. “It still sounds pretty crazy to me,” he said, “but yeah, I’m in.”

Will let out a long sigh and relaxed a little. “Okay. Cool. Good,” he said. “But also, you guys cannot tell anyone about this, because—”

“I mean, no one would believe us,” Lucas said.

“Not just that,” Will said. “There are people who will believe us, but it’s because they’re involved. They’d kill us to keep it a secret.”

The three boys looked spooked by that, and Dustin closed the notebook and pushed it back at Will. He put it away in his backpack.

“So, what do we do?” Mike asked.

“First, we go to my house. You guys can call your moms and tell them that you’re hanging out there,” Will said. “I picked up all the pieces of Eddie’s sword and put them under my bed.”

Dustin’s eyes lit up. “Woah. Like the shards of Narsil.”

Will nodded. “I just hope its owner hasn’t met the same fate as Elendil.”

#the trolley problem #stranger things #steddie #time travel #my writing

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