#to put it through the goddamn x-ray shit

[buck-yyyy]

god i fucking hate high school

[aurorawritestoescape]

ALWAYS AND FOREVER || 1,6k

post-outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel comes home after a hard day on patrol and you comfort him.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, ANGST, m/f masturbation, mention of somno, mention of canon typical violence, mention of death. I chose not to include all the warnings so as not to spoil the fic.

A/n: written for @iamasaddie ‘s writing challenge 2.0. color: Joel’s denim shirt. genre: hurt/comfort. prompt: "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." Aly, you creative genius, thank you for hosting such a fun event! Also sending you kisses and hugs for the gif in my mb! Love you, baby!♥️ Smooches to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing the fic💕

MASTERLIST

*****

Joel stomps through the bedroom door, growling and mumbling obscenities under his breath. He’s tense, every nerve is an open wire, every unexpected sound makes him flinch and grit his teeth. He’s tired, lack of sleep painted his skin gray and his beard is all patchy. He looks like shit.

“What is it, Joel?” You ask sitting on your favorite spot on the bed, the left side, which is closer to the window and to the sun that is a rare sight in autumn here. Joel often laughed at you calling you a cat for your love to lie there, basking in the sunshine or napping. And you loved taking naps so much. When Ellie, Joel and you came to Jackson and settled, you couldn’t get enough of that sweet afternoon sleep.

Sometimes Joel would snuggle up to you, spooning your sleeping body, enveloping you like a big warm cloud. Many times you’d wake up to his lips moaning in your ear and his cock sliding in and out of your wet pussy, your body already vibrating on the verge of climax. You loved it. You loved him and he loved you.

“What is it?” You sing the question, repeating it again. His frustration, annoyance, anger or whatever else that ruined his day is about to spill everywhere, staining every corner of this house, and you need to stop it, defuse the bomb that’s about to explode.

“Nothing,” he drops in your direction, not looking at you and you sigh. He untucks his flannel shirt and strides to the bathroom. He doesn’t wash his hands and face right away. His eyes are boring into his own reflection, hands gripping the sink until his knuckles whiten. Not being able to contain himself any longer, he roars and elbows the mirror, shattering it into pieces.

“You hurt?” You ask quietly, standing in the doorframe, hands clasped shyly in front of you. You’re wearing his denim shirt and panties, nothing else.

His head whips in your direction and there are tears in his beautiful brown eyes, bloodshot from his constant insomnia.

You furrow your brows and step into the little room. He raises his hands, trying to stop you from walking on the glass-littered floor but drops them, seeing your bare feet gracefully step between the remnants of the mirror.

When you’re close you look up into his pained face and put your palm on his elbow, the one he just jammed into the wall. He doesn’t flinch.

“Wash your hands and come to bed. Please,” you ask quietly and reach up kissing his lips.

He does what you’ve asked him. He always did. He trusted you like no one else in this goddamn world. Maybe only Ellie and Tommy.

Joel sits on the bed next to you and you make him lie down, your hands applying light pressure on his tired shoulders.

He exhales feeling the frustration and rage leave his body already, bit by bit. He wants to pull you to him, hug you, kiss you but like a ray of sun you slip away from his fingers. He watches you get up and walk to the window.

His gaze catches the sway of your hips, the curve of your ass peeking out from under his shirt and he already feels his jeans getting too restrictive for his stiffening cock.

“Pull it out,” you tell him, quiet dominance in your voice, after you turn around and perch your ass on the window sill. He looks at you with defiance at first, always ready to object, but your sweet smile makes his hands dart down to unzip his jeans. You pull down your panties and take them off.

The only thing you have on now is his old denim shirt, worn out and soft, the one you stole from him years ago. You’re unclasping it now, fingers quick and sure and he watches you, palming his throbbing cock through his boxers.

You leave the shirt open and he sees a valley between your breasts and your belly. He catches a glimpse of your pussy and takes a sharp breath.

“Pull it out, Joel,” you ask with a soft and sultry tone, the one that makes his cock twitch every time he hears it. His name on your lips is like a balm for his restless soul and he places it somewhere deep for later to use, to remember.

He finally pulls his boxers down and takes out his semi hard cock. You inhale deeply and give him a little smile.

“You’re so tense, Joel,” you purr, lifting on leg and placing your foot on the window pane, “Relax for me.”

Your pussy is exposed to him now and his hungry gaze latches on your blooming flower while he’s holding his breath.

“Play with yourself for me, sweetheart,” he pleads before spitting into his palm. He wraps it around his girthy cock and starts slowly moving it up and down.

Your hand resting on your inner thigh slides to your center and with two of your fingers you spread your folds to show him your glistening pussy.

“Hnggg,” Joel groans, bucking his hips and thrusting his cock into his own huge fist.

“Wanna taste you, baby,” he rasps, eyes pleading under the bushy eyebrows.

You shake your head lightly, giving him a warm smile and start rubbing your clit. Joel’s watching you and pumping his cock faster, the skin on his hand wet with precum, his moans accompanied by your soft whimpers. Your chest is heaving and the denim shirt opens up, exposing your breasts.

“Make yourself feel good, my love,” his voice is quiet and full of love.

The hand on your pussy gets busy, as you’re plunging your fingers into your crying hole and move them in and out with the rhythm of his cock fucking his tight fist.

The other hand kneads your breasts, tugs on your pebbled nipples.

His hungry gaze desperately darts between your face, tits, belly, pussy. The vision of you, weaved into the golden light from the window behind you, brings tears to his eyes. He wishes he could take a picture, draw you like this, capture this image and store it forever behind his eyelids. Joel grips his cock tighter at the base, delaying his release for a few moments. He’s getting drunk on the sight in front of him, insatiable and already thirsty for more.

Joel is happy to forget about everything for these few minutes, his mind occupied by your fingers being pushed deeper into your sweet cunt, your face twisted with pleasure, back arched and legs trembling. He can hear how wet your pussy is.

Soon a climax takes over you as you freeze for a second before waves of pleasure shake your body making you cry out his name only for his ears,

“Joel!”

He wishes you screamed it coming on his cock and his cum spurted deep inside your pussy instead of all over his belly and hand like his pulsating cock is doing now.

You sniff, eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and he smiles, recognizing your telltale sign of a satisfying orgasm.

“C’mere, crybaby,” he whispers with a tired smile, wiping his spilled cum with the hem of his shirt.

You’re next to him in a second, lying on your stomach, arms folded on his broad chest, your chin resting over them.

“My sweet girl.”

His gaze showers you with warmth and adoration, arms itching to hold you, lips - to kiss.

“What happened, Joel?” Your piercing eyes are searching for the answer in his face. He takes a deep breath looking up at the ceiling, trying to quiet the rage, rising from the pits of his stomach again.

“We were on patrol. Me and this new kid. Dumbass! I told him to be careful but the asshole didn’t wait for me… rushed into the house when I specifically told him to wait…Found him on the floor, fighting a clicker. Bastard was lucky I was there on time. Shot the damn thing just before it bit his fucking face off.”

“In that house?” You ask quietly and he nods.

You sigh and climb a little higher on the bed and plant a kiss on his weathered lips. He averts his eyes embarrassed by the smell of whiskey you must have noticed but you smile and cup his scruffy cheek.

“You saved him. I’m proud of you, Joel.”

He closes his eyes, comforted by the softness of your touch, by your praise and he feels his soul healing a little. But the memories flood his mind and a second later his serenity shutters again.

“Yeah, I did. I saved him,” he rasps looking deep into your eyes, “but I didn’t save you.”

A tear slides down his cheek and you kiss it away. You pepper kisses over his eyes, nose, lips and then search for his sad eyes and speak softly,

“You can’t save everyone, Joel.”

“I don’t give a shit about everyone,” he snaps, fire waking up behind his eyes again, “I care about you. And I fucking lost you.”

His eyes are pleading for a miracle, tracing your slightly blurry features, but you can’t make it happen.

“You didn’t lose me, Joel, I’m right here,” you purr against his cheek, before taking his face in your hands. Your love is so strong, Joel can swear he feels their warmth on his skin.

“It’s gonna be ok, Joel. You’re gonna be ok. You have people who love you. Ellie, Tommy. And you have me. Always will.”

Joel nods and wishes he could see you longer but the exhaustion takes over and soon he falls into deep relaxing sleep, lulled and comforted by the ghost of you.

*****

Thank you for reading!🌺

Please consider reblogging and commenting if you enjoyed the fic. Your feedback motivates me so much!♥️

Masterlist

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @missannfairy @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover

If you’d like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💕

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Milkshake - Rafe Cameron One Shot

+18 Minor DNI

OlderPerv!Rafe x BestFriend!Reader

both are in their 30’s

⭐️ republished ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

🪄 (spoilers) Cheating, swearing, name-calling, oral (male receiving), cum play, choking, Rafe’s a perv 🚩, has pictures and videos of reader w/out her consent, mentions listening to her masterbate,fetishizes simple things (reader licking whipped cream and drinking from a straw) because he’s a perv

📖 OlderPerv!Rafe is obsessed with his best friend (reader) and is willing to do whatever it takes to get you. Based off of an ask: Perv daddys best friend paying yn to only put the tip into her Because thats not really cheating on his wife it is not all the way in is it? But it feels so good too her and she just pushes herself all the way down rafe is totaly in awe as she starts riding him Her putting his hands on her tits

✨ “What?” You cut him off, pulling back a little, staring into his lust-blown eyes. He leans in, not wanting to explain any further. You take your hand, resting it on his neck, pushing him back to the headrest, making his eyes flutter shut. Rafe releases a primal groan, the vibrations felt against your palm. He likes this. You squeeze his throat a little tighter, making him moan. ✨

2.8 K lightly edited (<- mostly smut)

Reader’s POV:

“My mouth is watering, Rafe,” you groan. “This is torture.”

His eyes cut over to yours, rolling back in annoyance. “If you think you’re drinking a milkshake in my car, you’re crazy. I don’t even let my wife bring food in here. This ride is my baby. It’s ten-minute tops.”

“You don’t eat or drink in your car… ever?” You pout, poking out your bottom lip as you look around his pristine ride. The answer is so plainly written in the details.

“You can fuck up my bimmer, my G-Wagon, hell even my Escalade. Aight? Dealer’s choice. But you’re not eatin’ in the DB5.”

“Did this come with your mid-life crisis starter pack or what?”

Rafe sucks his teeth and laughs. “Yeah. Yeah. This and that fleshlight-“

“TMI!”

“TMI?” He gasps through a laugh. “It’s the only thing fuckin’ me these days. M’always in the doghouse. Always…”

“What did you do this time, Cameron?”

“Nothin’.”

“Bull-fuckin’-shit,” you retort. Rafe rakes back his hair nervously, scratching at his 5 o’clock shadow. Fuck, he’s handsome… You stare at him a little more. His head snaps your way, catching you with a smirk on his lips.

“You like what you see or what?” He challenges.

You roll your eyes and scoff. “What did you do, Ray,” you mimic his Sofia’s voice, making him cringe.

“Fuck, you’re too good at that. Don’t do that shit.”

“What?” You mock her again.

“Like nails on a chalkboard. I swear. Use your voice. Please.”

“Mhmm… If you let me eat in your car and IF you tell me why you’re in trouble.”

“You’re a nosy little shit. You know that?”

“Ray…” You breathe in her tone again.

“Shut up about your goddamn milkshake,” he huffs. “It ain’t gonna happen. What adult drinks a milkshake anyways?”

“It’s got booze in it.”

“And?” He sasses.

“Island Club makes the best mudslides. You know that. Stop stalling and tell me what’s up.”

“Fine! She found pictures on my phone. Okay?”

“Pictures?”

“Pictures.”

“Of what?”

“It’s personal.”

“Of who?”

“Leave me alone!”

“Pussy.”

“It’s none of your goddamn business. Alright?”

You turn toward him, dramatically swiping your finger across the whipped cream, bringing it to your mouth. Rafe’s eyes dart from you to the road and back. “C’mon, Rafey.” You slip your finger between your lips, leaving a little mess on the bottom. Rafe lifts an eyebrow in your direction, a smirk pulling on his perfect lips.

He punches the gas, making you grip your seat wide-eyed. “We’re almost there,” he smiles as his car barrels through the night. Your heart starts to race along with the speed of his Aston Martin, the pointer kissing seventy miles an hour.

“R-Rafe. The speed limit is twenty-five.”

“It’s optional.”

“Rafe!” You squeal, grabbing onto the door as you round a tight curve. He lets out a wild laugh, eyes trained on the road ahead as the engine roars.

“This is so fucking dangerous!”

“Please… You should have thought about it before you did whatever the fuck that was,” he groans. “And it isn’t dangerous, baby. You’re safe.” Baby…

The trees around you melt into the night as you fly by them. Nothing is visible but the road before you. Rafe doesn’t look frightened in the slightest, completely confident, blissed out even. “Where are we even going?” You spit.

“Our spot.”

“Our spot? What spot?”

“The spot where we smoked weed for the first time… Riddler Cove – Beach Access,” he blurts breathlessly. “You were wearin’ that little red bikini,” he smiles as he wets his bottom lip, twisting his hands a little tighter on the steering wheel as he recalls something from 16 years ago.

Rafe reaches for the speaker, cranking up the music. The bass bumps in your chest, dueling with the rapid beating of your heart. You see the Riddler Cove parking lot come into view, vast darkness stretching ahead as you near the water. He smiles in your direction, his mood changing in an instant. A shameful look spreads on his face as he slows his roll. “I should have asked,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Jesus Christ. Just give me a fucking warning next time,” you let out a nervous laugh, punching his arm hard. Rafe coasts down the route, sailing into the vacant parking lot. Your heart rate slows, and your grip loosens on the leather seat.

Rafe quickly cuts off the engine, turning toward you hastily, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Show me.”

”Show you what?“ You laugh lightly as you turn your body toward him again.

His eyes lower from yours, landing on your cleavage. Rafe’s breath hitches as he takes in the sight of your tits pressed together. ”Uhh.. That thing you did with the whipped cream. Show me again. It wasn’t fair… I didn’t get to see.“

Your cheeks burn from your smile. You shake your head dizzily. “No, Rafe.”

“Pretty please.”

“We’re friends. What the fuck do you wanna see that for?”

“Why did you do that in the first place? Huh? What do you expect from me?”

“I don’t know…” You scoff. “Perv.”

“‘Scuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m no perv. I’m just a guy. Sue me.”

“If I do it again, will you let me have my shake in here?” You relax your head into the seat, fluttering your lashes.

“If you do it again, you can have whatever you want.”

“Depends then. Are you telling me your secrets?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“I really, really wanna know,” you smile.

“Ugh. FUCK! Fine. They were… pictures of – well… Pictures of you.”

“We’re best friends. Why wouldn’t you have pictures of me?” You sneer as you think about his perfect little housewife.

“Uh… Yeah. Not those kinds,” he laughs weakly.

“Tell me. Please.” You throw your gaze down to the shake, hand drawing toward it slowly. Swiping again, you collect the sweet cream on your finger, bringing it to your lips.

Rafe’s gaze follows you closely, watching as it passes your lips, grazing your tongue. His lips mirror your own, slightly parted. You leave a little mess just like before. “Kelce,” he mumbles, too lost in the moment to even think straight.

“Excuse me?” You laugh breathily.

“Sorry – umm,” he fumbles as he watches your tongue slide across your lip. “You guys dated.”

“Duh,” you scoff.

“Been… Mmm,” he moans, watching you wrap your lips around the straw, watching you suck.

“Been?”

“I’ve been stealing your nudes off his phone for years.”

“Rafe!” You gasp through a broad nervous smile.

“Yeah – Yeah. You seem real upset about it, sweetheart,” he teases you as you try to act serious about it all.

“Why? I mean do you want me?”

“Obviously. I’d do anything. I mean anything to have you,” he sighs. “Even a little.”

“Even a little?” You ask, riding off the high of your beautiful best friend’s admittance. I mean, I should be upset, but I’m not. Not in the slightest.

“Just the tip. Please,” he pleads. “I’ll – I’ll pay you even.”

“Jesus, Rafe. Pay me? What the hell?”

“No – No. Stop. Think of it as a thank you. Okay? And it’s just the tip, so it’s not technically cheatin’.”

“Would your Sofia say the same?” You ask.

“Do you care?” He questions louder as he cocks an eyebrow in your direction. You think about it momentarily, shaking your head no before looking back into his beautiful blue eyes. “I don’t.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. So, please,” Rafe whispers, lessening the space between you.

“I should be upset about the pictures, Cameron,” you whisper as you match his movements.

“You really, really should be. But you aren’t,” he subsists as his lips hover mere inches from yours. Rafe’s hand works up your arm, toiling around the back of your neck. “10k.”

“10? Are you kidding?”

“I’ll make it 15 if you stop askin’ questions-”

“Deal.” His lips crash into his, taking your breath away. Mouths, parting; tongue, greeting his as you throw your seatbelt off. Rafe reaches for you, pulling you onto his lap. He grabs your hips, driving you closer. You can feel the chill of your wetness as your panties graze his belt buckle, making you moan softly into your kiss. Rafe smiles against your lips.

“20 if you just let me play a little,” Rafe hums like he snorted a line, finally getting his fix. “20 G’s.”

“Rafe…”

“I’m serious. No more questioning me. C’mon. Your moans sound so much prettier close like this-” he pants.

“What?” You cut him off, pulling back a little, staring into his lust-blown eyes. He leans in, not wanting to explain any further. You take your hand, resting it on his neck, pushing him back to the headrest, making his eyes flutter shut. Rafe releases a primal groan, the vibrations felt against your palm. He likes this. You squeeze his throat a little tighter, making him moan.

“Fuckkk,” he drawls. “You’re killing me,“ he rasps.

You lean in closer, brushing your lips against his, making him whine when you pull away slightly, causing him to chase your mouth. “How do you know what it sounds like when I moan, Rafe?” You whisper against his lips.

“I’ve heard it before. So, so, so many times…”

“How?”

“Through the wall, on my phone, out your window, behind a door. I know what it sounds like when you cum on your fingers, your vibrator, or a dick. Just – Just please don’t stop. I’m sorry. 40… Alright? 40k. 50 if you let me take off your clothes. Me. Not you.”

He rests his head on your shoulder, burying himself in your neck as you think. His lips press against your skin; wet kisses planted as he moves to your jaw, working his way back to your neck, sucking lightly. “You smell so damn good,” he groans hungrily, making you pulse below. “So perfect.” Your hands fall slowly down his chest, working lower and lower.

He breathes your name against your skin as your fingers graze over the top of his jeans; his cock, rock-hard underneath, making him suck in a breath. “Rafe,” you pant against his lips as your fingers continue to outline his length, working down his thigh.

His hands skim higher, pinching your lace thong between his fingers. “I’m begging you,” he pleads pathetically.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Seriously?”

Rafe grabs the door handle fast, pressing it open before you can change your mind. A strong breeze whips through the car as the two of you step out. Rafe shuts the door, quickly backing you into the vehicle as his hands work around your neck, kissing you deeper. His hips drive into yours, tongue slipping through your lips. You moan his name softly, making his hold on you even tighter.

His hands fall to your hips, gripping tightly, turning you away. Your hands rest against the driver’s side window as he works up your thighs, slipping under your skirt. You look over your shoulder, matching his gaze as he seizes your hips. You can feel his cock through his jeans, stiff against your ass. Rolling slowly, you work yourself against him, listening to his muttered praise. His fingers dig deeper, a bruising hold on your body that’ll surely leave marks.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. Rafe reaches under your skirt, looping his long fingers around the string of your panties, pulling them over your ass. Rafe quickly grabs them from the ground, tucking them in his pocket for later. You feel the chill of your wetness against the open air, the warmth of his hand following close behind, gliding up your inner thigh, drifting closer and closer. Rafe’s thick fingers sweep up your wet pussy. “Shit…” He moans, huskily quickly stuffing them in his mouth, sucking you off. Rafe reaches forward and grabs your neck, pulling you back to his lips. He kisses you, causing chills to fall over your body and nerves buzzing from head to toe as you taste yourself on his lips. “Get in the back.”

Rafe grabs the door and pulls it open, letting you sink inside. He follows closely behind, snatching you and pulling you back onto his lap. You pinch the bottom of your dress, but he stops you. “You said I could-” He huffs. “We had a deal.” You give him a nod, and he smiles boyishly, pinching the little zipper between your tits, tugging it open achingly slow; Rafe hanging onto every moment. His mouth falls agape, eyes wide as he drinks you in. ”Goddamn,“ he groans as he tosses his head back, a broad smile painted on his lips.

You draw your mouth to his neck, kissing him roughly. He lets out a sinful chuckle, taking a grip on your ass, spanking you, circling your bare skin. “Mmm… Let me look at you, baby,” he says. Rafe bites his kiss-bitten lip, studying you carefully as his fingers trace up your spine slowly. He lands on the clasp of your bra, unfastening it. The fabric slips off your shoulders and onto his lap. His eyes follow the lace, journeying up your body again, landing on yours. He takes your nipple in his mouth, swirling and biting, before moving to the other side.

BEEP.

Your stomach drops. The gravity of the situation is setting in as you see a text notification from his wife. You pull away, grabbing your bra off his lap. “Hey. No – N-No. Stop. Please. Just – Just c’mon. I need this. Please. I need you-”

“Who said I was gonna stop?” You whisper as you toss your bra to the floor.

You lean over, grabbing his phone, declining his wife before flicking your finger a couple of times, angling it straight at the two of you, pressing record. “Did you just… Are we? Oh my god,” he babbles as you help him out of his polo. You let out an airy laugh, resting your hand against his chiseled chest, using the other to trace his signature gold chain.

“Am I recording this? Yeah. Yeah, I am,” you hum. Rafe’s heart bangs under your palm, the man unable to catch his breath. “Just the tip.”

“Just the tip,” he stammers as he races for his belt, quickly fighting with the button and zipper. Rafe strips down to his boxers, letting you do the rest. You tease him, taking your time, revealing his length inch by inch. His dick springs free, slapping against his toned stomach; his fat tip messy with precum. Your gaze flicks to his as you lower your mouth to his cock. Rafe’s lips part, eyes hooded. His thick breathing and moans fill the car. “Shit,” he hisses as you pull away, looking down at you with a mix of emotions. “55… 55k?”

You hover over his tip, running a line of spit onto the head of his cock. His muscles tighten, fist slamming down on the leather seat.

“60,” you tease.

“Just – just take it. The black one. Fuck the black card in my wallet. I don’t care. Anything you need… Anything you want… Anything you think about, it’s fucking yours.”

“I’m not taking your money,” you whisper, blowing lightly on his cock before swirling your tongue around his head, collecting his precum.

“Oh fuck,” he moans. Rafe’s mouth falls open, his long, thick dick cumming in ropes of white almost instantly. His apologies get caught in his throat as you lick a line up his stiff shaft, cleaning the mess. Rafe reaches for air as he watches you suck him off some more, using what remains to stroke his cock as you tap his tip against your tongue. He looks over at the phone in a fucked-out daze, smiling in satisfaction before throwing his head back. “Yeah… Yeah you are. You’re taking my goddamn money.”

He grabs you, pulling you into his arms, lips crashing into yours. Rafe wraps his strong arms around your body, pulling you nearer, his bare chest pressed against yours. Your heart races a little faster as your adrenaline starts to kick it. ”The tip?“ He asks hopefully between kisses, getting greedy, hoping you’ll cave and give him more.

“Only the tip,” you respire as you thrust your hand between the two of you, taking hold of his cock.

“I’ll take it,” Rafe whispers as his head meets your cunt. He lets out a deep groan, thundering in his chest. His eyes meet yours again. “This is for me?” He asks shakily. “Please say it’s for”

“You, Rafe. It’s all for you.”

He takes control, gripping his cock in his fist, running his fat mushroom tip through your slick folds, swirling softly on your clit. Rafe shudders in overstimulation but there’s no fuckin’ way he’ll stop for anything. He slows down slightly, a smile spreading on his lips as he glides lower.

“Mmm… Right there,” you whisper against his mouth as his head toys with your entrance. His lips press against yours as you widen your thighs, dropping down on his tip, feeling a big stretch.

“Fuck me,” he pants.

“Feels so good, Rafe,” you whimper.

“So damn good. Holy shi-” You sink lower and lower unable to stop yourself. Rafe lets out a long, drawn-out moan against your lips. “Oh… Oh fuck,” he stammers as he clutches your hips when you’re fully sat, pulling back to look at you in awe. He pushes you down a little more, making your eyes roll back in your skull, filled to the brim with him. The sight of your pleasure is almost too much to take.

The two of you watch as you rise up, Rafe’s thick cock glistening with your essence. You hook one hand behind his neck, leaning back slightly, gripping the leather seat. You start to ride him, grinding and bouncing on his big cock as his large hands hold onto your tits. Rafe grabs your hips and slap your ass; just playing with your body, worshiping your curves like he’s always wanted.

“I’m not gonna last – just keep going. Please-” He begs.

“Just keep cumming for me…” You moan as you start to roll your body, working him in and out of your soaked pussy, 60 thousand dollars richer.

Please follow and turn on notifications for @curtainbangs-updates for fic drops

my masterlist 🔮

my tag list 🎀

tags ⭐️ @loserboysandlithium @rafesthroatbaby @gri959 @akobx @rafesgiirl @hyperfixationgirl @daryldixon83 @savayvayblr-blog @oxpogues4lifexo @sleepiibunniiii

[elliesflower]

victory lap [ellie williams]

pairing; f!reader x ellie

cw; rich!ellie, plus-sized female!reader, degradation (kinda), mean!ellie, vouyerism, semi-public masturbation(kinda?), ellie and reader are both perverted ngl

an; syd's comeback??? and it's smut?????? i've had this in my drafts since like may and finally got around to editing it so here you go. and i swear i'm working on chapter 8. and also please don't ask why i didn't pick a sexier sport. like basketball or something. i don't know either. ok bye.

for my sweet babies @coeurify @bambiesfics @addisonnie @seattlesellie

It was yet another blazing hot day at the country club, the sun’s sweltering rays kissing the backs of your legs as you bent down to retrieve a fallen golf ball from the bright green turf, careful not to bend straight over so that your panties would be on full display for anyone who dared to walk behind you. You readjusted the visor on your head upon standing, before you wiped a speck of excess dirt off the white plastic with a perfectly manicured finger before passing it off to Tommy Miller. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, making sure to grab an unnecessary amount of your hand in his own as he took the ball. He winked at you before readjusting his own visor, and setting up the ball on the tee. After the first time you caddied for Tommy, he started requesting you by name. Of course, you knew it probably had a little something to do with the way you caught him staring at your full breasts that sat perfectly in your pink racerback, neckline so low everyone could watch the way small beads of sweat would dribble down your skin and disappear between your chest. 

The truth is, you didn’t mind that Tommy was a little flirty with you, or even handsy sometimes, for that matter—for two reasons. The main one being, Tommy had money. Like, different car for each day of the week money. And his brother, Joel, somehow had even more, you’d reckoned from the times you’ve gotten to chat with him. They were always talking about what new business venture they’d invested in this week, or what extravagant trips they were taking next week. To the average person, it might sound snobby and pretentious—because well, it was—but around the club, it was normal. But you didn’t mind, because the more money your club members made, the more money they could put in your pocket. And you had bills to pay. 

The second reason being, of course, you knew it wouldn’t get them anywhere. Not when you weren’t really into Tommy’s…type, if you will. 

“Of course, Tommy,” you smiled warmly at him, before stepping back to stand in the shade of the golf cart as you watched him line up his shot. Just as he was all set up, swinging his arms behind him to take the shot, his phone began ringing loudly from his back pocket.  

“Goddamn, piece ‘uh shit!” He exclaimed as the ringer clearly messed up his concentration. You had to hide your smile as he shot you an apologetic look before tucking the club under his arm and pulling out his phone to answer. The club was a little high and tight, with people talking like they’d just stepped off the set of an eighties classic film, but Tommy was a little…different. Coming from Texas, the money he’s made never quite washed away his potty mouth, nor his laid-back attitude.

“What is it Joel? Oh, you’re here?” Tommy glanced at you before dropping his gaze to the ground, rolling the golf ball around with his foot mindlessly. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. No, I’ll have her come pick you two up. Yep. Alright, see ya in a bit.” 

You straightened up against the cart as he approached you, ready to do whatever it was he’d ask. 

“Joel’s here?” You asked, sliding into the cart preemptively. 

“Yeah, that sonuva bitch decided to stop by after all. Him and Ellie are waitin’ at the clubhouse, would you mind swingin’ to pick them up?” 

“Ellie?” You cocked your head slightly, but slid through to the driver’s seat nonetheless. 

“Ah, forgot you haven’t met ‘er yet,” Tommy said, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed down to where your thick thighs spilled out onto the seat, your panties just barely covered by the white pleated golf skirt that rode up when you sat. You immediately averted your gaze, turning the key to the cart and feeling it rumble to life. “Ellie’s Joel’s daughter. I think she’s about your age…she’s great n’ all, honors student in college, yadda yadda…y’all might actually hit it off.”

“We’ll see about that,” you said playfully. If only he knew what he was actually implying to your sapphic brain. He just smirked at you, tapping the hood of the cart twice before walking back to the tee. “See ya in a bit,” he called over his shoulder as you drove away. You weren’t too far from the clubhouse, as Tommy had barely gotten started on his round, so it was a quick little drive over. The warm breeze tickled the baby hairs peeking from beneath your visor, and helped to cool the bare skin of your arms. 

Joel was waiting for you in the cart-turnaround at the back of the clubhouse when you arrived, and gave you a little wave as you turned around the corner. You waved back, putting on your best smile and doe eyes as you pulled up in front of him standing alone with two golf club bags at his sides. He smiled politely when you came to a stop, jumping out quickly to retrieve his bags when he started trying to put them on the cart himself. 

“Joel, you know you don’t have to worry about all that. Not when I’m around, at least.” You smirked at him as you picked up the two bags of heavy clubs with ease, loading them onto the back of the cart.

“C’mon now, I can’t even attempt to be a gentleman?” He joked, tipping his visor at you playfully. You giggled, exaggeratedly. 

“Oh, but of course, Mr. Miller. My apologies.” You pretended to curtsey for him, just barely lifting the hem of your short skirt as to not completely expose yourself—but surely you didn’t miss the completely conspicuous way his eyes traveled down the expanse of your curves, from the way your breasts practically spilled from your tank top, to the small patch of exposed skin at your midriff, all the way down to the way your white skirt flowed as you crossed your legs. I mean, who wouldn’t look, honestly? He huffed out a laugh and you took that as your cue to slide back into the driver’s seat, and Joel leaned a strong arm against the roof of the cart. 

“Tommy mentioned your daughter? Is she—” 

“Ready, Dad?” You could only assume Ellie, his daughter, suddenly appeared behind Joel, effectively shutting you up and quite literally taking your breath away. You at least had the decency to choke quietly, using Joel’s surprise as an excuse to turn your head away, bringing your fist to your mouth for a moment as you cleared your throat and tried to regain your composure. You felt the cart dip to your right, so you turned back, expecting to see Joel sliding in next to you—but no, it just had to be his daughter. His beautiful, angelically-built daughter with a perfect smile and perfect jade eyes and somehow even more perfect hands, which she was using to grip the stability bar at the front of the cart as she slid in next to you. 

You felt stunned, could do nothing but pathetically stare at her with your mouth slightly agape as you heard Joel’s phone ringing distantly, somewhere in the back of your mind, even though you knew he was sat right behind you. A half smile made the corner of Ellie’s lip twitch ever so slightly, but she looked away quickly, leaving you practically lusting at the sight of her side profile. 

“You gonna take us to Tommy? Or just sit there and stare like you ain’t got nothin’ in your brain?” Her voice was like pure sex; rich and modulated, no real Southern accent like her father, but his vernacular had definitely rubbed off. It was really hard to not show that her words were heading straight to your lower half, your thighs pressing together just inconspicuously enough that you’d probably be able to play it off if she really noticed. You had to at least look embarrassed, averting your gaze so that you could turn the small engine over. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ellie. Tommy speaks very highly of you.” You chose to ignore her little comment, focusing instead on trying to treat Ellie just like every member you’d had the pleasure of serving. 

And oh boy, would it be a pleasure to serve Ellie. 

“M’sure he does,” Ellie all but laughed, leaning back so that her legs spread apart across the seat, her left knee getting dangerously close to your legs. You swallowed thickly, trying to watch the movement of her tattooed arm from your peripheral as she slung it over the back of the seat. You could tell it was a natural response, that she probably man-spreaded like this everywhere—but some sick and perverted part of your mind wanted to believe that she was doing it for you, that she wanted you to see her act so…

“Eyes on the fucking road, sweetheart,” she said, and it was quiet. But the weight of it made you nearly squeak—how long had you been looking over at her?—narrowly avoiding a decently-sized rock that would have gotten easily stuck in the small tires of the golf cart. “This your first day on the job or somethin’?” 

And Ellie was so fucking casual with it. Like she hadn’t even meant to degrade you. You stammered a bit, and you swear you could feel her eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. Tommy appeared suddenly as you reached the small summit of the course hill, and all you could do was huff quietly as you approached, again choosing to ignore the way she taunted you like it was second nature. Luckily, she either didn’t hear or chose to ignore you, but she didn’t say another word as you pulled up near Tommy, just as he was taking a long swing with his driver.

“You see that shit, Joel?” He asked as he squinted out at the ball flying through the air with impressive speed. “Might actually beat ya this time, whatcha think?” 

“Yeah, yeah, you just got a head start, that’s all.” You could hear the smile in Joel’s voice as you quickly jumped out of the cart and ran to grab his clubs for him, and Ellie’s, too. He was finishing up his phone call as he took the bag from you, giving you a small nod before you turned to face Ellie. Now that you were standing practically face to face, you had to stop yourself from looking her up and down. Or you at least had to find a way to be discreet about it…and that was one thing you were, was quick on your feet. 

“These are some nice clubs,” you praised, using it as an excuse to look down at her, playing it off like you were examining them. Her feet were clad in an expensive pair of golfing shoes, her toned calves running into thighs covered in a simple, black, five inch inseam short. You gulped inconspicuously, as your eyes quickly moved past her crotch. Surely, you were hallucinating that…bulge. 

“Aw, so you can be helpful when you wanna be,” Ellie snickered, taking the bag away from you with such quickness that your arm was left hovering in the air. You shook your head slightly as if to shake the thoughts away, and dared to look her in the eyes once more. 

“I sure do try my best,” you said, and it wasn’t meant to be bratty, it really wasn’t—but Ellie’s smirk quickly soured, and she huffed and slung the bag over her shoulder. 

“Get me some water, will you?” She jutted her chin toward the cooler attached to the back of the cart, and you could only nod, instantly following her blunt command like you were a puppet on her string. What was she doing to you?

Ellie wasn’t always an asshole, you see. No, no, society made her this way. Have you ever noticed how rich kids aren’t friends with the poor ones, or vice versa? It’s because they can never find any middle ground, no similarities, no common interests. The kids going to public school were happy with a day trip to the city as a vacation; meanwhile, Ellie was missing weeks of her prissy private school education to fly halfway around the world on a business trip with her dad. 

And now, she was a rich girl going to a pretentious university. But she didn’t like the fact that people saw her this way: an asshole with her nose always pointing up; getting clocked as a rich girl as soon as anyone with eyes looked at the way she was dressed; never knowing if someone liked her for her, instead of just for her money. People were going to look at her and see ‘rich, pretentious asshole’ painted on her forehead no matter what—so why not embrace it? Why not put on this stupid little act that everyone else in her social class seemed to? 

And that’s where the soul-sucking began, Ellie realized. That’s how the bratty, entitled kids from her high school ended up just like their evil, entitled parents. She didn’t want to be this way. It just…happened. 

Nevertheless, Ellie pulled the Nike-swooshed visor off of her head for a moment to run her fingers through her reddish-brown tresses, trying to shake away the heat of the sun. You couldn’t help but to let your eyes linger on the way her tattooed arm flexed as she did so, nearly tripping over your own feet as you brought her a completely unnecessary plastic bottle full of water. 

“You know, they make reusable water bottles, nowadays,” you blurted out, your sarcasm taking over momentarily, the heat nearly making you forget where you were. You were at work. Of course rich people don’t care about using plastic water bottles. Ellie raised a curious brow, perfectly groomed with a small scar parting the arch. She didn’t even have to say anything—she just stood there, giving you that…look, and your eyes widened in surprise. She snatched the water bottle from your hand with such force that you flinched, the plastic crinkling almost louder than the sound of Tommy and Joel’s banter.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” you found yourself saying, eyes immediately falling to the ground. As she took a swig of water, Ellie couldn’t help but to notice this, and file it away in her brain for another time—the way she didn’t even have to say anything to you, and you were already so…

submissive. 

“Don’t call me Miss,” she said simply as she screwed the cap back on. You nodded, folding your hands together in front of you before looking back up to catch her gaze. 

“Yes, Ellie,” and her name came out like a drawl naturally…swear. The syllables rolled off your tongue and straight to your lower half, took you to a place so heavenly—your panties were growing wetter by the second, the press of your plush thighs getting tighter as you watched her expression. Her eyes darkened momentarily (or did she just squint at the sun?), and her posture shifted (maybe she got a cramp?). It was like she was trying to read your mind, and you were pretty sure she practically could as you watched her pretty pink tongue dart out to catch the wetness that remained on her lips—you found yourself salivating at the sight, having to quite literally force your jaw to stay closed. 

She was an asshole, sure—but that doesn’t mean you still don’t want to fuck her. 

“My clubs?” Ellie broke you out of your little fantasy by invading your presence, so close you were suddenly overwhelmed. She had set her clubs down in front of her when she took a drink of water, and it was now suddenly your job to hand them to her. “Do we need to clean out your ears or somethin’? Jesus.” She was shaking her head, feigning disappointment, and you stammered. No, no, you’ve never had an unsatisfied member and you weren’t going to start now. Especially not with Ellie. You felt the urge to please her, go above and beyond and make sure she never had to lift a finger—but she was scoffing and reaching to grab her clubs before you could get out another word. 

“No, no, no Mi-” You caught yourself before you made yet another embarrassing mistake. For the second time. “Ellie. My apologies, I’ll follow you.” It was a bit proper, maybe a bit much…but you had to make it up to her, you had to. Whatever it takes. 

“I want my driver first. You do know which one that is, right?” And she was nasty, voice laced with venom as she called over her shoulder. When did she start walking away? And should your pussy be throbbing over that? You didn’t even respond as you lugged her bag over your shoulder, trailing behind her to catch up to Tommy and Joel. They were still bantering away when you approached, cursing and laughing and hitting each other, like brothers do. 

“Look who finally made it,” Ellie’s eyes rolled when you caught up, so quickly you almost missed it. You were like, fifteen steps behind her, there’s no way that was called for. You stayed silent as you unloaded the clubs off your shoulder, doing your best not to show any hint of negative emotion on your face, propping the bag up before pulling Ellie’s driver out. It was long, and heavy, like all the other expensive ones you’ve seen. All of her clubs looked shiny, you noted, like she had either never used them, or just got them polished. Either of which could be possible, as you’d yet to see her play. She grabbed it from you hastily, and you felt that familiar throb beneath your skirt. Get a fucking grip.

“Gotcha’ all set up here, kiddo,” Joel said enthusiastically, and Ellie didn’t even fake a smile. So, you just watched her take the shot. Boy, did you watch her take the shot. 

Watched the way she got so serious—okay, somehow more serious than before—the way she shuffled her feet behind the tee as she lined up her shot, the way her arms flexed and veins popped as she straightened out her arms, prepping to take the swing. The way she took a split second to glance back while she rotated her body to shoot you the most sickeningly devious wink before sending the ball flying across the course.

Tommy whistled and Joel offered a few strong claps. 

You couldn’t be quite sure that you wouldn’t melt into a puddle right here in the middle of the course. What is it about Ellie, your favorite member’s niece, that was getting you so worked up? For fucks sake, golf isn’t even a sexy sport! It couldn’t have at least been basketball, or something a bit more…normal that did it for you?

Instead, you got Ellie, in all her glory. Strong calves turned away from you as she watched her ball cut through the air, higher and faster and better than you’d ever seen Tommy or Joel hit. Not that they’d ever admit that. 

Your thoughts were getting dirtier by the minute as you watched Ellie play. You felt like a baby deer following her around the course, knees wobbling every time she barked another command at you. 

“Um, my water, please?”

“I said five iron, not six.”

“My ball is dirty. What ‘er you even good for?

You were slipping by the minute, letting your eyes linger over her frame a little longer each time you glanced her way. No way she wasn’t catching on. 

“Take a fucking picture, Princess, it’ll last longer.”

Oops.

And when you pulled back up to the clubhouse, it took everything in you to not just run off. Your heart was beating out of your chest, panties completely ruined with your slick, oh my god you were fucking perverted. You carefully helped Tommy, Joel, and Ellie load up their gear into their respective cars, keeping your mouth shut so as to not squeak out an embarrassing sound. In fact, you couldn’t be quite sure you wouldn’t just moan out loud if Ellie so much as even glanced in your direction unprompted. 

“Great game today, guys.” You smiled sweetly at Joel and Tommy who were now both leaned up against the side of the building, taking refuge from the sun. 

“Well thank ya, sweetheart! Glad you got a chance to meet Ellie today, too,” Joel smiled at you, reaching out to squeeze at your shoulder. “Ellie, why don’t you say thank you to our lovely caddy girl today?” He didn’t use your name, because why would he? You were a convenience to them. Now that you thought about it, Ellie probably didn’t even know your name. Let alone care. 

Her green eyes bore into you for a moment before she grunted out something that sounded suspiciously like a thank you, before tipping her head back to swallow the last of her water. The sight of her throat contracting had you practically running away to do something so devious, you might have to get down on your knees and pray before you went to sleep. 

And Ellie was only human, after all. She was curious, about a lot of things. But more specifically? At this moment? She was wondering where you were scurrying off to. Of course, you weren’t as good about hiding what physical reactions you’d been having to her for the past hour as you thought—the way you’d squirm whenever she caught you staring at her, or how your mouth opened ever so slightly, ever so submissively when she berated you. 

So wherever you were going must be good. 

And oh, was it good. 

Ellie couldn’t believe her eyes, as she trailed behind you. Each time you’d look back, she’d be sure to hide just perfectly out of your view around corners, behind tables….she couldn’t let you know how curious she was, no. Because you see, she was actually good about hiding these sorts of things. She was an asshole, but it wasn’t for no reason. She just couldn’t let you know how the sight of you practically drove her insane—the soft curve of your hips beneath that skirt, the rolls on your belly that led to the plush skin of your breasts that bounced so perfectly with every step you took. That would just ruin the fun of it. My god, were you a sight for Ellie’s sore eyes. 

So now, Ellie watched as you were slipping into a supply closet. Okay…? Perhaps, you had just forgotten something, then. Needed to grab something for another member, or left your bag in there before you started your shift. Nothing interesting. 

But no, Ellie was close enough now that you were safely behind the door, that she could hear the lock ‘click’ softly from inside the supply closet. 

Oh. Oh— she thought. 

And she couldn’t believe her ears, when she heard the faintest sigh. One that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than relief. 

And yeah, you were relieved. 

You couldn’t take it anymore—the last hour you spent with Ellie was absolute torture. Letting her talk down on you, and treat you like you were nothing to her…it shouldn’t have turned you on. You should be upset, embarrassed, angry, furious even. But you were wet. 

Holy fucking shit, you were wet. Your fingers trailed down your tummy as you leaned against the wall in the dark closet, barely illuminated by a tiny window at the top of one wall. Your breath was shaky, eyes closed as you lifted your short skirt, shoving your panties to the side before you felt the top of your fingers graze past your clit, sliding further and further in between your slick folds, so easily, so so easily. 

“Oh!” you caught yourself gasping as you played with yourself, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as a sickly, obscene wet sound began to fill the space of the small closet. This was so wrong…touching yourself at work, thinking about Ellie, so fucking desperate that you had to run away and relieve even just an ounce of the tension you felt inside. 

It only got worse when all you could think about was Ellie’s long fingers, the way they gripped the golf clubs so tenderly, and how you wished so badly that you could replace yours with hers as they slipped inside of you. Your head fell back against the metal rack behind you, and you had no right mind to react to what should have been pain. Instead, you pictured Ellie standing in front of you, and how her eyes would darken with lust as she pressed her body against yours, her hot breath fanning across your face as she fucked her fingers up into you…

And Ellie was going crazy, couldn’t help herself from getting closer and closer to that supply closet door. There was no one in this wing of the club, surely no one would walk by and see her with her ear pressed against a supply closet door…right? It mostly didn’t matter, as something deranged and perverted was consuming her brain. She found herself quite literally pressed against the door, she couldn’t help herself, she had to hear the way you moaned softly and gasped while you worked yourself closer and closer to your release. 

“Oh…oh Ellie!” You breathed wantonly, and Ellie could have cum on the spot. The wet sounds of your ministrations were getting faster and louder as your fingers pressed in and out of you with such force the rack behind you was beginning to rattle. Had you been in your right mind, you should have been mortified. You should have stopped right then and there, pulled yourself together and went home to the privacy of your own home and taken a long, cold shower. But all you could see was that stupid fucking smirk on Ellie’s face as she’d whisper: 

Just fucking cum for me, baby. 

And so you did, slapping your free hand over your mouth to muffle what surely would have been far too loud of a noise as you reached your peak, your body trembling almost violently as the high washed over you. 

Ellie was positively reeling, her ear still pressed to the door almost comically as she listened to you come undone. If anyone were to walk by at this moment it would look utterly suspicious, her all alone in the long hallway, surely looking suspect in her current position. Not to mention she should probably pull away before you had a chance to swing the door open, as she would have absolutely no excuse as to what she was doing here. 

Instead, Ellie continued to listen to your labored breaths as you came down, her pink lips parted softly as she felt her own wetness growing more and more unbearable beneath her shorts. Hell, had the purple silicone she had strapped to her hips been real, there would be absolutely no hiding what your sounds had done to her. She should move away, racing thoughts of oh my fucking god, and I wonder how easy it would be to make her sound like that again, but also to go back to Dad and go the fuck home, goddammit, this is absolutely sick, even for you and— 

“Ellie?!” 

She nearly fell forward from the weight of her body on the door when it swung inwards to reveal your absolutely mortified face, and even more terrified voice. Her eyes were like saucers, surely mirroring yours as you gaped at her, one hand still on the door to leave the possibility of slamming it right back in her face in humiliation. No, no no no no no way this was happening to you. 

Ellie’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she staggered backwards in her surprise, leaving you both just staring each other down in what was surely the most awkward encounter either of you had ever had in your entire life. Her eyes quickly shifted downwards and she took another step back. 

“I- I was just- yeah, okay. Bye.” 

And she was gone. 

-- 

pt 2??????

[powderblueblood]

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

CHAPTER TEN — THE NEW FACE OF FAILURE

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: a surprise visitor shows up at nancy wheeler's house during your sleepover. eddie has a run-in with steve harrington and gets some hard-to-choke down news from a teacher. things with your newly released convict father seem to be going... eerily well. content warnings: does excessive yappin count. cussin! shitty dads! allusion to past physical abuse! drugs and smoking! heavy pettin! lovesick and scared about it edlacy! word count: 11.6k

Dear reader, 

For the first time in forever, I have nothing smart to say. I mean, really. For the first time in forever, when things have reached a previously unprecedented crescendo of shit-hitting-fannery, when my life has truly shown every possible sign of being headed toward complete ruin, when it’s not just opposite day but bizarro world incarnate, I feel…

Good. 

Because I’m looking at him. 

And he’s looking back at me.

And Nancy Wheeler is yelling for him to get in the goddamned window. 

Eddie Munson has no business standing outside the Wheeler’s garage with a fistful of pebbles, cautiously flicking them at a second story window, yet he is. The soft pelting noise had made your neck jerk up from where it craned over Nancy’s nails, painting them a springy green and go, “Do you hear that or is it my paranoia talking?”

See, when you woke up that morning, you knew you had two phone calls to make. Instead of using the traceable line of your house phone, you’d snatched a handful of quarters and booked it to the payphone at the edge of the lot. You’d almost stopped at the Munson trailer, tossing your own rocks at Eddie’s window, but thought better of it– there was always a chance that the newly exonerated (sort of) Ray Doevski would be peering through the blinds, taking a Rear Window affect to his newly instated house arrest. 

Yeah. House arrest, and you were sure that the same crack had run concurrently through the minds of you and both your parents– we’d hardly call this a house. But Ray was ordered to stay put, and even had this nutty gadget tagged to his ankle, this new fangled monitor that they were just rolling out. 

“Always on the cutting edge, aren’t you, Daddy?” 

With shaking fingers, you thunked in Eddie’s number, which he’d scrawled inside the cover of a Flannery O’Connor short story collection you’d been carting around a couple of months ago. It was one of those days that came up every now and again, where you couldn’t quite keep the lid on feeling blue. The weight of everything came down on you in an avalanche, leaving you unable to throw your pithy remarks into conversation with him or with Ronnie like you usually would’ve. Pretty much silent, pretty much staring a hole through the middle distance. He grabbed the book from you in the library during free period, your free period which he wasn’t even in, and whispered, “Just in case that curse gets lifted and you get your voice back. I’m sure you’ve got, like, a laundry list of barbs you’ve been dying to unload on me all day.” 

You remembered the way his eyes softened as he slid the book back to you, pressing his ringed hand against the cover for a couple seconds longer than he needed to. 

“Or just… for anything, y’know. We can just talk. About nothing. If it helps.”

At the time, you fought the instinct to put your hand over his.

“Won’t Wayne care that I’m calling?” you’d crackled, voice weary from underuse. 

Eddie shrugged. “Not if you pretend you’re Gareth.”

And that was exactly what you were hoping you wouldn’t have to do, shivering in your thin sweater as the dial tone to the Munson’s droned out. What if Wayne answered? What if you couldn’t rightfully approximate the voice of a balls-half-dropped freshman? What if he knew it was you, what would he do? 

Well, you needn’t have worried, because you apparently had a future in impressions. You squeaked out something about being the aforementioned Emerson looking for Eddie (at this ungodly hour of the morning?), something about Hellfire. 

“Gareth the Great! What’s the problem, the Arcane Brotherhood finally scoop your ass? Need me to come bust you from their tower? I told you, goin’ all Fear and Loathing in Luskan is gonna cost y–”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, it’s me,” you chattered, but even through the worry, a tiny smile pulled at your lips. 

 “Uh. Disregard everything I just said.” His voice had an early-morning static to it that you wanted to stay tuned into. “Hi!”

“Hi.”

“Hi… are you… shivering right now? Need me to come warm you up, because I’d be more than happy to cr–”

“Eddie, I’m at the payphone–”

“--what the hell are you doin’ out there?”

“--will you shut up so I can tell you? I don’t have a lot of time, so I need to cut right to the chase.”

“Sorry,” and this breathy little laugh runs through his voice that nearly knocks you clean out. God. What you wouldn’t give to hear that breathed into your ear instead of through some handset flaking rust. “Please, cut away.”

But, uh, yeah. That other thing. 

“My father got out of prison some-fucking-how–”

“Wait, what? Like he esc–,” you listen as Eddie drops his voice to a hiss, “Like he escaped?!”

“Oh my god, let me finish! –but, psh, no. Ray Doevski is a man of manicured hand, alright, he’s not tunneling out of anywhere. It’s all apparently legally above board, but… he’s– he’s at home. He’s in the trailer… He’s there right now.”

The fear in your chest was beginning to make your breathing feel white hot, hard to get out. Walls closing in. Your dad is at home. He is in your trailer. He is there right now. Five minutes alone in your room, a flick of his eyes over your belongings, he’ll know everything– everything that you’ve done–

You didn’t even notice that your breaths were turning into low, panicked gasps until Eddie’s voice broke through the receiver again. 

“Lace, stay put. I’m comin’ out there.”

“Eddie, no!” you barked down the phone, and a couple of birds scattered from the powerline overhead. Despite the fact that you were pretty sure collapsing into Eddie’s arms would have put a temporary stopper on the panic, you weren’t awarded such luxuries in this life. Figures. “I’ve got to get back to have some phony-ass breakfast with them in, like, now and you cannot be seen near me. Not here, okay?”

What Eddie crackled back with was like a shot of adrenaline to the heart chamber. It wasn’t a plea, or a demand. He simply said, brimming with a bright resolve, “Say the word and I’m there. Right next to you. Hear me?”

You had never heard anyone sound so sure about you before. 

Well, Eddie’s valiance was rivaled only by Nancy Wheeler, who you phoned up next. Karen Wheeler answered in a chirpy voice that even sounded blonde, her voice pitching higher when you announced who was calling. 

“Oh, Lacy! Of course. I’ll grab her for you, sweetie.” A little too goddamn knowing-sounding for your liking. 

But Nancy was all firm edges, picking up on the tremble in your voice just like Eddie had. “Well, you’re coming over. Obviously. Pack a bag– we need to put in serious work for that Streak article you’re finishing, right? Might even be an all-nighter. I’ll order pizza.”

With your dad shackled to the trailer and your mom reluctant to leave his side, there wasn’t a whole lot they could do to prevent you from swanning off to the Wheeler residence. Had to stay true to your commitments, after all, something your dad constantly impressed upon you. But when you reminded him of this as you hitched your overnight bag over your shoulder, heading out to Nancy’s waiting car, he met you with a serene smile. 

“Of course, honey. Do what you need to do.” No argument. No pushback. Not even a snide remark. That chilled you to the bone. 

You attempted to distract yourself from… well, the whole meal of it, by allowing the Precious Moments-themed decor of the Wheeler household to wash over you. The house is warm and chintzy inside, with shoes piled up by the door and laundry overflowing in baskets. Nancy’s bedroom is just as achingly normal in tones of pink and cream, a sanctuary and a strangle between girlhood and growing up. She’d shyly batted a couple of stuffed animals away from the bed that had seen the throes of her and Steve Harrington. Her Tom Cruise poster hangs opposite a pinboard of college brochures. Barbara Holland’s memorial card on her mirror. 

Guilt and innocence and upward mobility. 

As you looked around, you thought about the photo strips from the mall of you and Tina and Cass and Carol, how they were stuffed away in a box somewhere. You made a mental note to tug Nancy into the next photobooth you both came across. And Ronnie, for that matter. 

Nancy was kind about everything, of course, like she always is; she didn’t push for information about your dad’s surprise return, but you gave it pretty willingly as you cracked into her Cosmo and nail polish collection. Everything but the you and Eddie of it all… that juicy morsel you were saving until the witching hour struck, the customary time for girls to tell secrets at sleepovers. 

But somebody always has to try and get the jump on you. 

Which is how you and Nancy end up hanging out of her window, a beaming Eddie staring up at you from the pavement. 

“What the hell is he doing down there?” Nancy hisses, her eyes panicked and flaring. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” but even through the initial flash of panic, your voice has taken on this dreamy quality that makes Nancy roll her eyes–and rightfully so! “Munson, what say you? What the hell are you doing down there?”

“I–”

Nancy doesn’t even let him finish, just lets out an exasperated sigh and tells him, “Just– come up here, alright? I do not want to answer for what’s gonna happen if my dad catches you in the driveway!” 

Without a second thought, Eddie makes to hoist himself into Nancy’s dinky bedroom window. He falls over the little seat in a jangle of silver and leather and hair and gleaming teeth– “Ow! Jesus!” “Eddie, shut. Up!” Nancy winces, you wince, but as Eddie rolls onto his back and clears the hair out of his eyes, you realize that fluttering in your stomach is not a fight or flight response. 

He smiles up at you, all teeth and mischief. “Hi. Whatcha doin’?”

Oh, no.

You nudge him in the ribs with your foot, way too light for him to yelp like that. Nancy looks like she’s going to kick the shit out of him for real–and you too, maybe.

“You’re telling me you didn’t know about this?” she demands, turning on you. You notice that she’s still holding her fingers aloft, which you appreciate! No one seems to care about manicures as much as you do. It’s nice to finally be seen, for Chrissake. 

“Like I’d bring the heat around your place, Nancy! Come on, currently in a precarious situation much?” 

Hilarious to describe Eddie Munson as heat when he is, at best, a bull in Wheeler’s overstuffed china shop. Adorably so, you have to concede, watching him pick up a little porcelain figurine from her dresser. 

Nancy’s not buying it.

“I plead the eternal fifth!” you exclaim, eyes wide and willing the laugh to stay out of your voice as Eddie peers around Nancy’s stuff. “He operates on his own logic.”

Nancy eyes you warily before her gaze darts to Eddie. “Can you not touch anything? ”

“You have a cat just like this!” Eddie barks.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” the both of you chorus.

Delicately, Eddie replaces the little ceramic cat with a severely offended look. “Sheesh, ladies, I thought we were friends.” He drops the pretense pretty fast, jerking his chin in your direction with a smile that has I ain’t goin’ nowhere written all over it. “I need a word with the duchess here.”  

“So leave a message!” 

“He can’t–” “--you think we got answering machines in Forest Hills?” “--my dad–” “--life might be different for all you up here on Maple–” “--will have him taken out by sniper rifle.” “--you know this woman used a payphone for the first time in her life today?” 

A squinting Nancy lets this settle in the air for a second, like a stink bomb that’s just been deployed. I mean, you don’t know if she can see it exactly, but the charge between you and Eddie isn’t exactly subtle. Changed, maybe, from will-they-won’t-they to they-did-and-it’s-hazardous. Realization soon dawns on her. 

“Oh, you–ohhh,” Nancy nods, and chirps another, “Oh!” 

Then, a thunderous hammering that just about brings down Nancy’s bedroom door. The three of you lurch and freeze. Your hand instinctively goes to grab Eddie’s arm, fingers finding the soft leather. Your lashes flutter.

“Nan-cyyyyy!” 

That high-pitched, middle-schooled, reedy little tone? “Oh, shit. It’s just Mike.” 

“Mom said you were getting pizza so you have to get a pie for me and the guys! Wait,” some juvenile sounding muttering, “Two pies!” 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Nancy snarls, in the way only an older sister can, “I… am going to go out there and run interference and you– five minutes, okay?! I’m–” She goes so far as to set a timer on her watch. “I mean it.”

Both you and Eddie make noises in the affirmative, him sidling closer and closer to you as Nancy moves out of the room. But she pivots, nailing you both with pointed index fingers. “And don’t– don’t you even think about it. You two are not subtle, I will know!” 

“Wheeler, I resent that perverted implication!” Eddie hisses, but his fingers are already walking themselves over the curve of your ass. You’d say something if you weren’t desperately trying to keep yourself under control. 

“Mike, quit yelling the house down like an asshole!” “Who is that? Have you and Lacy got a guy in there? Gross, are you sharing a boyfriend or something?” “Shut up, don’t be disgusting, I’ll kill you, get downstairs!” 

Soon as Nancy’s door clicks behind her, you wrestle an easily malleable Eddie down to sit on the bed and climb right into his lap, thighs planting either side of him. Your body is completely abuzz now that you’re alone with him again, physical form melding instantly to the heat of his body. Eddie’s gaze darkens just a touch, like he’s dimmed the switch inside his head from mischievous to slightly dastardly. “Oh, shut up!” you say, and catch your mouth on his.

“I didn’t say shit!” Eddie breathes in return, falling right into your rhythm. 

“You heard the chief,” you struggle through desperate lip smacking; that lived in taste of him, cigarettes and sweet soda, makes your head feel all baubly on the stem of your neck, “Five minutes,” Eddie’s hands web into your hair, your knees sag into the comforter, “Explain yourself.”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Eddie’s mouth clicks sweetly against yours, words a bullshit mumble against your tongue. A heady mix of relief and desire flood you as you brace your hands around his shoulders. 

“Don’t lie,” you say, tinge of a whimper creeping in as Eddie’s grip starts to harden, indenting the flesh of your thigh. “I’ll kill you.” 

Looking at his grin is one thing, but feeling it against your neck as his mouth embarks on its own journey is something completely different. “Prom–”

“Eddie, how did you even know I was here?” A light, mindless slap comes down on his shoulder. Your breathing is becoming troublingly labored, head becoming troublingly spinny as Eddie’s teeth graze your collarbone.

“Rudimentary guesswork!” he gasps, coming up for air that’s soon stolen by the ready plushness of your mouth. “Okay. Okay. Fine, I saw Wheeler pick you up in her goddamn station wagon and–” Eddie’s voice cracks a touch as your hips press harder into him, “--put two and two together?”

“And you came here because…? Expound, already!” Your furious, air-starved hiss is a stark contrast to the way your lips keep chasing his.

“I wanted to c– I needed to come–” he swallows your stupid blooming smirk with another kiss, “Shut up. I wanted to make sure you were okay. And I couldn’t sleep. Could you sleep? I couldn’t sleep, just kept thinkin’... Kept… hnm, thinkin’ about you… About you like this… ‘n last night…”

As he babbles, your heart jackrabbits. Christ, you want him so bad. You’d listen to him like this for hours–talking like this alone, open and wanting, is enough to get you off. Eddie’s easing your skirt up your ass, rucking that fabric up slow like he did last night–but you want more than last night, if that’s possible, you want all of him, and for longer and for good–

You want him so badly that you forget where you are. Eyes snap open to catch direct iris-on-iris contact with Nancy’s Tom Cruise poster, hung strategically in view from her bed. 

Nancy’s bed. Nancy’s room. Nancy’s fucking Tom Cruise poster.

“Shit,” you say in a strangle, right against his cheek. “Shit, what are we doing?” You rear right back, getting a good look at Eddie’s ruffled demeanor, his blush-high complexion. That intoxicated look he’s wearing just from feeling you up.

Someone looking at you the way Eddie is right now feels completely, totally brand new. Ardent and urgent, untouched by influence. 

You’re almost positive that your gulp is audible.

With a couple of rapid blinks, Eddie seems to come back down to earth. 

“No. No, you’re right, um– listen, at the risk of completely humiliating myself–”

“More than you did crawling in that window? This is crazed.”

Eddie pauses a beat, a genuine look of offense constricting his features. His hands have moved from your ass to your waist, and don’t shift. 

“Hold on–Doevski, are you marking my dismount?”

You assholes just can’t help yourselves, can you? Mouth twitching at the corners, you harden up your gaze.

“I’m just saying, if you weren’t wearing ten tonnes of regalia, you might be able to make a more subtle entrance–”

“--who died and made you a hellenodikas?”

“Oh! Pulling out the Ancient Greek mythology on me now, huh?”

“I would never… pull out on you,” Eddie says and manages to hold his stone faced expression for a grand total of half a second before both your faces split in two. See, you hate him for this; that he can keep perfectly in time with you, and has since the jump. 

You’re the first to move. You edge yourself off Eddie’s lap, his hands mournfully side along your legs as you move.

“C’mon. Montague moment’s over. Kick rocks.”

He gives you one good, solid nod and mockingly straightens himself out before attempting to worm his way back out the window. Crouching half in-half out, he pauses. Some remnant of a smile he smiled at you about a million years ago flickers across his face.

“You know, Lace,” Eddie says, “you keep throwin’ me out of windows like this, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t like me.”

The door of the record store. The hot blast of stoned realization. Your fingers around his wrist. 

Knees working faster than your brain, you bend to Eddie and meet his mouth again. The kiss is soft and gentle, devolving into several little pecks around his smiling cheeks, his eyes, his forehead. To tide you over. To be continued.

“Eh, I don’t like you,” you mumble, tips of your noses brushing. “That much.”

“Yeah? Well, you got a funny way of showing it.”

You watch Eddie’s dismount (an easy six) and nervous jog all the way ‘til he’s disappeared through the shrubbery of the Wheeler’s. Soon as he’s out of sight, you’re almost positive that you catch a flash of burgundy paintwork zipping past the driveway, but it’s too fast to tell. Weird. 

Nancy near slices your fingers clean off as she noiselessly returns to the room, slamming the window shut. For as enraged as she’s trying to look, this girl with her half-painted nails also bears the familiar expression of someone baying for gossip. 

“Spill everything. Right now.” 

—

Eddie is a living, breathing, stink bomb of a cliche. He’s walking on air, he’s signed a lease on cloud nine, he’s all Gene Kelly’d out and still tap dancing down the locker lined steel trap of Hawkins High. Push back his curling bangs and he’s sure that PROPERTY OF LACY DOEVSKI is etched on his forehead, by the delicate hand that wields your fountain pen.��

Dude’s a goner. Lights out, KO’d, hit the bricks gone. And he only has himself to blame. 

If it were anyone else, he’s pretty sure it’d be different. Easier to stamp out the flame of hotheaded lust beneath his sneakers like a bag of dogshit on fire if it was some other right-side-of-town type girl. If it was just about being his diametric opposite. But it’s not. It’s you, sharp and silly and sexy, a total turn on even when you’re doing your best O’Donnell impression to sic him into studying. The you that he’s been slyly slipping into the NPCs of Hellfire, in ways that make Ronnie’s eyes roll (but she still tries to flirt with them, and that weirdly makes him a little… jealous? That dwarf is slick when she wants to be). The you that sometimes make a cameo appearance at his lunch table when you’re not holed up in the newspaper room, sat with poise and pith that the rest of the gaggle of nerds just don’t know what to do with. 

Eddie can’t count the amount of times he’s wanted to crawl across that table and kiss you. And he’s been close to doing it. Couple times. Remnants of sloppy joes on his hands and knees.

But now he can kiss you, at least in private anyway, because there’s still a roadblock or two you have to navigate. And so what! What’s a little challenge when you’re this blissfully, head fuckerly, heartburningly in l—

“Watch where you’re going, asshole.” 

This particular dagger comes straight out of the maw of Hawkins High’s crown jackass, Steve Harrington, whose shoulder Eddie’s just accidentally checked. Now, Eddie’s never cared much for Harrington, but never thought much about him either—the feeling, outside of scoring a baggie or two, is apparently mutual. But the glower Steve is sporting says anything but nonchalance. 

“Jeez, Harrington,” the grin Eddie’s sporting makes a full meal out of a plate of shit, “If you like me so much, you can just say so. No need for the whole pullin’ pigtails routine.”

Steve stares at him for a good, hard second or two— so rigidly, in fact, that it nearly makes Eddie’s face falter. Who pissed in this guy’s Cheerios? Because, even if he double counts on his fingers, Eddie’s sure it wasn’t him. 

“I,” Steve starts, pretty dumbly, “I’m havin’ a party on Friday. You should come.”

Eddie knows an order when he hears one, but it’s usually couched in something like, You got any good stuff, man? Y’know, phrased in the strained way popular kids do when they pretend not to hate his guts for half a second. 

He knocks a mocking two fingered salute off his forehead and Steve’s grimace deepens. “Be there with bells on, sire.”

Up the hallway, one of the classroom doors creaks open. 

“I don’t have all afternoon, Mr Munson.” 

Steve looks past him to the imposing, near-six foot figure of Ms O’Donnell, impatiently tapping her shoes against the linoleum. Eddie’s smirk flattens into a tight line.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m in high demand! As you can see.”

Steve doesn’t dignify that with a response and takes off toward the exit. 

“Quit gazing after the quarterback and get in here,” O’Donnell demands. And who is Eddie to deny her, Amazonian Baba Yaga that she is? 

“Ms O’Deeeee, you call yourself a Hawkins Tiger?” he says, turning on heel, “You oughta know that Harrington is one of our finest ball players. Loves to play with balls, that one.”

“You can attest to that first hand, can you?” O’Donnell snarks, settling down behind her desk and gesturing Eddie to get comfortable at the top of the class. 

Oh, Iris. She’s right on his level, when she’s not tearing him a new asshole, scholastically speaking. 

Her name may not be Iris either, but tomato potato. Eddie slumps down into the desk like a graceless, clinking cat.

“I know you didn’t bring me here to talk about my extracurriculars. That would be a breach of propriety on your part.”

“Sure as hell I did not.” O’Donnell removes her eyeglasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, as she often does not even thirty seconds into an interaction with Eddie. “I’m missing my granddaughter’s recital for this, I want you to know that.” 

He’s pulled out the there’s no way you’re old enough to be a grandmother line half a dozen too many times for it to fly again. Not that it ever did— look at this woman, with her tented fingers! She has a clear sight line right through his bullshit. 

“I appreciate that you value my education more than some pipsqueak with a cello.” 

“The problem is that you don’t,” O’Donnell sighs. There’s a note of defeat in her voice. “Eddie, we need to talk.” 

In all the years O’Donnell has been on his case (four consecutive), she’s never addressed him by his first name. Eddie shifts in his seat a little, good mood not quite punctured yet. But askew, slightly. 

“They finally found out about our clandestine little tryst, huh? Well, you can tell Higgins and the school board that I’m—“

“Shut up.”

He does. Right up.

“You understand why I push you so hard, don’t you?” O’Donnell asks him, and instead of some smartass response, Eddie clams. Ask him honestly and he’d say she’s a past-prime faculty lifer in desperate need of a power trip. That’s the narrative he’d always gone with anyway, the reason she’d always single him out and make an example of him and insist on the repeat exams he’d rarely end up passing anyways. Like, just flunk him, okay? Get the humiliation over with. 

“It’s because I know your situation,” she tells him, “And I know you’re better than it. By a goddamn country mile.” 

That knocks him. He blinks. Huh?

“You’re bright, you know. If you only allowed yourself to be,” O’Donnell nods, leafing through a manila folder in front of her, “If you could only find some way to focus, you’d be a halfway to decent student. Might even make it to college.”

“Don’t be too generous,” Eddie scoffs, arms folding over his chest. He can feel the defense rising. 

O’Donnell stares at him over the rim of her glasses. “Oh, I’m not. Because the reality is, you’re too far gone. I’ve done all I can to try and drag you out of the sandpit of shit you’ve managed to fall into, but our time is coming to a swift and brutal end.” 

A beat.

“Christ, who died and made you my guidance counselor—“

“You’re not graduating, Eddie.”

A cold sear runs down Eddie’s spine. “Um.”

Alright. Alright, look. It’s not like he hadn’t expected this, in some way or another, but again, if he is really honest… Eddie had expected some eleventh hour miracle that ended up with him with that diploma in his hand. Walking the stage in that godawful green gown, scooting down the line to take his place beside Ronnie and… and you. 

First Munson to ever do it, at least in the proud township Hawkins. Something solid to his name, finally. A GED that wasn’t necessarily a ticket to college, but proof that he could break the family curse of not following through. He didn’t need to be valedictorian or anything, he just needed… 

“But—but,” begins the scramble, “I’ve been doing… better, right? Like, I’ve gotten my grades up… not massively but a little!”

And he had. Fact is, these last handful of months, he hadnt just been dicking around with you and Ronnie after school— you’d actually gone out of your way to slice off some of those legendary brain smarts and slide them his way, bumping him up a letter grade in at least three subjects. 

You’d said something similar to O’Donnell.

You’ve got something, y’know, beyond all the hair and regalia. This system is rigged to fail anyone who surrenders to being, like, a bad test taker— so you just have to game the system and make it work for Eddie Munson. Right?

Then you’d poked him in the cheek with your number two pencil and he’d forgotten everything he’d ever learned, brain lingering on that little touch for days. 

That was before. Before your bedroom. Before Wheeler’s bedroom. Shit, before Granny Ecker’s closet. 

“Now, Eddie. Jesus. You’d need a miracle to get you anywhere close where you need to be to get out of here. Look, I am telling you this because I—“

“Why? Why do you even care? You’re the one that’s been failing me half the time.”

“Yes, because you’ve been failing, smartass! Think I’ve got a choice in the matter?” O’Donnell and her high Midwestern fury shuts him up again. “I’m telling you this because… well, it’s time to weigh up your options.” 

“Which are none.”

“Which could be none. The question on almost the entire faculty’s mind is, why haven’t you dropped out by now? And I’ve got a pretty good stab, I think.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Because, contrary to popular belief, you’re not your father.” 

Eddie has to look away. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I knew Al Munson. My first year here, I taught him. And I was green then, sure, in the goddamn dark ages but even then I knew he was just looking for any easy way out.” 

“And I’m not, huh?”

“No. Because you would’ve dropped out by now.” O’Donnell closes the folder like she’s seen enough. “Eddie, you have something to prove. And it’s worth proving.” 

Far be it from Eddie to believe that any teacher in this school actually gives a shit about him, but the glance he steals to O’Donnell makes a damn strong argument otherwise. 

“So w… what do I do?”

“God knows half the staff doesn’t want you around for another year. Sorry, but it’s true,” O’Donnell rolls her eyes and Eddie feels the sting of his last name, the skid mark of his father’s legacy following him wherever he goes, “I’ll work on it. Starting with Higgins, which should earn me canonization of some kind.”

“Castle in the sky and all that shit.”

Eddie doesn’t exactly nod; defiance is as strong as his white blood cells. He kind of wants O’Donnell to prove that she’s serious about helping him. About caring at all. 

She goes on, tone strict and pushing. 

“But you– keep your nose to the grindstone. Just because you’re not gonna pull through this year completely doesn’t mean that the improvement in the last couple of months meant nothing. I have noticed, by the way. And, uh, keep up the peer tutoring.” 

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Peer tutoring,” there’s amusement dancing in O’Donnell’s words that makes them a little uneven, “Lacy Doevski’s been so kind as to take you under her wing, hasn’t she?”

A shock of heat takes seat on his cheeks. Right. He’d forgotten about that scam you ran like a ride on lawnmower through Kaminsky’s class. 

“Y—yeah, somethin’ like that.”

“Well, keep that something going. It’s good. For the both of you,” O’Donnell clips with a knowing look. “I knew her father too.” 

She dismisses him with a wave and Eddie, feeling like she’d just made him tie up a pair of leaden boots, follows the tug of his deflated heart like a compass. A tread through the eerily empty after-hours halls brings back a memory here and there. Getting caught smoking under the stairwell on the first day of freshman year; a girl named Phoebe lending him a pencil in Biology, which he ended up using to pretend-stab Tommy Hagan who made fun of her stammer (Tommy cried like a bitch, as if Eddie would ever actually do that); fighting against his better judgment and jimmying the lock of a classroom open so he could help Gareth make a new character sheet for Hellfire and getting detention when they were found out, while the freshman hid under the desk so he wouldn’t be caught too. Plenty of little battles lost. But this is the big one–the one that tells him he’s doomed to repeat this adolescent torture for at least another year. 

However, as soon as he shoulders the swinging door open and sees you, bathed in a pool of lamplight with reams of typewriter paper surrounding you, and you pull your fountain pen from your mouth with a tired smile, stitched together just for him… 

KO. The big gold belt. Eddie Munson, heavyweight champion of the world.  

“Hey, Hildy,” he says, sliding down the short handrail into the typing pool, just because he knows it’ll make you roll your eyes and laugh. And it totally does, a croaky little giggle rasping out of your lips. “What’s the scoop?”

“Don’t you dare come any closer.” Your voice, your outstretched hand, makes Eddie freeze in a rigged marionette’s pose. It’s like your words have actual alchemic pull, how powerless he is to obey you and shit. “Let me just…”

“Seriously?” Eddie lets his arms drop, playing with a ball of elastic bands from the desk he sits on as you painstakingly reorganize your papers. “Y’know, I really should have an early preview of this, given I’m the star of the goddamn article and all. What if I object? What if you paint me in, like, an unflattering light? I could sue. Character defamation.”

“You’re taking care of that defamation all on your own, darling,” you yawn, the punch of your words not quite hitting like they usually would as you stagger across the newsroom to him. You’re exhausted–Eddie can see it. The deep shadows under your pretty eyes, new ink stains appearing on your fingers every day. You’re jerky and shaky, overcaffeinated to the point that the drug ain’t even working anymore. You’re working yourself to the bone. It’s been like this for ages; every spare moment that Eddie doesn’t see you, you’re playing catch up for college applications. “But no. Not ‘til it’s cooked and printed. My portfolio needs this article for a lead-in and it has to be bulletproof. Watertight. Unassailable. Other words for–”

“--perfect?” Eddie steps in, tossing the elastics over his shoulder and tugging you closer so that you’re just about sitting in his lap. “In that case, you chose a real winner of a subject.”

“Eddie.”

“No, seriously! Trailer park nobody with a fantasy game club. Wah-wah. I don’t envy the amount of fluffing you probably have to do to make it remotely appealing to… whoever’s in charge of reading that shit.” 

“Admissions board,” you supply. You’re close enough that Eddie can taste your perfume and honestly, he’s doing a great job of not just licking it clean off your neck. “And I know this is one of your self-pity rally cries, and I won’t entertain it. Besides, it’s not just about you. It’s about Hellfire. The whole… well, I’m not saying any more. You’re just gonna have to read it and find out.” 

“But I want my ego massaged,” Eddie pitifully whines, right out his nose. He clutches onto you harder, the pressure of your body against his alleviating the pressure of his total failure. His breath snags as you, so tired that you’re nearly trembling, kiss him softly. 

“Mm, let’s compromise. I can massage something else,” you hum against his chasing lips, but something saintly touches him before you get the chance to move your inky hand. He uh-uhs you. 

“Much as I appreciate the offer and will immediately curse myself for turning you down the second I get back to the trailer… you’re worn out, Lace. Seriously.” Eddie flicks a lock of your hair out of your face. Were you always like this, even when you were queen bitch? Did anyone ever think to check in on you before? “You been sleepin’? At all?”

“I have a countdown to my future and a convict father taking up residence on my couch. Of course I’m not sleeping. I’m optimizing,” you snit in the sleepiest voice he’s ever heard, your head is lolling against his shoulder. The pout you’re wearing makes Eddie want to bundle you right back to Forest Hills, tuck you up in his grody sheets and not let the rest of the world in ‘til you’ve got your strength back. Just you, him, some records. He’d read to you from The Silmarillion, because that was a surefire way to send you unconscious in seconds. 

“I just need to get this article done and then I’m�� I’m good. It’s out of my hands,” you croak.

“Then it’s… NYU’s problem, right?” says Eddie.

“Columbia,” you murmur, “with Emerson as a safety.” 

“Lofty safety.”

“I’m a lofty girl. But you know what? I’m gonna get in.”

A pang in the key of dread hits Eddie in the throat. “I believe that.”

“But you know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because of a silly little story I wrote about you.” You curl Eddie’s hair around your finger and he wonders if you can feel the physical sensation of him melting. Dripping all over you like a pathetic soft serve. “It’s so beyond comprehension but… You’re gonna make my dreams come true, Eddie Munson. I can feel it.”

About time I returned the favor, huh? is what he wants to say, but it’s not the time and it’s not the place and he thinks you might be drifting off in his arms. So he just breathes you in, and takes the win.

—

One thing Ray Doevski was always known to do was move. Not so much in a without exercise, the body devours itself kind of fashion, but in a without constantly one-upping oneself, the self devours itself kind of fashion. With Ray, moving was always some new business venture, some new property acquisition. Some other new reason for a cocktail party, so your mom would have an excuse to pretty herself up and you’d make your on-cue cameo, sweeping through the room and waving at all the important people your father had charmed and collected like stamps. And like stamps, the people he tended to collect all got more valuable with age. Ray liked old money, even if your family was on the newer end of the see-saw.

You saw all that for what it was now. Running the big scamola, charming these people out of pocket with that ugly Hawkins High class ring on his finger. Gold, garish, glaring, a glimmering green stone set right in the center. You hated that thing. 

So, to see someone so diligently dedicated to movement and momentum sit docile on the sofa is pretty fucking disturbing. With that ankle monitor permanently welded to his leg, Ray can’t do so much as stand outside for a smoke without the heat coming down on him. Such are the conditions of his parole. It’s a humiliating fate, watching someone so previously well-kempt rot before you. 

And more disturbing still, your father seems… not unhappy about his situation. As far as a man on house arrest goes, he’s not angry. He’s not irritable, he doesn’t even seem that frustrated. It’s strange. He’d even asked you to borrow a couple of your books to keep him occupied. That threw you. He’d never taken an interest in your voracious love for literature before… but boredom does absolute downright Invasion of the Body Snatchers type shit to a man.

He smiles at you from the corner of the sofa as you come in from an evening shift at the bookstore, your worn copy of Answered Prayers by Truman Capote in hand. It sends a cold dart through your tummy. 

“You!” comes a snarl and your elbow is being snatched before you can even regain your bearings. 

“What the f–”

Your mother slams her bedroom door so hard it seems to shake the trailer. It occurs to you that you haven’t stood inside her bedroom in weeks–months, maybe–or even seen inside of it save for the odd glance. Even then, it was always the sad staging of dresses and hose strewn across the bed, glasses with scarlet staining sitting on the nightstand and the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume growing old and flat and stale. But she’d straightened the place up– now the bedsheets sat tight around the corners of the mattress, and Gloriana’s jewelry was tidied away somewhere. No used wine glasses to behold. Like housekeeping had breezed through. 

She told you she worked as a maid once, ‘For about a minute. Before your father rescued me.’

“What’s your problem?” you snipe, rubbing your pinched elbow through your sweater sleeve. 

Your mother exhales a furious stream of smoke through her grit teeth, Dunhill poised, lit and ready. “You have to do something with him!” 

“Me?!” you hiss back. Alarm sets off a roil in your stomach. You’d made incredibly delicate work of avoiding your father since he landed on the other side of the trailer’s formica table, notching it all down to I’m eighteen, I’m about to graduate, I’ve got work to do! All of which is definitely true, but you’d padded it out a little. 

Padded it out with the time you spent with your lips on Eddie Munson’s lips, sure, but…

“Yes, you!” Gloriana spits, “Don’t think I’ve noticed how you’ve been skirting around him since he came back. Shouldn’t you be over the moon with yourself?”

“I am. I am over the moon.” Greatest lie you’d ever told. “He’s back! Hurray! We’re all happy families again. Do we get the house back? Do I get my car?”

Your mother’s lip lifts into a little smirk. “Oh, Lacy. Has someone gone and turned your head about Daddy? Knocked him off his pedestal?”

See, your mother’s always had this thing– this seething jealousy about the way you looked up to your father. Not necessarily because you never looked up to her the same way (you’d written plenty in your journal about the vapidity of being a ‘society wife’, as she definitely was– a kind of cornfed Midwestern Slim Keith, an ex-pageant girl from the unremarkable middle point of Hawkins who benefitted entirely from her once-poor husband’s grafting), but because you were there at all. Yearning for his approval and robbing his attention. 

Not like you ever got much of either. 

“You want I should call the cops and tell them he’s been running phone scams from the trailer?” 

Your mom lets out a little huff that could be mistaken for a laugh. “He just sits there, all day long. And when he’s not sitting, he’s curtain twitching.”

Just like you’d thought. Rear Window. Danger zone. 

“This place could use a neighborhood watch,” comes the pith through your nerves, “Has he seen anything good, at least?”

Gloriana rolls her eyes at you, hooded with the pretense of as if I’d tell you. “That’s the other thing. He doesn’t talk. But he does ask questions.” 

“Like?” you ask, after a rough swallow that alerts you to how dry your throat has suddenly gotten.

Finely penciled eyebrows quirk. It reminds you of how much your mother can resemble Ava Gardner, when she puts some chutzpah into it. “Better get out there if you want to keep him from his suspicions, is all I’m saying.” 

As if she knows more than she’s letting slip. 

“Shouldn’t you be over the moon? Aren’t you happy that he’s out?” You turn the mirror on her. Gloriana’s eyelids flicker, as if she’s exhausted by the mere question. 

“Of course I am. Don’t be ridiculous,” she sighs. “But some things… were easier. Before. You and I didn’t need to pretend–”

That we liked each other. 

“Yeah.” You snip right into her sentence because although you’re well aware of the scope of your mother’s feelings toward you, it still stings to hear it said out. She’s still your mom, after all. Or, she should be. 

Standing in this room is making you nauseous. 

“I’ll keep him occupied for a while.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

Moments later, you’re tossing a pack of cards on the little formica breakfast table. It used to be a universal language in your household, when your father was still feigning interest in you. He taught you to play cards, and taught you how to cheat at them. You only retained one of those things. Little miracles.

“Want to deal?”

Ray slowly closes the cover on Answered Prayers and rises to the table. 

“Why don’t you give it a try?” he says, a smile playing around his mouth. You resist the pull to roll your eyes, as if he’s bestowing such an honor on you—and wonder when exactly you did stop worshiping him.

Sometime between the last time you’d seen the back of his hand and the guilty verdict, you’re guessing. 

You lay out his hand, and yours. He archly remarks, “Gin?”

“I’ve gotten better.”

“You’ve gotten a lot of things, haven’t you?” Ray says, focusing on his cards. “Lot of things have changed.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look, I admit, I came on a little… strong that first night I came home.” Strong was one word for it; you’d call it more of a three-hour cross examination delivered while you were trapped inside an iron maiden. You’d shed as little light on the whole Munson situation as you could. He gave me a ride once or twice. We go to school together, what do you expect? “But can you blame me? With you and your mother living in… this place? I had to know. To be sure that you were safe.”

You want to think, he doesn’t give a shit about safety. He gives a shit about treason. About me fraternizing with his enemy’s offspring, or whatever. But the way he says it gives you pause. 

“It’s not so bad,” you shrug, swapping out a card. “It’s cozy.”

We’re not cozy people.

Ray takes a dig into the stock pile himself, regarding you with a curious look. “See what I mean? You seem… more willing to accept your circumstances. It’s interesting.”

The line between Ray Doevski praising and insulting you is like fishing line; depends on what he’s baiting you with. Accepting one’s circumstances was usually Doevskian for accepting failure.

“What, did you expect me to be kicking up tantrums about not having a clawfoot bathtub anymore? Because I’m not,” you smirk, “I’ve even adjusted to the notion of not always having hot water.”

Your mind flashes back to the small, square shower in the Munson trailer and you make a mental note to ask Eddie how his water heated to boiling within seconds. 

“That, I could personally never get used to.”

“Plumbing wasn’t so great in IDOC, I take it?”

“No. But that didn’t register so high on my scale of problems inside.”

“Was it scary?”

“Yes.”

“And were you… in danger?”

A long beat settles between you. Ray shifts in the vinyl-backed seat, a tiny squeak the only sound between him and his apparent discomfort. Chills, again. You get a chill. 

“... yes,” he says, and meets your eyes. They’ve sunk a fraction more than the last time you’d looked into them. Some of the gray shocks in his hair have turned white. Scary, to witness real evidence of your parents growing old. And frightened. “Lacy, I’d done badly by a lot of people. Some of them were even inside with me, and they wanted retribution, and that was fair. I could live with that,” depending on what end of a shiv he was on, you guessed, “But I also did badly by you. Very badly.”

Ah, acknowledgement that their father has lied about their criminal enterprises for the better part of her life–just what every little girl wants. It wasn’t as if you had still staunchly believed the not guilty campaign that your parents had spearheaded throughout Ray’s trial, even in the face of stony evidence. He was guilty; you had to figure out if you cared about the crimes, or the fact that he’d led you to believe he was so much better than he was. 

But this is the first time he’s really copped to it. 

You’re not quite sure what his admission is supposed to do, so you stare at your spades.  

“It makes sense that you don’t trust me anymore,” Ray goes on, “But I love you, and I always will. All I’ve ever wanted is to provide the best for you, the very best I could. Better than that, even– because that’s what you deserve. The whole world, Lacy.” 

Stomach churning, you wish he’d stop calling you that. Your nickname sounds wrong in his mouth. A world apart from the girl he thinks you are. 

“I just feel like you could’ve done that without skimming money off children’s charities,” you hear yourself saying before you register that your mouth is drawling off the words, “And laundering money through those rentals. And… what was it, drug trafficking? I lost count.”

Knowingly, you brace for explosion. Ray flipping the table, scattering his hand and laying an open palm across your face, the dull thunk of his Hawkins High class ring making contact with your cheekbone. That’d be something. Something solid. Something you could point to, that said I know who he is, I tried to stand up to him, I’m not him, please don’t think that I am.

But he doesn’t, so the line of your shoulders tense for no reason. He digs a cigarette out of the soft pack laying on the table and flicks it towards you with a fingertip. His right hand, ring finger bare. He’s not wearing it. 

He is wearing a sad grin of humility, shrugging like, well, kid, you got me there. Dead to rights.

He looks like somebody else. 

“So, how’s your life been, Lacy Doevski?” A charm dances around his tone, the way a flame dances around the edge of a photograph that doesn’t want to burn. 

And despite your best fucking instincts, despite the way that nickname falls out of his mouth like upchuck, despite the fact that you should hate him, there’s a change in the lighting around him that you just cannot help but want to engage with. 

“You really wanna know?”

“I really wanna know. Tell me everything. The road to Columbia, how’s that going? The newspaper. This job at the bookstore in town. Your friend, uh, Nancy, right? She seems like a nice kid. I know Ted Wheeler, a little bit. Went to school with him and her mom, Karen. And everybody knew Karen, but, uh, don’t mention that to Nancy!” He steals another card from the stock pile, but doesn’t discard one from his hand. You decide not to mention it. “I want to know everything, Lacy. I’ve been way too distracted with things that don’t matter as much as you. Call this… makin’ up for lost time.” 

Your shoulders shrug into themselves, like when you were a little kid and he’d let you sit on the big leather chair in his office after you’d sat outside the door for a solid hour, begging to come in. The corners of your lips pick up.

“Just about to finish my applications. I’m submitting this writing portfolio–”

“--I thought we talked about business school?”

You seize. You had. An effort in setting you up for a future of undebatable prestige started to sound more like sending you off to the meet market, the more your father talked about it. Business school is where you’ll meet young men of excellent character, Lorelei. Excellent family stock. It won’t hurt if they see that you’re smart, too. 

… why the everloving fu-huuuck would you go to business school when you spend every spare second of the day giving yourself carpal tunnel and preaching about that Woolfe chick, Lace? Nope, you need someplace with climbing ivy and people whose dissenting opinions on cliterature you can cat fight with. Eddie Munson, leaning over the counter at the Bookstore and shedding light on your secret desire to bury yourself in novels and pretention with his ever-burning flare of perception. 

Cliterature? you’d asked, brow an arch. 

Classic literature. As written by the fairer sex. Bronte and broads.

Well, Jesus Christ. Who died and let you lead the third wave of feminism, Munson?

“Um…” You hadn’t prepared a good defense for this. You felt a stab of nausea.

“It’s okay!” your dad chuckles, tapping you on the wrist in reassurance, “You changed your mind. That’s fine. But it’s still Columbia, right?”

“God, of course. Couldn’t imagine anywhere else.” 

“Good.” The smile reaches his eyes. “Sorry, your portfolio.”

“Right, uh– I’m just about polishing it off and I’ve got a great lead in, my last article for the Streak…” you trail off. A warning signal travels down your brain stem. Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him about Hellfire. You’ve got to keep him as far away as–

“About what?” Ray asks brightly. Picks up a card. Discards another. You see a twitch in his mouth. 

“An after school club,” you blurt. “My, um. My friend Ronnie’s in it. We were… lab partners. Junior year. Dissected frogs together.”

“Yeah, that really bonds people for life, huh?” Ray says. Not a trace of irony. “Well, I look forward to reading it. If you want me to. I know writers can be very precious about their work.” 

And their subjects.

“Uh, well. We’ll see. I might not want to jinx it after I send off my applications.” 

“Superstitious,” he smiles, “Just like your old man.”

“And I have a boyfriend.” The blurting just doesn’t let up from you, eh? Like you have to cover all your bases while Ray is swept up in this gregarious mood. “And he goes to… Ithaca. I think.”

Your father makes a face that stands up to some interpretation of, la-di-da, lookit you! and Christ, you’re nearly sure he’s bought it. College guy… he’d kind of fallen by the wayside since you took that trip to Saturday morning detention. He’d better fucking pick up if you call now, if he hadn’t gone back to Vermont or wherever. 

“Well, look, I’m glad you’ve kept that momentum even given… everything. And I’m glad you seem to be surrounding yourself with good, level-headed people.” People he would have called nobodies eight months ago. People you would have called nobodies eight months ago. “Like Nancy. And this Ronnie. And that you’ve stayed out of trouble, as much as you can.”

You swear you see his eyes flick to the window beside you. In the direction of the trailer across the way, where a warm yellow light glows from the bedroom. There’s a shake in your breath, but Ray isn’t quite done. 

“I’m incredibly proud of the woman you’re becoming, Lacy. And look at that–” His hand slaps down on the table, revealing his melds. “--gin! I thought you said you got better at this, kid!”

“You took me by surprise, Daddy. What can I say.”

—

“Quit that. That’s explosive cargo you’re flickin’.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Tap, tap, tap. One of the hinges of this rusty, crusty, dusty old domed metal lunchbox is loose, and you can’t stop toying with it. “This is what you’ve been carrying your motherlode around in?” 

“What about your mother’s load?” Eddie says, scraping the lunchbox a couple of inches away from you on the bench. Still, you reach for it, and he smacks your hand away. “Respect the receptacle, please. It’s a thing of legend.”

“Seems like a dangerously obvious hiding place for a bunch of illegal substances,” you say, brow creased. Had Eddie put any thought into his operation thus far? Because this seems extremely haphazard. He’s always swinging that goddamn thing around school, and one look inside the false bottom could put him away for a long time, if the Reagan administration had anything to do with it. 

“Exactly! Making it the last place anyone would think to look!” Eddie beams, flicking the lid open. “Class A drugs? Why, no, officer, these are my party pretzels. From home.” A deeply tragic baggie of crushed pretzel pieces lands between the two of you. Your frown deepens a degree or two. Eddie shrugs, shaking his curls out a little and starts picking through the detritus in the lunch box. Other than a couple of dime bags, a box of Camels, a lighter and some loose Twizzlers, his load’s light.

“How exactly does one get into the business of selling hydroponics et cetera out of a lunchbox, Eddie?” 

“Why, you lookin’ to diversify your criminal skillset?” That sly poke. You roll your eyes, jiggling your mary jane’d foot and pick up a bag of Mary Jane herself.

“I’m just curious about the trajectory! The more I learn about you, the more it occurs to me that you’re possibly the uncoolest drug dealer in history. You know, stereotypically speaking.” 

“The answer I think you’re looking for is that I’m a big, big boy,” Eddie rasps, taking an exaggerated chomp out of one of the liquorice ropes, “and I contain multitudes. Shit happens. Sometimes it leads to you selling pot. Et cetera.”

“What kind of shit?”

He considers you for a second, but you’re bright-eyed and curious about him. He jumps back from you when you’re like this sometimes, like he just touched a hot stove. You’d give him shit for it, but you did the same thing. The Twizzler waves in your face. “If I didn’t have such a brain-damage inducing crush on you, I’d think you were a narc.”

 “Eddie.” Though your heart does jump like a needle on a scratched record when he says crush. Particularly when he says crush like that. But he could elaborate on that for you later. 

“Fine, fine, fine– I’m not gonna get into the finer points of it now, but… basically, some shit went down with my dad that meant I had to move in with Wayne and working at the plant isn’t actually the cash cow that you’d think it is, and neither is me picking up barback shifts at the Hideout so… I hit up my dad’s friend Rick who said he’d help me out if I ever needed it and here we are. Lunchbox and all. Half ounces for halfwits at horrible parties.” Eddie toughens into this tense line as he speaks, like he’s halfway embarrassed about having to do this. “Means to an end, y’know?” 

You nod, though you want to prod further so bad. “Do what they expect of you until you don’t have to anymore.”

Exactly, Eddie mouths with narrowed eyes, another bite into the Twizzler. “You know what tune I’m singin’.”

Better than the both of you realize, it seems.

“This whole,” you gesture around the circular clearing, the place everyone knows you come to meet Munson to score product, “place does kind of look like the kind of hotspot where one might catch Goody Proctor dancing with the Devil.” 

It’s your first time out here–you’d elegantly skirted the responsibility of ever having to pick up for your group of friends but it’s… delightfully creepy. Whispers cragging through the tree branches. Eddie’s presence knocking you off guard at every turn–well, not you. Not anymore. 

“Rumors are kind of starting to add up. Satanic worship, human sacrifice… girls panties going missing. That’s all I’m saying.” 

A maddened grin peeling over his features, Eddie scooches closer to where you sit, perched on top of the rotting picnic table. “Why do you think I lured you out here, Lace?” His fingertips race up your calf and you spill a giggle, squirming away. “The Dark Lord requires another infernal bride!” He leaps up, ticklish touch attacking your sides ‘til you’re shrieking, not working quite as hard as you could to beat him away. 

“Ed–Eddie, st-aaahap!”

“It’s all cool! It’s no big deal! Just take your clothes off and sign my yearbook! Then, hey presto, the big guy’ll give you whatever you want.”

Eddie’s hands slow to a still on your hips, your uncrossed legs caging his sides. His lids fall, mouth prepping a pout for yours, but you press your thumb into his lips. 

“Whatever I want?” you whisper, eyes narrowing. 

A smirk flickers across Eddie’s mouth, a puff of breath pressing his mouth into your thumb until the tip is wedged between the edge of his teeth. Your breathing stills for a second and you resist pushing it further into his mouth. 

“Shit,” he murmurs, moving your hand across his cheek so he can kiss you full on the mouth. His tongue is needy and searching, making you curve into him just a touch. You can feel the prickle of his stubble coming up. Eddie with a five o’clock shadow… “I’d give you whatever you want, Lace. John Hancock in the Book of the Beast or no.” 

The wettened peaks of his lips go straight for your jugular. You two have shared enough mouth-to-mouth episodes for him to know that feeling his tongue against your pulse is liable to make you do nutty things. 

“Tell me what you want, dahling one,” Eddie’s mouth crawls up your jaw in an approximation of Bela Lugosi, up to your ear, where he knows you’re ticklish too. You feel him smile at your breathy laugh. “Anything you desire, anything beneath the blazing sun and under the heaving mud, anything under the banner of… the Hawkins township, because I don’t have a lot of gas money right now…”

“I want you,” you struggle through a sigh–his stupid mouthy beautiful mouth, “to get rid of that goddamn lunchbox. At least, for illegal purposes. Keep it for pretzels.”

Eddie honks out a nasally groan far too close to your ear and you jerk back. “No! You’re supposed to be all, ‘I absolutely indubitably want you, Eddie,’ and then we’re supposed to, ee-ee,” he thrusts his clothed hips into yours animatedly, “on this very table top. Until you realize it’s covered in woodlice.”

“Well, I can’t fuck you if you’re in prison. I’m telling you, that old tin thing falls apart in the hallway and you’re being tried as a full adult!” Wait, did he say woodlice? 

“You worry too much. S’gonna make you warty. Plus,” he says, unlatching himself from you and tossing his effects back in the tin box, “this is a family heirloom. Al Munson made good on his last straight job at the plant for a grand total of six hours, and all he got was this lousy lunchbox.”

Speaking of Al… 

“Y’know, I was thinking… If it wasn’t for your dad…” Your hands knit in your lap as you pretend to look around for woodlice.  

“‘If it wasn’t for Al’ what?” Eddie’s tone is flat, “Grand theft auto would decrease tenfold from here to Bloomington? Less diner waitresses would have complexes about men who abuse the free refill system? Starcourt Mall wouldn’t have burned down?”

Your eyebrows knit. Okay, pause. “What has he got to do with Starcourt Mall?”

“I’m not a hundred percent, but I have a theory,” Eddie says, arms bound across his chest. “It involves horseshit bombs and the Russian mafia.”

“And you told me my Larry Kline theory was crazy!”

“Well, funny you mention because my idea actually runs kind of concurrent to that–” 

“No, let’s put a pin in that for a second,” you cut him off, “It’s… my dad. I think he might actually be somewhat rehabilitated. Knocked down a peg, maybe? He actually displayed a hint of diffidence, Eddie. I think I … kind of have Al to thank for that.”

Sure, there was an air of initial disconcert to you and your dad’s little game of gin rummy, but the more you ruminated on it, the more it felt… threatless. Your mom had even joined you for a grim dinner of mac and cheese, where the three of you had nearly fondly reminisced on the pasta alla vodka from a restaurant they always went to on New Years Eve in Indianapolis. Maybe that’s what it took; a stint in prison to crack his ego like the Liberty Bell, and now Ray Doevski had to bear the humility like everyone else. Maybe he’d make good on his promise, making up for lost time.

But the disbelief, and, in fact, concern that Eddie is eyeballing your way says something different. 

“Don’t thank Al for anything.”

“I’m just saying. Dad and I actually talked last night, for the first time in… ever, really, and it didn’t feel like he was sizing me up. It was.. He was… nice.”

“Lacy.” Eddie’s shoulder’s sag. He hops up on the table next to you, bringing you knee to knee. The tear in his jeans rubs against the webbed nylon of your tights. When he looks at you, it’s with rounded eyes that could very well have been checking you for brain damage. “I don’t mean to blow out your candle or anything, but coming from someone as well versed in the tales of a crooked father who never really changes as I… I don’t buy this Ray of sunshine bit.”

Your hackles start to raise. Hey. Just because Al Munson was a famed and patterned piece of shit didn’t necessarily mean–

Eddie clocks you immediately, your crunched brow and pursed mouth. His hands go up, requesting pause. “Look. This is your first time at the convict parent rodeo, so I know how it is. Whirlwind. They always roar in in some Cadillac full of promises, right, swearing to make everything they fucked up right by you. But it never sticks, Lace. They’re hardwired to not follow through, okay? At least not on anything that doesn’t serve their own vain little agenda. With Al, it’s always some big dick scheme, something that’s gonna set us, and by us I mean him, up for life. No matter how good it feels to have them back, it– it always feels better when they’re gone.”

His searching eyes dart to his hands, as if he’d said a touch too much. On the one hand, a couple of painful pop rocks explode in your chest. You always feel this way whenever he mentions Al– Eddie’s let you in on glimpses here and there, revealing that he hasn’t quite shucked off the essence of being a hurt kid. It presents you with the super challenging desire to soothe the memory, but you dance around it at a distance. The dad stuff, it’s still sticky for the both of you. But now that Ray is back, and Al is back, you kind of have to talk about it. It figures pretty keenly into… whatever the fuck you two think you’re doing.

Then, on the other hand, a quick flash of resentment burns in you. Yeah, your dad is hardwired–why can’t mine be different? 

“Better?” you ask. 

“Maybe–not better,” Eddie rectifies, his rings knocking against his palm. “But easier. It’s always easier when he’s gone, even if I want him to be there. At least I know what to expect when he doesn’t call or write or whatever, which is nothing.”

“So I should do the same? Expect nothing?” You can’t hide the bite in your voice, and you can’t meet his eyes when he looks at you. 

“Lacy,” he says, searching hard for you in there, “You know what kind of guy your dad is. All the pomp and circumstance in the world won’t change what you’ve already seen. What you’ve already been through. This nice guy shit is a tactic– you…”

A heavy-ringed hand pulls your face to his, forcing you to look him in his earnest, gleaming eyes. 

“You deserve more than that.” 

Confusion with a sadness chaser churns in you. The metallic chill of Eddie’s rings against your cheek. A cooling comfort. Not a harsh sting. Not an open palm. A cradle. 

“I know you don’t believe me, for whatever reason, but you do deserve more than that.”

I still want you to be wrong, a voice hisses in the back of your head. Fucking Medusa rising.

“Yeah,” you nod in his hands, surrendering because it’s the right thing to say. “Yeah, of course I do. I’ll be careful. It’s fine.”

“And speaking of careful,” Eddie’s timbre hits a more suggestive spot, his hand falling from your jaw to your shoulder, “Harrington’s having a party on Friday, s’why I need fresh supplies.”

“Oh, really?” you mumble, mood not immediately perking up.

“Yes, really,” Eddie mocks, grip slipping to your waist. “I was thinking… y’know. Harrington’s house is big. Lotta rooms. Lotta beds…”

“Lot of intimacy at big parties,” you paraphrase Gatsby. “But the last time I was at Harrington’s… Is that such a good idea? Risking a repeat of teenage gladiator?”

“You were hardly gladiating, you were performing The Crab Monologues. Now, Carol, she wa–”

A scowl starts growing on your face. “Not helping your case.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry,” Eddie grins that bitten, private grin he deploys when he’s just about to lay one on you. “Will you show if I promise to protect you from wild redheaded assailants?”

“I’ll consider it. But that better include that little neighbor girl of yours, too,” you warn, suddenly reminded of the viscous stink-eye that Billy Hargrove’s stepsister had been throwing your way the last couple of times that you passed her in the trailer park. “Orphan Annie has it out for me for some reason.”

“You’re so cute when you’re paranoid.” 

“You have a woodlouse in your bangs.”“Wuagh! Where! Kill it!”

author's notes: christ it is GOOD TO BE BACK!!! if this feels like a part one to something, that is because it very much is, my friends. this was on its way to becoming a 20k+ chapter, which would freak me out actually so i decided to have some boundaries for once and split it in two. get you warmed up for what's to come. it's drama. btw. anyway on with the show - ohhh, you guys i have been listening to so much early-mid 00s emo in order to write this story. i realized that that's my secret weapon, because it's just as melodramatic as these two fucking dumbshits are. points to anyone who knows what the title of the chapter is a reference to (bonus points if they can find it a second time in a past chapter of this story) - flannery o'connor is of course a standard doevski pick for an author, but also a nod to maya hawke playing her in the biopic, which looks exquisite btw - back at it with the extremely rudimentary dnd references! i thought fear and loathing in luskan was fun - eddie WOULD know a ton about ancient greek mythology, specifically the goings on at the olympics, but not because he has any real vested interest in it but moreso because when he researches for a campaign he goes absolutely hard, like me with my 26 tabs open googling 'nail polish shades popular 80s teen girl bonne bell' - kick rocks! montague moment's over! but real quick-- what's munson? it is not hand, nor foot nor arm nor face, nor any other part... belonging to a man :) - yet another hellfire & ice fancast moment, i must present my personal pick for o'donnell-- it's gotta be allison janney, baby. less in the 10 things i hate about you guidance counselor vein, rather in the stepmom from juno vein. - 'hey hildy, what's the scoop?' had to get a his girl friday reference in somewhere, didn't i - answered prayers by truman capote is not only the cuntiest book ever written (capote essentially sold the secrets of his wealthy socialite friends in order to write it) but is also the latest ryan murphy adaptation - we stan jordan baker from the great gatsby in this house alright! that's all for this one! hope you enjoyed it, i know it's heavy on set up but next chapter will see us right back at casa de harrington for another blowout party, so... brace yourselves. please comment and reblog to support the work, thank you hellcats i love you forever

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

🫧 ━━ JOHNNY UTAH X CHUBBY F READER IMAGINE𓈒

𓈒part II 𓈒tw: utah being a little shit 𓈒based on @tedsbogusworld’s 🤖

━━ in the morning, bodhi reams you out for embarrassing him

━━ he says that calling him a “spoiled little bitch momma’s boy who still pisses the bed” was just taking it too far

━━ you have to admit, that might have been overkill

━━ as usual, you’re fighting.

━━ you can remember a time where the two of you were thick as thieves, buddies, friends

━━ you can remember a time he used to defend you from bullies rather than join in on their ridicule

━━ you go to work with tears in your eyes, but you’re only crying because you can’t punch something

you like the aquarium. honestly, you could spend your whole life working here if it paid more than minimum wage.

your favorite duty, by far, is manning the touch tank and getting to see the excitement that ripples through children and adults alike as they slip their fingers over the smooth, sticky manta rays and get their hands abducted by the resident octopus.

you’re glad that you’re doing this today, especially after the nasty dispute with your once loving, protective brother.

however, the good mood isn’t meant to last.

bodhi’s friend, liz, is here. the new guy is hanging off her arm. it looks like they’re on a date, and you really don’t want to deal with being perceived, so you excuse yourself and duck into a nearby gift shop to regain composure.

it’s stupid, that you’ve become so afraid of bodhi’s in-crowd. You pride yourself on being brave—or at least you used to. swimming out past where you could touch, exploring for snakes and bugs, looking for sharks in the tides, riding the tallest drop rides at six flags.

you understand what the metaphor ‘a shell of what I once was’ means all too well. it’s just…they’re so goddamn mean. teasing you, calling you names when they think you’re not listening, playing stupid pranks that they know will get an explosive reaction.

and no matter how many pounds of pressure you tried to put behind your bite, it just seemed to always get worse. so now, you avoid them at all costs. and bodhi, too.

you peruse around the little gift shop, feeling the plushies and thumbing through the rainbow clusters of keychains. hoping they’ll be gone by the time you make it back out on the floor.

no such luck—in fact, lady luck herself seems to have some personal vendetta against you on this sunny day. you hit solid chest on your way outside of the gift shop, and look up to start an apology. that embarrassed look on your face transforms into a scowl when it turns out that—Jesus, what’s his name?—is smiling down at you. and it’s not a pleasant smile.

liz’s voice could cut diamonds, awful and grating as it is. “oh, hey, cutie. we were just looking for you. Johnny wants to meet your friends.”

“great, he can introduce himself.” walking away is the best decision right now. it usually is when it comes to assholes, but a wide hand circles the entire upper half of your arm to halt you. and your arm is not small, so, yeah, you're a little bit intimidated. will you admit it? hello no.

you swivel and face him like he’s not a foot taller than you and probably able to at least beat you in an arm wrestling match if nothing else, glare sharpened into a knife that you hope cuts deeper than it seems to; he looks humored.

“let me go.”

he stays silent and grinning, liz’s perfect henchman, and it inspires seething rage. the kind of fury that makes you forget you’re at work, has your vision turning black around the edges. “john.” of course, now that he’s pissing you off again you remember his name, because that’s all he’s done since you first met—make you angry. “your balls are in grave danger if you don’t get the fuck off me.”

“just johnny’s fine,” he tells you, tugging you closer instead of letting you go and heeding your threat.

you grab his wrist to try and pry him off, because fuck if you’re gonna let some city boy manhandle you around in your own territory at liz’s bitchy discretion, but queen insufferable herself cuts the tension with her sharp voice. “y/n’s in school to be a marine biologist,” she tells johnny, who’s too busy focused on tormenting you to pay attention to her. “isn’t that cute? still hanging on to those childish dreams.”

“oh, shut the hell up, liz, at least I’m trying to make something of my life instead of whoring around south bay and surfing.”

neither of them look phased. It makes you feel small, insignificant, stupid, humiliated, all of those nasty adjectives that you just can’t seem to get away from in daily life. maybe you would actually risk your job and hit liz—because you know she’d have to notice a fist—but johnny has both your arm and wrist trapped now, and his grip is not kind enough to permit escape.

liz looks bored. “so, come on, y/n, introduce us to your ocean friends.”

you glower at johnny, who still has most annoyingly and frustratingly not taken his eyes off you. “can’t do that unless you tell boris, here, to let me the fuck go.”

liz gives the command and her dog listens well. you briefly consider running, but after a once over of his long distal limbs, you know you wouldn’t get very far on the stubs you call legs without him catching up. ever defeated, you take them to the touch tank, waiting for a space to open.

liz’s entitlement makes a surprise appearance, of course, and she taps a sunburned family on the shoulder. “excuse me, we work here. just gotta get through.”

“no, we don’t work here,” you tell the confused father, “i work here, and take your time.” you shoot liz a glare. “we can be patient.”

“jeez,” liz sighs, although you win this round, and only after the family in front steps away do you lead them up to lean elbows over the rippling artificial tide pool, glowing with sea foam backlight, filled with pretty black mantas gliding along the sides and little crabs fighting under seaweed and tiny fish flitting about.

“put your hand in,” you tell johnny, motioning to the water. “this is what you came for, right? scared of fish, johnathan?”

he chuckles at you and shakes his head. “do they bite?”

what a pussy. “dunno, why don’t you ask the giggling toddlers over there forearm deep?”

was something you said funny? are you just a natural comedian? should you go into stand up comedy instead of marine biology? all these things you wonder while his lazy, devil may care grin widens.

his hand goes in, slowly, and god bless harold’s tiny three hearts, he crawls right up to the newcomer curiously.

johnny looks nervous while the little blue guy explores his hand. you chuckle, trying to be mean but actually finding it a smidge cute—okay, the octopus is cute. NOT johnny and his novel trepidation. nope. this man is not cute. he’s a fucking asshole.

harold wraps around his fingers, squeezes and grips between the digits, slides a tendril over his wrists and holds gently, saying hello. once you’re sure johnny’s trapped, you pat him on the back. “good luck, think he likes you.” then, you walk away.

“hey, he won’t let me go!” johnny calls after you, and you relish in that frustrated tone. feels good to win, yeah it does.

“he will by closing,” you say, not bothering to turn around, but also, and to your credit, not adding ‘asshole’ to the end of that sentence.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

You’d been staring him down for what felt like an eternity, one of his knives clutched in your hand. The point was stuck into the wooden table in front of you, leaving a scattering of little divots and associated piles of wood granule all across the surface as you spun it lazily.

Daryl simply stared back. He’d tested the bonds he found himself in and had known from the first tug that they were secure. The only thing he could do was stare back. He felt like you were trying to get a scan on him with x-ray vision or something... His blue eyes darted back to his knife in your hand and then back up to your face, which was partially hidden in shadow. 

“Am I scaring you?”

It was the first damn thing you’d said to him. His mind whirred as he tried to work out how to answer. Honesty was probably best. “I dunno,” he drawled. His voice was thick with rough gravel from the dryness in his throat. Plus, he had no idea how long it’d been since he’d said a word. “‘M tryin’ to work out whether I should be scared of ya or not. Ya knocked me out and tied me to a damn pipe. But ya also stitched up my leg and put clean bandages on everythin’ else. The hell am I s’posed to think?”

For some reason this made you smile slightly, and you leaned back, putting your boots up on the table, surveying him over your propped up feet. He was annoyed to experience some burst of warmth in his chest when the corner of your mouth had tugged upwards like that—a completely involuntary bodily response. Shit. He didn’t even know who the fuck you are. Why the hell was he attracted to you when you were holding him captive? 

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts again. “Fair analysis,” you said. You flipped his knife around in your hand skillfully. “I want to know why the hell you were lurking around my camp. And if you give me a decent answer maybe you won’t need to be afraid.”

“Lurkin’? I wasn’t lurkin’ ‘round anywhere, alrigh’? I was trackin’ a goddamn deer,” he growled back. “And I still dunno how ya managed to sneak up on me.” He was grumpy about that... Well, that and being tied to the pipe.

You smiled again before getting up. Daryl felt a wash of apprehension, but you simply moved around the back of the dilapidated couch and clicked on a lantern which illuminated a deer carcass hanging in the next room. “You mean this deer?”

Daryl sighed, recognizing the big buck immediately. “Yeah. Tha’s my damn deer.” He was thinking of all the hungry people back home. 

“So, I suppose this is your bolt then?” you asked, holding it up so he could see it. Daryl nodded. “Just for the record... this is my deer. I’ve been watching him all year. I happened to be tracking him too that day, hoping for a shot.”

“Is that why I’m tied up to a damned pipe?” Daryl asked gruffly. “Because I happened to be trackin’ the same deer you were trackin’? And way I see it, I’m the one that shot him, so that makes him my deer.” He wondered if he would regret asserting that. You had the upper hand here for sure...

“No, we already covered why you’re tied to a pipe. You were too close to my camp. And—” you stepped into the next room and rotated the deer on the rope it was suspended from. “—we both shot him.” There was an arrow wound on both sides, yours and his. “Not exactly Cinderella, but I have to admit that it does seem oddly fated, don’t you think?”

Daryl simply stared at you, his eyes slightly narrowed. “Look, I don’t give a shit ‘bout the damn deer anymore, okay? Sure, it would help people back home, but more than that I wanna get the fuck outta here. So, what do I gotta do to make that happen?” You only smiled at him again, and once more his heart jumped in his chest.  What the fuck... “We’ll see. Maybe tomorrow,” you said. And you clicked off the lantern. Daryl watched your progress through the room and into the next and then suddenly the little house was quiet. What in the fuck had this goddamn deer gotten him into? Prompt: “Am I scaring you?”

[therestofmyfandoms]

turnabout succession thoughts

parts 1 2 and 3

this ones gonna be a lil different, ill be adding thoughts as I play, then do a summary at the end. ill probably do this one under a read more

edit: i've finished, and yeah, glad i put it under a read more. just a massive block of bullet points under there, so i'll do my summary up here instead. full breakdown is under the cut. spoilers ahead!

apollo: loved his whole thing here. glad he still got to do the final blows to kristoph. phoenix did take over a lot, but i'm glad apollo was still there, yknow. also his bracelet! i know some people are probably like "great magic bracelet" and tbh the "power" is a little stupid, but i like that the bracelet technically has nothing to do with it? it's just something that tightens perfectly to your skin, and it feels like it gets "tighter" because you get more tense. fascinating

phoenix: mans is so mysterious. why do you not explain anything to anyone. please please please fucking tell your daughter she has a brother wtf. i get things are on a need-to-know basis with you but like. come on. that seems pretty need-to-know. also his fuckin hat camera thing!! oh my god!! man has been recording shit (presumably) this whold fucking time!!! what the fuck!!!!!!

trucy: never change queen i love you. been bossing people around since day fuckin one and no one can stop you. queen shit

klavier: this man. has been through. so fucking much. how are you still standing. how have you not collapsed under the anger and the grief and the stress youve been under?? baby boy please take a rest. please see a therapist. please im begging you

kristoph: what an evil man, but tbh? im still a little confused on his motive. why did he want to be so famous? why did he decide to kill so many people. why. mans a fuckin insane serial killer and yet. he still trusted his brother. maybe because klavier would've been harder to get rid of. the mishams, whatever, they're reclusive painters, no one would've noticed if they up and disappeared (technically). but klavier? man

conclusions: i love this game and i love apollo justice. thank you.

i called it i knew valant was gonna come back. yet he's only technically tangentially related to this case. suspicious......

vera. pretty..............

WHY does drew misham have that hair. fuckin mad scientist lookin ass

the fuckin. layer thing?? the minigame x-ray thing?? honestly super fun i want to do more

why did misham draw our cases???? how did he get this images when he has barely left his house at all?? im ngl i genuinely got a shiver down my spine when that got revealed like wtf. i felt like i was being watched

also didnt mention earlier but like. the envelope that nick gave trucy? fuckin. chekov's gun. deus ex machina. "this is a surprise tool that will help us later"-looking ass. thats so suspicious phoenix what the fuck

I HATE THIS STUPID BRUSHEL GUY I HATE HIS FACE WHY IS HE LIKE THIS

and hes gonna be a fuckin witness because of course he is goddamn it

and the trial's starting i do not feel prepared but what else is new

goddamn brushel. why do i have to look at him sweating. i hate this

klavier?? just fuckin flirting with apollo?? and my man just goes "anyways heres the point i was making" like my boy. my man please he wants your attention so bad hes so desperate

apollo goes "what if drew was a fake himself" and i suddenly caught on to his train of thought and felt like i slipped into the matrix. for a moment i felt so incredibly smart

"the... de.. vil...." vera please. did you just call kristoph the devil??

aaaaand of course this ties back to the case 7 years ago of course it does. phoenix "haunting the narrative" wright motherfucker. man please i just to play as apollo why are you bringing phoenix back into this

BABY KLAVIER THIS IS NOT A DRILL I REPEAT BABY KLAVIER

baby boy why are you wearing shades i cant see your pretty eyes.... baby your hair is so short why..... so young so pretty

oh right and phoenix and gumshoe are here. but klavier......

also calling it now valant is gonna be the second witness

in the meantime. did zak (shadi) actually do it???? did valant do it?? is perhaps my dislike of valant coloring my perception of the case?? so many questions so little time

fuckin called it there he is twirling his stupid baton. man idk what it is but i hate this guy so much

maybe he reminds me of max galactica. maybe i just have ptsd from the big top case. not sure

man also had a letter. but for a later time. hmm...

also where does the girl fit into this. isnt troupe gramarye a 3 person show? is the girl just. eye candy or somethin? did she also get a letter? or was she fully excluded from this whole thing?

speaking of girls theres a lot of guys in this courtroom. i miss maya. where's my favorite small medium at large?

klavier i love you PLEASE shut up about your music. no one cares

oh god oh no not the magician's grand prix please no

""ace attorney" Phoenix Wright" he did he said the line

"theres no proof he didnt do it, either" FUCKING THANK YOU. how long have we gone... with perfectly good explantions and reasonings, only for the prosecution to be like "yeah but i dont think they did therefore youre wrong" shyagzjfhsjks

fuck i know this evidence is forged but like. phoenix doesn't?? also is just the page fake?? is the whole book fake?? and klavier knows, right? didnt kristoph tell him that phoenix made-up evidence? though i got it from trucy, who got it from a mysterious man in the hallway. what the fuck is going on

god its such an obvious trap but theres literally nothing else i can do. it fits too well goddamn it

oh fuck and klavier's trying to warn me. god fuckin...

wait wait wait hold on. so we knew misham was a forger. we've known for years. it was brought up in court, in front of a judge. and they didnt arrest him???????? my only thought is that maybe they decided to "overlook" this crime in exchange for him cooperation but like. why

aha and im already seeing inconsistencies. misham is obviously covering for his client, he "never met them". vera, on the other hand, claims she met them face to face. a clear discrepancy, and now klavier's earlier (later?) freakout makes much more sense. hes been under the impression that phoenix is a liar and a cheat this whole time. obviously, he has no idea his brother's involvement in this whole this (tbf im still not clear on the details myself but dramatic irony at its finest)

MAN FUCKIN JUST DISAPPEARS ON THE WITNESS STAND. MY MAN YOU HAVE A CHILD WHERE ARE YOU GOING

OH MY GOD THE MAGATAMA??? ITS BACK????

just as a little aside as i embark on the mason system: looking at the court record, i see that kristoph and apollo have been added. both of them have (what i presume to be) their "present" descriptions, but their "past" ages. so apollo says "a greenhorn defense attorney. i call him apollo" and his age is 15. like first off. you did not meet apollo at 15 i call bullshit. plus kid is not a defense attorney he is in HIGH SCHOOL

anyway the kristoph one is funnier because it says he's 25 but "incarcerated for the murder of shadi smith" which has not happened yet. they dont even know shadi yet (well they do but. you get my point). okay aside over back to the game

awww its officer meekins. ill be honest i really was not expecting to run into him of all people

baby truce is the same as ever i see. she has immediately taken over phoenix's life and honestly? good for her

"i just dont know much about anything other than law" yeah thats what happens when you drop out of art school to save your crush from 2nd grade, phoenix. you end up knowing nothing

god fuckin. trucys mother. the woman in troupe gramarye. lamiroir. fuuuuuck

BABY VERA. SHES SO CUTE

WAIT WAIT WAIT BRUSHEL WAS THERE???? BRUSHEL WAS AT THE BOWL CLUB?????????

why does kristoph have a full study for a cell. what is this. what kinda rich asshole bullshit

black psyche-locks??? what does this mean...

okay wait im just now doing valant's locks. did they fucking shoot thalassa??? is that what happened to her??????? oh my god poor lamiroir....

no wait wait wait apollo has the same thing as trucy yeah but youre not implying what i think youre implying are you game?????? trucy and apollo?? are actually related???? nah nah nah say it aint so. i thought those were fuckin. headcanons. not. not actually....

ah so magnifi killed himself. okay. sure

WAIT WAIT WAIT HAS PHOENIX BEEN RECORDING THE WHOLE TIME??? WITH HIS LITTLE BUTTON??? OH MY GOD???

"mr. wright told me everything that's been happening" did he mention you have a sister. did he mention you and trucy are related. did he fucking mention that

god klavier... youre helping me against your brother.... man what this man must be going through.... your brother is a murderer yet you still help to make sure the truth comes to light instead of covering for him... fuuuuck

"i have to pull that darkness out of him" GOD FUCKIN-- apollo is trying to save klavier and klavier is trying so hard to help apollo even through all this emotional shit jesus fucking christ im going FERAL

okay so even though kristoph is a fuckin murderer and does not care about anyone... he still cares about his brother. he killed literally everybody else who knew about the forging (or tried to), he covered all of his bases..... except for klavier. did he just never expect klavier to betray him? did he trust klavier? if youre killing everyone else, why not your brother?

GAHDGSYDUJD

LAMIROIR??? SHES A JURIST???? HUHHHH???

ohhh fuuuckkk and the reveal of the other bracelet omggg

if you didnt piece it together by this point that would be a HELL of a reveal

i love vera im glad shes alive

question. for the straight people out there. is vera supposed to be apollo's love interest? like i know he was a lil blushy around her or whatever but like. is that just typical ace attorney stuff or are they trying to insinuate stuff.

i mean obviously klapollo is superior regardless but like. is that the intention

trucy dear we dont need to find you a mommy we just need to figure out where your other daddy is. probably in germany somewhere

PHOENIX YOU HAVENT TOLD THEM THEYRE RELATED WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU

and thats the end! lets go me

and as an aside for those who read through to the bottom of this: i'll be playing duel destinies next, and ill probably be writing my notes as i play again. my question to you is this: would you prefer this play-by-play again? or simply the post-case breakdown like my first posts were? thanks!

[petertingle-yipyip]

MAD AT GOD - MATT MURDOCK

Season Three - Lover of Mine

tags: @mayasaurus--rex @americaarse @dusstory @johnmurphys-sass @ironprincessstranger @astrobees @woowwwee // five // seven // masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 9,732

Summary: The constant circles and playing different parts grows more and more dizzying as events continue to unfold. Alliances tested and lives endangered, Ex and The Man in the Mask take a stand against the new Daredevil.

“How? Y/N, calm down and talk to me. What happened?”

“I can’t calm down!” You snapped and he stepped in front of you, hands landing on either arm to stop you.

“You’re burning up.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You almost yelled. “This puts everything at risk!”

“Slow down, Y/N/N.” He said carefully. “Tell me what happened.”

“He cut my mask. I grabbed it and he saw me. He saw my face.”

“But he has no proof.” Matt offered calmly, though you knew your frazzled state was radiating and vibrating through him. He stood before you as solid as ever. “He can’t throw around an accusation like that without proof.”

“You can’t accuse him of being the knock-off Daredevil without proof either.” You deadpanned.

“I have proof.” He let go of one arm and held out Dex’s tape player.

“That doesn’t connect him to Fisk. And that doesn’t change the fact that he knows who I am. And- And Ray. Oh my god, Ray. We have to find him.”

“Don’t worry, okay? I’m gonna take care of it.” He promised.

“He’s gonna try to blackmail me. He’s- He’s gonna expect me to go along with it. He’s going-“

“So go along with it.” Matt nodded and your jaw went slack. “Your mask records, doesn’t it? You can get proof.”

“This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. I didn’t want to have to use this for a double agent. The whole point of her is to do things on my terms. Besides, in case you forgot-“ You thumped your fingers against his forehead. ”- I’m a federal agent. I can’t exactly walk around my office in a bulletproof body suit.”

“Nothing bad is gonna happen to you.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one in the middle of a shit show.”

“He won’t hurt you.”

“Stop acting like you know him! You don’t!”

“Why are you acting like you care about him? You didn’t want anything to do with me when you said I betrayed you back in that alley. But he chooses to work for Fisk and you don’t care?”

“He’s gonna see this as a betrayal.” You gestured wildly towards the apartment below you. “It makes me look like the untrustworthy one.”

“Since when do you care what others think of you?” He scoffed lightly.

“Matthew, you are not listening to me.” You spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. “That man will not hesitate if he gets a chance to kill me.”

“He won’t.” He shook his head firmly.

“Yeah, cause you’ll be there to protect me, right?” You mocked. “You can’t even come to the goddamn apartment. You expect me to believe that you’ll be around now?”

He sighed and nodded in resignation. “Are you gonna hold that against me forever?”

“Are you gonna give me a reason to believe you? C’mon, I mean… You act like you love me and then you ask if I ever manipulated you.”

Your implant pinging caught your attention so you stepped away from Matt to answer it.

“You need to find Ray.” You said over your shoulder as you put distance between you two.

“Yeah?” You said simply, hearing the shuffle of Matt’s boots as he left.

“Have you talked to Karen?” Foggy asked on the other end.

“Not since the questioning. Why?”

“I invited her to this thing and she said she’d come but she hasn’t shown up. I’m a little worried. Did you know she lost her job?”

“Ellison fired her?”

“Cause she wouldn’t give up his real name.”

“Shit.” You sighed, though you appreciated the loyalty. “Uh, yeah. I can track her phone, hang on.”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah, I’ve saved all of your numbers to a program that can locate your phones by SIM card. Back when we thought Matt was just a dumbass, I wanted to make sure he didn’t fall in down a manhole whenever he didn’t answer the phone.” You explained while you slid your finger across the mask. You held it in place with the other hand while you looked around the city. “Okay, I found her. Looks like she’s just driving around. I’ve gotta get back to work so I’ll text you if I get a hold of her.”

“Thanks, Y/N/N.”

“It’s what I do.” You shrugged and tapped the implant off.

You snuck off the roof and to your car, parked at the empty structure a few blocks over. You changed back into work clothes and headed to the Presidential. You got to the media room and took a seat at the monitors, 

though your mind was still buzzing.

You wondered how long it would take until Dex opened his mouth. Would he tell Fisk and let the big man try to play you? Would he go after you the way he went after Jasper? Or would he sit in silence? Let you drive yourself mad with the possibility that he could out you at any second. That he could make you the fugitive instead of him. You didn’t like the leverage he had over you and you needed a way to take it away.

You needed to get the advantage. And what better way to do that than to put yourself in a position above him to boot him out.

When you finally managed to focus on work, you realized who Fisk was talking to.

“Hey.” You waved one of the other agents down without taking your eyes off the screen. “Who let her in?”

“Page?” The agent asked and you nodded. “His lawyers okay’d it. She said she’s writing a story about his mother. Who gives a shit?”

“Are you guys stupid?” You urged. “She worked at the firm that got him locked up. Why would you let her in?”

“Lawyers said it was fine.” One of them shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like we can go in with her.. We got the cameras on so she’ll be fine. Didn’t that firm shut down anyway?”

Either your colleagues were complete idiots or they were absolutely clueless.

You disguised the use of your implant as a scratch to your head, tuning into their conversation as you watched it unfold on the screens in front of you. You heard what she said as she leaned in close and your hand tightened into a fist. She was egging Fisk on by claiming to have killed Wesley. She wanted Fisk to put hands on her, but you knew that for Wesley, he’d kill her.

“Come with me.” You stood quickly and gestured to both agents. “Now!”

“What?” One of them asked, though he stood.

“Why?” The other said and followed suit. As you were stepping into the hall, you ran into Foggy.

“You’ve gotta get her out of there.” Foggy said and you nodded, hurrying past him. There was a hushed conversation between the men behind you but you ignored it.

You kicked the door open and raised your gun, pointing it at Fisk. You yelled for him to get back, to keep hands where you could see them and to get away from her. Your coworker escorted Karen out but you stayed to make sure Fisk didn’t try anything while you guided him to his room with a gun at his back.

“Did you know?” He asked tightly and you knew what he meant.

“I know she was lying.” You answered quietly. “And I know the truth. I’ve always known.”

“And you hid it from me?”

“I thought you would’ve been perceptive enough to put it together on your own. The burn on his chest… was an electrical burn. The bullets were just an extra.” You said with a small smile.

“You?” He turned with a sneer, taking a step closer.

“Careful.” You said confidently as you put your gun away, flaunting that you were untouchable at that moment as you lifted a finger in the general direction of one of the cameras. “You’re gonna need me if you wanna keep your newest toy. You didn’t need me to break him because you were already plotting to take everything from him. Imagine how he’ll react once he knows.”

His brows furrowed as you backed away.

“Maybe you’ve gone too far… I’d love to test that theory. This is gonna be fun.” You smiled and his eyes went wide for a moment when he realized.

You hopped down the steps and back out, finding your friends in the hall. The doors closed behind you and the agents posted tried to talk to you, to apologize and ask how you knew something was wrong, but you ignored them.

“Page.” You called and she rolled her eyes before looking at you. “Are you insane? I mean, honestly, have you lost it?”

“I had him.” She said angrily before turning to the elevator. “And you ruined it. You both ruined it.”

“Ruined it?” You laughed. “I just saved your ass. He would’ve killed you. Are you really that desperate?”

“At least it would’ve been on video.”

“Goddammit, Karen. Don’t turn into Matt on me.” Foggy said with a small stomp.

“Hey.” You reached foward and grabbed her arm to spin her so she would face you fully. “You really wanna try and get yourself killed? Because guess what, if you weren’t on his shit list before, you are now. I can’t protect everyone when you’re all running off in different directions like toddlers.”

“Then don’t.” She snapped. “And I didn’t want him to kill me.. Just to come after me.”

“Yeah, that’s so much better.” Foggy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well I got the idea from you. Talking about getting Tower worked up. I thought I just had to get him to stop thinking, to react emotionally.”

“Last time he did that, he decapitated one of the Russian brothers with an SUV door.” You said simply. “You think he wouldn’t have done something like that to you?”

“It’s not a bad plan, except for the part where you have to hope the FBI comes in before he beats you to death.”

“Let’s be honest. If I wasn’t here, those ball scratchers wouldn’t have gotten in there in time. Half the people here don’t want to be here so they don’t give a shit.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” She snapped and pushed into the elevator.

“Neither does you throwing that name around.” You said quickly.

“What?”

“He knows it was me. Probably won’t save you from retaliation but it can keep him on me a little longer.”

“Why would you-“ Foggy tried but the door shut before his sentence could finish.

Later that night, you were sitting in the media room at the closing hour of your shift. You were waiting for one of the others to come take over when you felt it, so saturated it almost knocked you out of your chair. It was a burst of rage, white hot and pulsing. You felt it seer through you, hotter than anything you felt from yourself or Matt. It was like it had been brewing for a long time, building and burning and festering until it broke its way out.

And it was coming from a few floors below. It was coming from Dex.

Your apparent betrayal broke him and you weren’t completely sure it was a good thing.

Meanwhile, back in his secluded underground part of the church, Matt was looking for something else to think of. All his mind kept coming back to, other than letting Dex get away, was her. He could understand why she didn’t want to believe her partner was working for Fisk. He believed that she did what she could to keep him away, but she was right. She couldn’t control everyone all the time so it wasn’t fair for Matt to throw that at her. And Fisk was smart. He had to have known Y/N was trying to keep Dex away from him. So he found ways to break him that not even Y/N could stop. Things Y/N probably didn’t

even know about, not until it was done.

He was listening to the tape with Maggie when his mind finally let her go, just for a minute.

“He didn’t have any parents. Spent a lot of time fighting. Angry.” He said simply, just stating what he had learned, when Maggie hummed in response. “Go ahead and say it.”

“I promised to keep my mouth shut.” She answered.

“But you wanna say it sounds familiar.”

“More ways than one.”

“I didn’t have anyone either but I’m nothing like him.” Matt shook his head. “The tapes make it sound like he was a killer at a young age.”

“That bit sounds familiar, too.” Maggie said to herself, but they both knew Matt would hear it.

Was that why Y/N protected him? She saw herself in him?

“Y/N’s nothing like this guy, okay?” He decided. “She actually cares about people and has a heart. The guy’s a psychopath… And I had a chance today. A shot to catch him off guard and I blew it.”

“You did what you thought was right. You kept your word to Agent Nadeem.”

“Yeah. And how many people are gonna die because of it? Not to mention that he knows about Y/N. Now she’s in the middle of it and either has to go along with this or go on the run. He could throw her under the bus, same way Fisk did to me, just to save his own ass. He doesn’t care about her.”

“Do you think Y/N can keep herself alive? Or does she need you to be her knight in shining armor all the time?”

“I just want her to be safe. After everything I’ve done, I owe her that.”

“I think you owe her more than that.”

He sighed heavily and nodded. He knew he couldn’t run from her questions forever. It wasn’t fair to leave her so deep in the dark. And it was killing him all the same.

“She’s gonna get herself killed trying to save this guy.” Matt spoke with a certain bitterness. Bitter towards Y/N’s sudden adherence to morals that he once claimed, towards her sudden belief that people could change.

It made him wonder what had changed so drastically in the time he was gone that she would stand so adamantly in a losing fight.

“You said this man is her partner at the FBI?” Maggie changed the subject.

Matt reluctantly nodded. He hated the idea that she would have to go back and be around him, to essentially be at his mercy. At the same time he knew if there was one person in Hell’s Kitchen that wasn’t helpless, it was Y/N.

“Then she knows his tendencies better than you do. She’s a very strong, very smart girl. I’m sure she’s endured worse so she can take care of herself until you two have a plan.”

“I don’t think she wants to do this with me anymore.”

“This?” She gestured to Matt. “Or this?” She tapped her chest where her heart was.

“Both.”

“Just give her time, Matthew. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, like you hung the stars. That’s not something that can be thrown away. You both will always be there for the other when they call.”

She left after that, allowing Matt to punch his pain away. He was angry. At himself, at Dex, at Fisk. He even wanted to be angry at Y/N, but all she had done was refuse to leave him. How could he be angry at that? As he worked on the punching bag he could hear Sister Maggie’s prayer in the church above. He was listening but also not, using it as a sort of background noise. It wasn’t until the end that it mattered.

“Our son is too much like you, Jack.”

Our son … Jack.

“Mom?” Matt muttered as he fell to his knees.

He was in complete disbelief but suddenly, it all made sense. That’s why she made sure he was okay. That’s why she made sure he had a place to stay. That’s why she refused to give up on him. He didn’t know what to do, what to think.

But he knew his heart was calling for Y/N, in a way only she would know. In a way that he wasn’t sure he deserved anymore.

You couldn’t call him. You doubted the man had a phone anymore. You had just gotten home when you felt that crushing feeling, that world shattering uncertainty. It made you dizzy when you walked through the door and you nearly fell to the floor.

You made it to your couch and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be absorbed by that heavy feeling. You pushed back, following that line back to Matt. You were hoping he wouldn’t ignore you. You were hoping he would understand, but with the intensity he was putting out, you didn’t know what would get through to him.

Come home, Matt. Let me help you.

Damn it all if you didn’t forget that you were angry when he really needed you.

You fell asleep on the couch waiting for a response. You waited for a change in feeling or to feel it growing closer. You waited to hear him calling your name or touch your shoulder. You waited for the door or some sign that he was there. You didn’t know how late it was when he finally showed up.

He sat beside you on the couch and gave your leg a gentle shake, but you still jumped up in a hurry. Unsure if it was Matt or Dex or someone else to kill you, your hands raised reflexively into fists while your eyes tried to adjust to the neon shining in. Matt chuckled and put his hands over yours, gently pushing them down and assuring you it was just him.

“Matt.” You sighed and relaxed next to him. “What happened?”

“Sister Maggie, she was upstairs praying.” He said carefully, but you could tell there was a waver in his voice, threatening to break. “She was asking my dad for guidance and said ‘our son’.”

“Talking about you?”

“Why else would she talk to him?”

“Took a while for you to get here… Where’d you go?”

“Father Lantom.”

“Was it any help?”

“No.”

“How can I help? Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t know.” He nearly whispered. “It was right there, the whole time. Y/N, everything could’ve been different.”

“Yeah, but then who knows if it would’ve been good or bad different.” You tried gently. You reached forward carefully to remove the familiar glasses and he didn’t stop you. Instead, he gave you a small smile and turned his head towards you. “Maybe we don’t meet. Maybe I end up with a different vigilante boyfriend. Maybe you end up as a priest, too. Who knows what would’ve changed?”

“I could’ve had my mom.” He spoke softly.

“I know.” You nodded and gently ran fingers through the sides of his hair. “Did I ever tell you about my dad?”

“I thought you didn’t know him.” He shifted his body towards you.

“I don’t, but I did meet him once, before I met you.” Your hand fell to his shoulder. “My aunt, Melina, would talk about them when I was a kid. I looked up their names when I got out, found some leads and kept tugging strings till I found him living in a small town in California. He had a new wife and a son… I remember when I left him, I kept thinking that I could’ve had a brother. I could’ve had siblings and a real family if he was willing to run just a little while longer.”

“What happened when you met him?”

“He said my mother was dead and so was her daughter, Alexa. He was talking about me.”

“Your name is Alexa?”

“To my parents, yes. Once I wasn’t theirs, that little girl did die and Y/N was born, which is fine. Alexa’s someone else completely as far as I care. Listen, my point is that I could’ve had a different life, too. But you can’t sit here and think about ‘what if’. What if I was never in the Red Room or if I never got out? What if I never came to Hell’s Kitchen? What if I never went to Columbia?”

“So you think I shouldn’t do anything?”

“I think you shouldn’t let it change too much now. I know you want to figure things out, but I’m sure she was just young and scared. People don’t always do the smartest thing when they’re scared.”

“You ever make a bad decision cause you were scared?”

“Leaving you the first time.” You confessed, though that event felt so far away given everything that had happened since. “I didn’t want to scare you and Foggy away with the truth so I left. I left you alone, Matt, and I never wanted to.”

“I left you too so I’d say we’re even.” He offered a small smile and you chuckled. “But I never wanna leave you again.”

“So don’t.” You offered, leaning your head against the back of the couch. “When I look at my life, and all of my crimes, you’re the only thing that I think I got right… I want you to stay, at least for tonight, but I won’t make you.”

“All my regrets, things that you can’t forget.. You still want me with all of those?”

“I can’t really give you away.” You shrugged slightly. “I already made that mistake a long time ago…”

“I want us to be okay, sweetheart.” He reached out and out a hand on your folded leg, thumb rubbing gentle lines.

“We can figure it out later. Right now, you’re in a crisis.”

He offered a weak smile as he nodded.

“I’m not saying to forgive Maggie, but I’d say hear her out, when you’re ready. Maybe she had her reasons.”

“What if she didn’t? What if she was just… ashamed?”

“Who would be ashamed of you?” Your fingers danced around on his shoulder, skimming across the crook of his neck. “You took off the crucifix? I liked it.”

“It was my mother’s.”

“Ah.” You nodded.

“I thought you hated me after what happened at Midland Circle”

“Yeah, I kinda did. But I also understand that it was your stupid way of protecting me because you loved me and I loved you, so that ended up beating out any other feeling. I haven’t forgiven you for it yet, though.”

“Clearly.” He gave a small chuckle. “Do you still?”

“Love you? Or hate you?”

“Both.”

“Yeah, to both. I’m still hurt by what you said to me. But I’m guessing you being here means you realized you can trust me?”

“Sweetheart, I always have.” His hand came to your cheek and you leaned into his touch, earning a smile from him. “I’m sorry I acted like I didn’t.”

“Maybe there’s still a chance to fix us when all this dies down.” You smiled softly, turning your head to place a kiss to his palm. “After that, you can fix things with Maggie. When you’re ready.”

“I love you.” He said softly.

“I love you, too.”

That night, wrapped in Matt’s arms, you had the first full night’s sleep since Midland Circle.

The next morning, you were getting ready for work when you got a message from Dex. It said that he was picking you up and you knew it wasn’t up for debate. You told Matt what was going on and he told you to be careful. He told you he wouldn’t be there when you got home, and he wasn’t sure where he’d be, but he would let you know somehow. Despite your protests, he promised it’d be for the best.

The ride with Dex was silent. There was a thick tension in the air and your skin was buzzing with anticipation. You kept thinking of scenarios where he would make a move on you, but in close quarters, it was an easy win for you. You could crash the car and run. You could use the backseat to get away. You could kick out the windows and tuck and roll. But there was no action, hardly any words. Instead, you pulled up to Ray’s as if everything was normal.

“Ray doesn’t know.” You said simply as you got out. “He doesn’t know about her and he doesn’t know that I know about you.”

“This’ll be fun then.” He smiled before grabbing your arm and practically pulling you to the front door.

Dex greeted Seema and gave you two a proper introduction. You let him do most of the talking, only offering a polite smile and an answer when necessary. Seema didn’t seem to notice, and you were thankful for that.

“And that makes it curve?” The boy’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Like crazy.” Dex smiled.

“It’s the circle change that gets ‘em though.” You cut in, kneeling to his height and stealing his attention away from Dex. You ignored your partner’s glare and focused on the boy. “A curve is great, don’t get me wrong. But a good hitter can see it coming. The real fun is when you can speed them up with the fast ball and then sneak the change up. If you want a strikeout pitch, the circle change is what you need.”

“Can you show me?” He asked excitedly.

“Yeah, it’s super easy. The ball sits here.” You moved the back to rest at the back of his palm. “These two fingers make a circle like this.” You slid his thumb and forefinger to make a circle on the side of the ball. “And these fingers just kinda spread out.” You fanned his other three fingers. “And then you just throw it normally.”

“So… Wait, how does it slow down?”

“When it rolls off your fingers, the backspin makes it look like it’s coming faster than it is.”

“Ooh.” He laughed and looked at his fingers on the ball.

Ray came down and gave his son - Sami - a reason to leave the room. When he made eye contact with you, you gave a shrug and nodded to Dex to show it was his idea. Ray brought you and Dex outside to keep his family

out of it.

“What are you doing here, Dex? Your issue is with me, not my family.” Ray asked tightly.

“My issue is definitely with you.” Dex agreed. “That stunt with the lawyer, Ray? That was cold. You convinced me that you had my back.” He turned towards you. “You both did.”

“I did until you chose Fisk.” You admitted. “I tried to help you but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Well Fisk wants you two alive.”

“Lucky me.” You mumbled.

“What does he want from me? Or her?” Ray nodded to you.

“Your little friends. The ones you brought into my home.” He took a step closer to Ray and your hand shot out to his chest, pushing him back with a warning glare.

“I don’t know who he is, or where he is. I know even less about the girl.”

“Nah, you know.” Dex countered. “But it can wait. You’re bleeding, Ray.”

“Cause you shot him, jackass.” You mumbled, making Dex chuckle.

“I’ll cover with Seema while you change. Let’s go. We’re all spending the day together.”

“Why'd he bring you?” Ray asked when Dex went back inside. “What does he know?”

“Too much.” You admitted. “That I know Exodus. I know Daredevil. I know what happened at his apartment, what really happened at the Bulletin.”

“How?”

“Как ты думаешь, с кем ты разговариваешь?” You asked with a small shrug before following Dex in and leaving Ray in confusion. (Who do you think you’re talking to?)

You didn’t stay at Ray’s much longer. Seema gave you a plate to take with you and you thanked her. Sami thanked you again for the change-up and you offered to show him a knuckleball next time. Ray rushed you guys out of the house and when you got to the bureau, Dex told Ray to call Matt. You tapped your implant and listened in on their call while you waited with Dex. Though if anyone asked what was actually said, you wouldn’t be able to tell them.

“How long do you think you can keep it a secret?” He asked simply, turning to face you.

“Longer than you did. I didn’t need to see any of it to know what you were. One look told me everything I needed to know. Wanna know how?” You tilted your head back to face him. His brows raised and he offered you an amused smile. “Because you’re weak. Your old therapist was wrong about you. Your internal compass is broken, Dex. And no one can save you. You’ll follow anyone that uses the right words.”

He grabbed you by your face and pushed you against the wall behind you, making you laugh.

“Get your hand off me or I scream. Remember, not every agent in the room works for him.” You warned and you watched his eyes dart between yours and try to figure out if you were joking. “Go ahead… Try me.”

He pushed off you when Hattley came in for an announcement. You pulled off the wall and moved to stand with Ray, hearing your SAC declare Dex reinstated. You were hidden behind him so rolled your eyes and feigned a gag. But when he stepped aside to thank you and Ray specifically, you put your hands behind your back and offered a proud smile.

“Someday I’ll pay you guys back for everything you did.” He said, though you heard the threat in his words.

“We’re partners.” You said with fake sincerity and reached for his hand, which he hesitantly gave you. “You’d do the same for me.”

After a few moments of congratulations and praise for Dex, the three of you were taken to a conference room where a handful of agents sat around the table. You scoffed in disbelief as Dex headed to sit at the head, Hattley at his side. You stood at the other end, leaning

onto flattened palms against the table.

“Fisk has something on all of you?” Ray asked in disbelief.

“It’s better we don’t talk about it.” One of the other agents in the room said. He may be stuck under Fisk’s thumb, but it didn’t seem like he wanted to be. “And in here, we don’t even say his name.”

“That’s one of the rules, Ray.” Dex explained. “We only refer to him by his codename… Kingpin.”

You had to drop your eyes to hide your quiet laugh.

“Something funny, Y/L/N?” Hattley asked and you picked your head up with your smile still present.

“This whole thing, actually.” You shrugged and pushed yourself off to stand tall. “An office of dedicated federal agents falls victim to a big bald guy who doesn’t even do his own dirty work half the time? Y’know when Fisk was around the first time, people only would call him ‘their employer’ and it was embarrassing then too. I’m sorry but… it’s all a little pathetic.”

“You’re here too, Y/N. So what does that say about you?”

“Oh man.” You exaggerated a sigh. “I should’ve talked

to Madani about transferring to Homeland. At least then I could’ve had a partner who stood for something-“ You made eye contact with Dex. “-instead of kneeling to a little bit of pressure.”

“Real cocky when you’re the one with the most to lose, Y/L/N.” Dex said with a smooth smirk.

“At least I know who I am. Can you say the same?”

“Anyways.” Hattley cut in firmly. “Another round-up today. We hit them fast and hard. Kingpin wants this one to make a point.”

You felt grimy by the time the assignment was done. You hung back for most of it, hardly even raising your gun. Instead, you just kept the people around the marks calm. Even at the public groundbreaking for something seemingly religious, you ensured no one made a scene. Later that day, you sat with Dex in the media room.

“You seem tense. What’s eating at you?” Dex asked with a sly smile.

“Thinkin’ about how I’m gonna put a bullet in you.” You said calmly. “Y’know what an old friend told me? You don’t hear the ones that get you.”

“Pretty confident.” He nodded with that same smile, one that made you want to slam his face down on the desk. “But I remember the last time we went at it. I put in a knife in you. How’s that healing, by the way?” He snuck his hand to the joint of your leg and gave your leg a slight squeeze.

Your body jumped at the unwanted contact and you reached for his hand quickly. You gripped tightly, feeling the long bones of his hand shift slightly, and moved his hand forcefully. 

“And how many times did I knock you on your ass? All it takes is two seconds where Ole Red isn’t looking.” You leaned in closer so you could speak quietly, hands folded beneath the table. “You keep this up, Dex, and you’ll be the one who pays a price. Not me.”

The day shift went on relatively quickly but then you two were called for an additional night shift. Ray left with Hattley to get Fisk while you and Dex finished up upstairs. You saw a message from Foggy as you headed to the car and saw that Fisk had his hooks in his family. The deli had embellished a loan application from Red Lion Bank, and someone was threatening to pull it. It was now a growing priority for you to get your hands on Felix Manning. You had seen the man in the hotel a few times but never with enough clearance to get to him.

You drove with Ray in the front while Fisk and Dex rode in the back. You followed Dex’s directions, intentionally slamming the brakes harder than necessary. When you parked, Ray called Matt.

“If you can hear me…” You spoke quietly, putting a hand over your mouth so the men in the back wouldn’t see. “Fisk is using all of us, just be careful.”

Fisk sent Ray out while he kept you and Dex in the car.

“What do you need us to do?” Dex asked and your other hand gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“Exodus.” Fisk said calmly and your eyes darted to the rear view mirror. “Where is your suit?”

He didn’t need to know that you were wearing your suit beneath your work clothes. You wore a sweater over it instead of a button up with simple black pants that were easy to ditch, along with your usual jacket. Your Bites, and mask were all tucked between the material of your suit and the top, blending with the extra fabric of your loose sweater. Your shoes were your usual vigilante boots. So really, the only thing you were missing were your staffs, and that was only because the pack would’ve been too bulky to hide. You had returned all of your equipment to the closet back home, knowing it’d be too risky to just leave in your trunk now that you were caught in the middle of everything.

“Parti. Et vous le serez aussi, assez tôt.” You said tightly. (Gone. And you will be too, soon enough.)

Dex reached around and locked his arm around your throat. He yanked back and forced you against the headrest, increasing the pressure on your windpipe. You coughed roughly and reached down, finding the side lever for the back of the seat. You pulled up on it and threw your weight back, hearing the thud when it slammed into Dex.

“Enough.” Fisk announced, but you jammed an elbow against Dex’s jaw to prove a point before shifting in your seat to face Fisk.

“Allow me to clarify something. I do not work for you. I’ve stood my ground before and I’m not afraid to do it again.” You said firmly, knowing the anger sparked in your eyes. “Daredevil and I will finish this, the real Daredevil. No one can save you.”

He turned towards Dex with a smirk before facing you again.

“Y’know…” You turned towards Dex with an innocently curious expression. “I haven’t seen Julie around since your little chat at the cafe. How is she?”

His brows furrowed as you tugged that concern closer to the surface. His eyes went big when he either remembered or realized something so you gave Fisk a smirk before heading inside to meet with Ray.

“The Feds want something.” The woman you took from the groundbreaking said and looked around your small group of agents.

“Not the Feds.” You sighed and drew head turns just as Fisk walked in.

You had to bite your tongue to keep your comments to yourself. You watched as Fisk tried to barter FBI protection for twenty percent. The woman was interested, and truthfully, she interested you. Calm and comfortable in her power, but willing to work with others. If you weren’t so inclined to stay on the right-ish side of the law, maybe you would’ve been like her.

What really kept your attention was the man you only heard addressed as Mr. Starr. The old man was set in his ways, refusing to budge. He refused to kneel to Fisk’s pressure and while you commended him for his conviction, you knew what was coming.

Dex’s baton came flying in before you could react and the man slumped forward against the table in a puddle

of his own blood. Dex came to stand at Fisk’s side and you moved to the other side of the now dead body, picking up the club. You flipped it in your hands, earning uncertain looks from the other crime bosses. You tapped the other end against your empty palm before stealing a move from Dex, throwing it against the table so it’d bounce. The bounce led one end to jam into Dex’s chest, making him stagger back a few steps and you smiled.

You may not be able to take him on in broad daylight, not with the handful of agents in Fisk’s pocket. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t take smaller jabs at him. After the deals were said and done, when Matt didn’t show, Dex moved across the table and stood close to you.

“If you tipped him.” He said lowly, attempting to threaten you.

You calmly titled your head back to meet his burning glare with a small shrug. “When would I have done that? You’ve been watching me the whole time.”

His jaw clenched as he stared you down, growing uncertain as you refused to falter. Your chin lifted slightly in a soft challenge as Fisk called him back.

“What a good lap dog.” You mocked softly as he followed Fisk without question.

You only followed when Ray nudged you. You ignored the lingering looks from the various criminals at the table as you left, but you couldn’t ignore their fear. It spiked when you threw the baton at Dex and it was clear that while they did fear Dex, you terrified them. And not because you were Exodus. They couldn’t know that. What scared them about you was the way you carried yourself. Your total confidence in challenging Fisk and his faux Daredevil. It left them to wonder what you could do on your own.

You realized that part of you missed the fear your presence used to cause, but the reality was that you didn’t need to be a looming force. Fear was fun when it was only you. Respect was better when others were at stake.

The car ride was quiet, but the tension was building quickly. It soon felt like your suit was suffocating you, like the high collar was digging into your throat even though you didn’t have it zipped all the way. The collar was folded under your sweater, but that didn’t mean your skin wasn’t stained with the ghost of the material. You called your jitters to your hand, creating a small collection of bouncing wisps in your palm. The silver streaks danced around and weaved through your fingers, shaking and ricocheting off your skin as you flicked them away and called them back like a yo-yo.

But when the announcement sounded in your implant, the string snapped and the wisps instantly disappeared.

Karen Page is located at the Clinton Church. Keep all NYPD units clear until otherwise advised. Copy.

You spun in your seat with wide eyes, a panic settling deep in your stomach when the SUV stopped and he sent Ray out.

Would Matt get there in time? Would you? How would you get away? Would Matt even know what was happening? Even if you were still upset, you knew you needed his help. You didn’t even know if he had heard you earlier. If he came up and saw you there, would he think you sided with Fisk out of spite?

While Fisk and Dex talked about what they needed to do next, you took a glance around the street. There was no one around, so you running out of a blacked out SUV wouldn’t raise any questions.

“He was murdered!” Fisk shouted and slammed a fist against the door,

“And I’d do it again.” You said firmly, drawing an angry glare from him and a quizzical one from Dex. “He deserved it for threatening people I cared about. When I walked out of that warehouse, his blood splattered on my suit, I damn near celebrated.”

“When I sent you to the Bulletin, it was to discredit Daredevil and his partner-“ He gestured to you before turning to face Dex again. “-and the reporter that helped make them into heroes. At the time, I didn’t know that she had assisted in his murder.”

“If there’s something you want me to do, just ask.” Dex added smoothly.

“I want you to kill Karen Page.”

Your former friend made a point to meet your eyes. “Consider it done.”

“Good luck.” You scoffed before reaching across the gap and slamming Dex’s head against the window.

You hurried out the door after that but you felt a hand on your arm. You turned to see Dex and he yanked you back, pushing you towards the other SUV. You pulled free and threw a roundhouse against his jaw that threw him into the nearest wall. He got up quickly and threw a right hook against your jaw before grabbing the back of your neck. His fingers pressed into the sides of your neck and he slammed your head against the window of the SUV. You felt the skin at your hairline split so you stuck a foot against the car and kicked off, pushing you both backwards so Dex would hit his back on a nearby dumpster.

You took the chance to climb to your feet and took off sprinting down the streets until you got to the church. You got inside just as mass was starting so you snuck up the stairs that led to the balcony. You stripped out of your work clothes and tucked them under one of the pews before fixing the final details of your suit. 

You listened to Father Lantom’s speech, thanking everyone for coming to mass. You tapped your mask and looked between the priest and the doors as the tension buzzed through your body. You felt electrified by the looming threat but the gentle, honest words from Father Lantom seemed to serve as a buffer to break some

of that buzzing. If you could count on nothing from the ideas of religion or from any church, you could always count on Father Lantom to be genuine with whoever he was talking to. You smiled softly towards the altar where Father Lantom was, and he had offered you the same sentiment, when a voice cut through everything.

“Karen Page!” Dex called out as he entered the church, dragging the club against the side of the pews as he stepped further inside. “Where is… Karen Page?”

You hopped over the railing and landed behind him. By the time your feet hit the ground, he had already beat on three patrons. You shot a wire at his throat and once it wrapped, you yanked hard to pull him back a few feet. He yanked the wire off and turned on you, both clubs in hand before Karen announced herself.

You felt your heart drop to your feet when he smirked, turning to face her. She was quick to put herself in front of the people and you felt helpless, for only a moment. 

“Hello, Karen. It’s nice to see you again.” Dex said simply.

You took that chance to get in front of him, hands quick to reach behind and find your knives. You brandished them quickly and Dex tilted his head slightly.

“You don’t have to listen to him.” You tried, pushing out a subtle desperation.

It would be the last chance. Standing against Dex, against your partner, you couldn’t protect him and defend against him at the same time. So in that church, with all the lives that hid behind you on the line, you forced Dex to make a choice.

You. Or the man who only saw Dex as a weapon.

“Pick your side.” You warned. “You won’t get another chance to change your mind.”

He gave you a wicked smile and you knew that the man you knew before was gone. His mind had snapped and he was now a fractured, broken version of the person you once called a partner. His lack of empathy had never been so clear, like a vacuum that sucked in and destroyed any sense of emotion around him. It began to drag on you as well, but Matt made it just in time.

He landed contact with Dex from behind so you turned and gathered the people who had attended mass. You pushed Karen to join the crowd while Matt handled the fight. You shoved the knife away and reached into a different pocket for your communications case, you shoved it into her hands and turned in time to see Dex standing before you. Your eyes darted to the side and all you could see behind the small altar of candles were Matt’s feet.

You turned back to Dex just time to see the knife coming. Instantly, you moved to the side to put yourself in front of the people but two hands came to your arms and threw you to the side. You looked back and saw the knife buried in Father Lantom’s chest.

“No.” You said quickly, eyes brimming with sudden tears. “No!”

Matt ran back into the fight screaming, the anger radiating off him. Lantom spoke quietly to Matt as he laid in Karen’s arms, her own hands trembling around the knife. You reached for the case you gave her, opening it and pulling one of the ear pieces. Shakily, she put it in her ear and gave you a quick nod. You tapped your scar before finding Matt. When he floored Dex, you practically ran across the short distance.

You clipped the microphone to the collar of his shirt, throwing a hard sidekick when Dex tried to get to his feet.

“Karen? Can you hear me?” You spoke quietly.

“Yeah… I can get everyone out.” She answered, her voice echoing around your skull. “But you guys have to get him away from the nave.”

You offered a sharp nod and focused back on Dex. You ran towards him and slammed your knee into his chest. He rolled through the impact and kicked himself down one of the aisles. From there, he began throwing small candles at the two of you. The wax splattered across your face as they shattered against your arms after you raised them, causing you to wince slightly as you turned your head. Keeping one arm up, you stuck your Bite between the small gap at the bend of your arm and fired. The electricity landed at the base of his throat and his movements became tight convulsions.

You took advantage and moved closer, slamming a kick to the back of his knee. When he fell to a kneel, you used the opposite foot you kicked and threw a roundhouse to the side of his head that forced him to the floor. You turned to find Matt, seeing Karen moving people on the other side instead. You heard movement from behind you and turned to see Dex standing with a piece of marble in hand.

When he pulled back to throw it, Matt came and drew his attention away. You let out a small sigh and glanced back at Karen, hearing her talking to one of the patrons about getting out.

“Make sure they stay low to the ground.” You instructed as you watched Dex and Matt exchange blows. “Keep out of his line of sight and move fast.”

When the boys came back into the main area of the church, you jumped back into the fight. Matt threw Dex into a pew so you moved to the side and grabbed hold of the edge as Dex kicked out at Matt’s chest. You threw your legs forward to slam into his chest and flip him over. Your feet landed on the seat so you crouched on the wood and waved the group of churchgoers forward after you noticed they had paused to watch the fight.

The small crowd was huddled low as they crept across the floor. You made a small noise to yourself when you thought they weren’t going fast enough but the sound was cut short when Dex yanked you down by your arm, a hand gripping aggressively around your wrist. You yelped slightly when you landed on your shoulder and Dex stood over you, rolling you to your back with his foot before he pressed it at the base of your shoulder as he searched the group. You craned your neck as you tried to force Dex off and you saw Karen running down the center aisle.

“Don’t.” You tried as his arm pulled back and he forced you back to the floor. The force of his foot combined with the way your arm was twisted was enough to pop the bone out of its socket and you couldn’t keep the sound of pain from happening.

Luckily, Matt knocked Dex off balance just in time to send his throw off course. Using your other hand, you jabbed two knuckles into a pressure point at the back of Dex’s leg and he fell against the pew. With Matt’s help, you wiggled out from underneath his weight and got to your feet.

“How are we gonna beat him?” Matt asked through heavy breaths. 

Your mind raced and the only things that kept repeating were three things you learned from Melina. She taught you those things not to help as a Widow, but to protect you. 

What I’m going to teach you isn’t for anyone but yourself. Remember these rules and no one can beat you, little Y/N.

Looking around, you realized you already used one.

“A man can’t stand, he can’t fight.” You spoke quietly, reaching out to find Matt’s hands. You guided them up to your shoulder and he moved closer, allowing you to close a fist around the material of his shirt. His fingers traced the joint before his palms found their positions and he pressed hard, a sharp exclamation falling from your lips as you felt the bone fit back into place. You bit your lip as you let out a small whimper while you heard Melina’s voice repeating those same words. With a. deep breath, you took a step away and collected yourself.

“If we can keep him off balance, we-“

Your sentence was cut short by a heavy fist at your jaw. You staggered back against the main row of pews and once your back hit the wood, you were bombarded with more hits. Your arms came up quickly, batting away his hits but every fist seemed to come heavier and heavier.

“Hey! I’m the one you want, right?” Karen yelled from the door, stealing his attention.

You took advantage of his hesitation and slammed both fists against his chest. He staggered away and coughed heavily, giving you space to stand tall and wipe the blood off your nose. 

“A man can’t breathe, he can’t fight.” You spoke to yourself and turned to Karen. You were tackled to the ground and his foot pressed down on the center of your chest.

You squirmed beneath him and Dex leaned his weight against you and you could feel the cartilage in your chest cracking. He snapped a rosary and pulled back to throw the beads. You lifted a wrist and shot a wire towards Karen’s ankle. It wrapped around your target and you yanked back to pull Karen to the floor just in time.

You popped the wire off and felt the weight disappear from your chest after Matt knocked him off. You took deep, gasping breaths while you looked back as you got to your feet and saw Karen was gone. You tapped your mask and saw her heading up the stairs to the top deck. You checked over your shoulder and saw Matt locked in with Dex. You thought of joining in but you chose to follow Karen up the steps instead. You found her crouched in the darkest corner and she covered her

mouth with her hand when she saw you.

“Oh God.” She whispered, likely horrified by the blood you were covered in.

“You okay?” You asked quietly and all she could do was nod.

You heard footsteps coming so you used your mask to see it was Dex. Instantly, you wondered where Matt was but you didn’t have time to figure it out. You stepped out and pulled a knife from the back of your belt. You made a grand gesture as you moved closer to Dex.

“Is this what you wanted?” You asked simply. “You killed an innocent man.”

“You know what I want.” He answered flatly. “Why do you keep getting in my way?”

“Because at least I’m fighting for something. What do you fight for, hmm? What do you stand for? You’re a joke. You’re pathetic. You’re nothing. When Fisk is done with you, he’ll throw you away. You’re not special to him. The only thing you’ve done is destroy what that suit used to stand for around here. You can’t compare to Daredevil.”

Dex simply growled as he charged you. You braced yourself just as his shoulder slammed into your stomach. He lifted you off the ground and slammed your back into the marble pillar in the center of the deck. You coughed roughly and flipped the knife so you could swipe it across his back. You dropped the blade and locked your fingers behind his neck. Tucking your knees against his chest, you threw yourself to the ground so when you landed, your knees slammed against him. You rolled you two so you could be on top and you kept a grip on his suit front, slamming down hit after hit and watching his head bounce off the ground.

You pulled your arm back and armed your Bite, seeing the bright red glow shine in your peripherals. You were angling the shot when his forehead slammed up into your nose and knocked your teeth together. You fell to the side and Dex pushed you the rest of the way off. A pair of hands came under your arms and hauled you up. You looked quickly and saw it was Matt.

Together, you two took your stances across from Dex. The man across from you let out an annoyed sigh and moved at you two again. He shoved you towards the railing and you teetered over it. Your hands were tightly holding the top as your upper body tilted over and your feet lifted from the ground. You had to let one hand go for a second to hook the wire from your belt around the posts.

Once that was secure, you turned to your back and pushed yourself to be seated on the wood. You focused in on the scene in front of you and found Matt on the floor and Dex with a small, familiar blade in his hand. Your blade. You were quick to shoot the other end of your wire around his neck.

When the material whipped around, you yanked him back so he stood flush against you.

“You won’t win.” He choked out as you replaced the wire with your arm around his neck.

“I don’t have to.” You said into his ear, the other hand pressing the Bite against his throat. “We just both have to lose.”

You fired the weapon and locked your ankles together around his waist. He yelled in pain before you threw yourself backwards, launching you both over the edge. Your own body slammed against the heavy wood posts as your wire held you in place, dangling you over the drop like a piñata. In any other circumstance, the display probably would’ve made you laugh.

You pulled yourself back over the railing and undid the clasp at your belt. You motioned to Karen to check on Matt while you took heavy breaths and collapsed to your knees, pressing gently on your loose sternum to figure out the extent of the cracks. She hurried over, hesitating by your side. You waved her off before hauling yourself up to peer over the edge.

As soon as your chest leaned over, all of the air was sucked out of you as the sharp object pierced your solar plex. You were breathless as your hands hovered over the penetration and Dex was gone. You looked down with shaky breaths and you saw the familiar handle sticking out.

He threw your own knife at you. Again.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Rereading The Fellowship of the Ring for the First Time in Fifteen Years

When JRR Tolkien names a chapter, he doesn't beat about the bush. We literally met like ten new characters and a bunch of old ones in this chapter. I'm also over here wondering what the hell kind of literary circle Tolkien was running to be THIS specific about the numbers and types of parties that get thrown in this book, because once it's clear that Frodo has and will continue to survive and recover from his enstabbening, literally the first thing Elrond does is throw the equivalent of an Elf rager. So let's talk Book 2, Chapter, "Many Meetings."

And so it is that at ten o'clock in the morning on October the twenty-fourth, Frodo Baggins wakes up in the House of Elrond, having been enstabbened seventeen days ago and having lost three days of time right at the end of that because Strider (who I guess as of this chapter we're calling Aragorn) let the dang wound close with a splinter still in there. It's a damn good thing that Elves are magic, because infection control and antibiotics do not seem to be a goddamn thing in Middle Earth, and having to *checks notes* dig for a splinter of a dagger that went in the shoulder and traveled heart-wards for almost a month is gonna a surgical nightmare, especially when you don't have x-rays to pinpoint the location and give you somewhere to START. But I'm being cynical over here; Elrond successfully managed to get the shard out of Frodo, and he's healing, although this little piece from Gandalf is interesting:

He is not even half through yet, and what he will come to in the end not even Elrond can foretell. Not to evil, I think. He may become a glass filled with a clear light for eyes to see that can.

Gandalf isn't even being subtle about the transformation that Frodo is already undergoing here, and it's interesting to me that "a glass filled with a clear light" is the metaphor Tolkien chooses, especially given the contrast with Bilbo's "butter scraped over too much bread." Bilbo is very much embodied and still somewhat himself in that metaphor, if the thinnest, least parts of himself. In the Frodo metaphor though, Frodo is GONE. His self has disappeared in favor of being a light and glass. He is transparent and he is gone. Which I find very interesting in terms of what is being held up as virtuous and what is being held up as falling to a given measure of evil. To be a light is to surrender the self, and like...bro, why can't we be both?

And SPEAKING of Gandalf in this opening part of the chapter, it's nice to finally see his ass again, but I don't actually think I'd want to wake up with his ass next to my sickbed, because the second goddamn thing out of his mouth is scolding Frodo for "all the absurd things [he has] done since [he] left home." And like... Broski doski. Even meant affectionately, even said in relief, maybe don't put the poor hobbit in a position to APOLOGIZE ten second after waking up from almost dying.

AND ANOTHER THING: Frodo talking in his sleep is one way to get information, and it's fair enough. But the WAY TOO CASUAL "...and it has not been hard for me to read your mind and memory" need to be addressed here, because QUITE LITERALLY WHY??? Strider was there and then you had three other hobbits to question. You could even ask Tom Bombadil or 3/4 of Bree if you need more information, and I would do ANY AND ALL OF THAT before casually reading an ally's mind without consent! This wizard is RAPIDLY falling off my list of favorite characters for shit like this...

But at least Gandalf goes a little ways toward breaking the consistent-to-this-point pattern of people withholding information from Frodo, because we get not only a little baby infodump about the Rangers and Strider, but also some history about who and what the Black Riders are, and the composition of the Dark Lord of Mordor's forces. Gandalf also goes out of his way to assure Frodo that Rivendell is safe and that the Elves here are super badass and the Ringwraiths can't get in to finish the job, which is very comforting. Gandalf also has the courtesy to fill Frodo--and us readers, since we missed all of this too--about the details of what the hell the raging river was and how everyone got to Rivendell in the end.

After a wee bit of a nap, Frodo and Sam go find the bigass party that Elrond is throwing because he wrecked shop on the Ringwraiths at the Ford of Bruinen, at which they will be guests of honor. Once they show up, Pippin--who I will put $5 on the table right now to say is at least a half pint deep already--announces, "Here is our noble cousin! Make way for Frodo, Lord of the Ring!" And Gandalf immediately shushes him, because as Pippin freely admits, Gandalf "thinks [he] needs keeping in order." Which... Sorry Pips, but I have to agree with the graybeard at this point on that one. You're a wee bit of a menace with a big mouth.

So this party has a long list of esteemed guests, and for brevity's sake, you're getting this in list form:

A metric ton of Elves

Glorfindel (who is excused from the metric ton by virtue of the fact that he saved the hobbits' asses)

Gandalf (who is allowed to mix despite VERY sketchy ethics around mind reading)

Elrond (who is hosting)

Arwen (who is the host's daughter and Aragorn's big fat crush)

Gloin (who is talkative AF for a dwarf and gives Frodo the cliffsnotes version of The Hobbit as well as how everyone's doing)

Bilbo (who of course has decided he hates parties in his curmudgeonly old age)

Most of the this party is Gloin catching Frodo and the readers up on how everyone from The Hobbit (and their children and grandchildren) are doing, which honestly was kind of lovely to hear. It's really lovely that for the most part, everyone is enjoying their retirement and their kids are active in the world and actively keeping the forces of Mordor at bay. Standouts include Beorn's son Grimbeorn and his men keeping their lands safe, and Bard the Bowman's grandson is ruling the survivors of Laketown.

Another standout--but for reasons that mean I need to whack Tolkien on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper--is Bombur, who apparently has reached a girth of such epic proportions that it takes six dwarves to move him. Guys, I have basic reading comprehension. I can see that this is intended affectionately and probably for comedy, but like...BOMBUR IS A WHOLE-ASS PERSON, WHY IS THE ONLY THING ABOUT HIM THAT HE'S FAT??? WHAT ELSE IS HE UP TO? Is he running an armchair version of the Great Dwarven Bakeoff? Is he writing a cookbook? Give me SOMETHING other than "Bombur's still fat." You cannot define a person by a single trait like this, and given the care with which Tolkien rounds out his other characters, it's jarring AF and I hate it.

The other sour note in this recounting is the fact that Balin, Ori, and Oin are SUPER missing, and at this point I believe are already dead in Moria, but Gloin and the rest of the Dwarves don't know that yet.

Having caught up on all the Dwarven gossip, we finally get Frodo and Bilbo reuniting...and the Ring freaking RUINING what should have been a really nice moment:

When he had dressed, Frodo found that while he slept the ring has been hung around his neck on a new chain, light but strong. Slowly he drew it out. Bilbo put out his hand. But Frodo quickly drew back the Ring. To his distress and amazement he found that he was no longer looking at Bilbo; a shadow seemed to have fallen between them, and through it he found himself eyeing a little wrinkled creature with a hungry face and bony groping hands. He felt a desire to strike him.

This more than anything else tells us that Bilbo did not carry the Ring for so many years unscathed. There is something of Gollum in this little vision, and it's tragic and telling for a few reasons. First, Frodo has not yet internalized pity, as Gandalf warned him to way back in like...oh my god, was it chapter 2? He has no pity for Gollum, and in this moment, he doesn't seem to have pity for the toll the Ring took on Bilbo either. Some of that might be the Ring's influence, and some of it might be a semiconscious revulsion and fear about what the Ring is already doing through it's influence on Frodo. This interaction is probably also colored by the Ring wanting to stay with Frodo, and Bilbo has asked for it, so the Ring's natural assholery is coming out here. This is also a pretty terrifying yardstick for readers. Bilbo had the ring for like 60 years and used it as a party trick. It wasn't really awake, it wasn't really trying to do anything, and it did THIS to Bilbo. Frodo has had the ring in its active state for...I dunno, a month? And he's already losing control over his ability to control himself when the Ring is being assertive. What would (or did?) the Ring show Bilbo about Frodo? Either way, this makes it HELLA clear that Frodo is in real danger and it's going to be an order of magnitude worse than what has happened to Bilbo.

And I think Bilbo kind of knows this, or has a sense of the scale, because he aplogizes:

I am sorry: sorry you have come in for this burden; sorry about everything. Don't adventures ever have an end? I suppose not.

So I'm not a girl who is big on apologies. Your sorrow does not change reality, and it doesn't meaningfully ameliorate the practicalities of dealing with the hand we've been dealt. But what I do like here is that Bilbo is quietly acknowledging the difference between the neatness of a narrative, which often focuses on adventure and artificially neatens them to have clear beginnings and endings, and life, which is much more of a wibbly wobbly timey wimey ball of stuff without clear beginnings or endings. That is going to resonate, and it's meta in a way that the English major in me adores. Tolkien knows what he's doing here; this is nearly a bastardization of an ekphrasis (where a work of art in one medium is described in another and generally functions to call out the strengths and weaknesses of both to highlight the differences). Except instead of two works of art, Tolkien is comparing narrative to life. My little English major heart is happy, even as the hard, practical side of me is like, "don't bother apologizing, Bilbo. Help or don't, but knock off the thoughts and prayers."

Well, after that mood killer, the party is saved for Frodo by songs, including one chanted by Bilbo that goes on for four straight pages. The evening slowly winds to a close after that, but not before we get a nice little moment between Aragorn and Arwen, and a big old eye pierce through Frodo from Arwen.

That's about where I'm going to leave this one, because up next is the council meeting, and I might need a stiff drink and a party to psych myself up for what I've often heard described as one of the more lengthy and difficult chapters of this book.

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Henry Danger Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 4

Episode 1: Sick and Wired

~Henry's House~

Some heroes don't wear capes and that was true for Miss Danger.

She didn't agree with them, thinking they were too much of a liability in the field since a bad guy could grab them and pull you around like a dog on a leash. But even when (y/n) wasn't in uniform, she still put aside her work for the day and ran halfway across town for a friend in need, namely Henry. The poor kid had called her a few days prior to say that he wouldn't be able to come into work 'cause he had some lousy cold and whilst that meant she and her grumpy boyfriend would have more fighting to do themselves, she was adamant that he stay home and rest. 

She remembered the days of being susceptible to colds, back before she had been fried in the densitiser and turned into a super-healing, ass-kicking machine, and knew all too well about how lousy sickness made you feel. Therefore, when she'd received a cry-for-help phone call from Henry, begging that she come over and see if he was taking his temperature correctly, she hadn't given it a moment's notice, not even when Ray started complaining. 

Ever since he'd secretly bought the ring, he'd been dying to find the right moment to propose, one where it was calm, romantic, sweet and not too rushed, but if she was at Henry's house the entire time, how was he meant to do that? She couldn't help it though, whilst the Man Cave was lovely and being apart from him sucked, her caregiver's heart was just screaming to be at Henry's bedside, nursing him through whatever bug was ailing him. And the best part was, she couldn't get sick, not even a little bit, so she really was the perfect nurse, checking up on him every day when his parents weren't there to see how he was doing. Jasper, on the other hand, wasn't.

(y/n) had insisted that she didn't need an assistant in helping Henry get better, saying that she'd taken care of her cousins when she was younger and knew everything about combatting colds, from making soup to tucking people in, she was good at it. But the curly-haired boy had asserted himself, countering her argument by telling her how in his hour of need, Henry should have his best bud whipping up a cure-all for him. He even offered a nasal thermometer, whatever the hell that was, and had shoved it up the kid's nose before he or the young woman could protest. She had much better ways of taking his temperature but whatever.

"Hey, Jasper..." Henry groaned, feeling like complete crap and the small nozzle of the thermometer tickling the sensitive membrane in his nose wasn't helping. He was glad that he cared and appreciated the gesture of him skipping work (with (y/n)'s permission, of course) just to look after him, but to be perfectly honest, he...didn't want his help. It sounded really mean and ungrateful and he never wanted to make Jasper feel bad, however, his help wasn't helpful. At least, not as helpful as (y/n)'s; she knew about first-aid and science and how the body heals, all that shit, so she was actually making him better or at least she was making the pain bearable.

"Yeah, whatcha need?" Jasper asked, looking up from whatever blending, squashing, juicing he was doing so he could look at his pasty friend. He certainly looked like crap, which was why he was mixing up something that would wash away all of his problems, maybe.

"Will you please come take this thermometer out of my nose-hole?" The kid asked in a rough, dull tone, so unlike his usually chirpy self. It was like his energy was being sucked away, probably to fight the goddamn cold that was crippling him. Man, he just wanted to be healthy again.

"Okay, let's check that temperature." The boy smiled and stopped what he was doing so he could walk over to his friend's bedside and finally remove the irritating device, just as (y/n) walked back into Henry's room with a glass of water in her hand.

"Here's your water—oh, thank god, you're taking that thing out." She commented as she circled the bed to put the glass down on the bedside table, close enough for Henry to reach it, but also out of harm's way since it would be horrible for him to have to clean up a puddle after she'd left.

"Thanks, (y/n/n). Well?" Henry looked from the kind woman to his friend, who was still squinting at the thermometer after yanking it from his nostril. If he waited any longer, the reading would be wrong.

"Hmmm. I think it needs to go in deeper." Jasper confessed, thinking that the numbers on his thermometer weren't matching up with Henry's blazingly hot forehead. Perhaps they'd not shoved it in right, yeah that was it.

"What?!" Henry exclaimed, not liking the sound of that. It had already been too deep for his liking, why did it have to go in again? Wasn't there a better way to do this?

"You probably took too long taking the reading. If you leave it out in the air for too long, the heat sensors begin to measure the room temperature, not the body's temperature." (y/n) explained, pulling Henry's quilts and extra blankets further up his body since they'd began to slip ever since he'd sat up to receive Jasper's wondrous miracle cure. She didn't want him to get a chill, even if she was appearing like a bit of a mother hen.

"Well, I've never used a nasal thermometer before." Jasper protested, even though the girl wasn't blaming him in any way. She saw how much he cared and even if his methods weren't...practical, she still thought he was a lovely kid for helping it. If only Ray saw it that way.

"Well, maybe you should learn how to use a nasal thermometer before you stick them in your friends' noses," Henry told him in an agitated voice. It wasn't like him to get moody, it was the illness speaking and the banging in his head making him snap, so the two trying to help him didn't take it to heart.

"All right, grumpy-pants. We'll just try it again, so, hold still." (y/n) said in her motherly voice and took the thermometer from Jasper's hands so she could insert it herself this time. She tried to be as gentle as possible, not even giving the sticky snot on the device a second thought since she'd dealt with a lot worse before. She could just wash her hands, it was fine.

"Ow! Go back home to Ray, stop torturing me!" Henry whined as the same nostril was assaulted again. Not even the world's gentlest touch could make the experience pleasant, but he didn't mean what he'd said. 

He wanted to be taken care of, he wanted to get better, even if he was taking up more of (y/n)'s time that she would usually give to Ray. He wasn't happy, he knew that. He was missing work and stealing away his would-be fiancée when he wanted to pop the all-important question. It had been a month since they'd been on Swellview's Got Talent and everyone but the girl knew about what was in the works, they were just waiting on him to get the guts and pick the right moment. It was agonising.

"Don't be such a baby. I'll go back to my boyfriend when I'm satisfied that you've been properly taken care of." (y/n) answered, wiggling the thermometer up past the upper lateral cartilage and just into the bone where it would be warmer. Her heart tingled at the thought of the man waiting for her back home and couldn't help but let a soft smile slip onto her face, letting the boys know exactly what she was thinking about. Yeah, she'd say yes, she'd marry him tomorrow wearing her jeans and t-shirt if he asked her to; she was as in love as he was.

"What are you making anyway?" Henry asked his best friend, who'd sloped back to his little table with a smirk on his face at the excitement at being in a big secret. 

Ray wasn't sure about letting Jasper the Blabbermouth know about his plans to ask the love of his life to marry him, fearing that he'd spoil the surprise and then he'd be left to stammer an excuse to his girl about why he hadn't just grown a pair and manned up. But he'd found out anyway (Schwoz was a terrible gossip when excited) and vowed to be silent on the matter, knowing his friends, not to mention himself, would never forgive him if the worst happened.

"Oh, a cure for your cold," Jasper answered, pressing the juice out of some squishy fruit and his words made (y/n) pause. He did science in school, right?

"Uh, Jasp, you can't cure a cold. Or, they haven't found one yet." She told him, sitting on the end of Henry's end as she waited for the thermometer to do its thing. If Schwoz couldn't work it out and trust me, he had been there, attempted that, then Jasper had no hope, no matter how much crap he turned into liquid.

"You can with the liquid cleanse I'm making," Jasper told them, smiling proudly at how big his genius was. Seriously, sometimes he baffled himself with how amazing some of his ideas were.

"What's in it?" Henry asked from a mix of curiosity, fear and disgust. From what they could tell from the bed, the cleanse was brown and Jasper had been crushing things up for over an hour, so who knows what was in there. Plus, the boy was worried about what he was going to do with it and there was no way (y/n) was gonna let him ingest it. She didn't want a case of poisoning on her hands. 

"A combination of orange juice, nut milk, fish oil, frankincense, tomato purée, myrrh, bee pollen and liquid lard." The boy listed, making their smiles drop the further he went on. Where had he found that? It sounded horrific and Henry was certain that his queasy stomach would never recover from the smell of it, let alone the taste.

"Wow...I am not drinking that." He muttered, snuggling down into his blankets slightly as if he was trying to hide away from the concoction. Y'know, witches were burnt at the stake for mixing these kinds of shit potions and now he knew why - they probably poisoned the entire, fucking village.

"Drink it? Why would you drink it?" Jasper scoffed, making Henry and (y/n) share a confused look. He was blending it all into a smoothie consistency, what else would they do with it?

"You said it was a cleanse. People normally drink cleanses, not that I'm letting him drink that shit." (y/n) explained, thinking back to all the fad diets Ray had tried to stay in shape or just to stay trendy. He always had those spinach, proactive, enzyme, shake, cleanse things that all the socialites swear by, even though the majority of them deserved to be thrown down a toilet.

"Yeah, but you don't swallow it. I use this to bathe him." Jasper replied, making his friend even paler and sweatier than he already was. He was already sick, he didn't want to be even more miserable, not to mention that being given a sludge bath by his friend would be downright weird. "Nope."

"Come on, like (y/n) said. Don't be a baby. Don't you wanna feel better?" The curly-haired boy asked in a tender voice as he brought a sample of his miracle juice over, forcing Henry out of bed as he refused to be subjected to a cold, slimy, embarrassing bath. To hell if (y/n) would kill him for walking around and wasting what little energy he had, he just had to get away.

"No, I like being sick, bye!" He said quickly, tugging his blankets away from his body and swinging his aching legs onto the floor. He felt the cold immediately, wishing he could snuggle right back into his mattress, but just one look at the brown stuff in the jug was enough to make up his mind and move his feet.

"Hey! Get back into bed! I won't let him give you a bath, it's ok—" (y/n) tried to tell him, instantly following him over to the other side of the room in the hopes that she could tempt him back to where he could rest, but one look at Jasper holding a sponge had his feet frozen like they were in concrete. That, and his whiz watch started flashing. 

This had been a regular thing over the last few days; Ray had been missing his sidekick and was a stickler for perfect attendance from his employees, so when Henry informed him that he had to take a few days off for his health, he wasn't happy at all. And as such, the man-child had insisted that he holo-call the boy every day and see what he was up to that was so important, he just had to drag his sweet girl to his sickbed to care for him. The jealousy was a real thing.

"Ooh, sorry, but I gotta take this, soooo..." Henry told Jasper, who sighed and put down his sponge, seeing that Ray took precedent since he was the boss and everything. With the prospect of unwanted bathing treatment out of the way, Henry flicked open his watch and held his wrist far out in front of him so the tiny, little holo-Ray could see him and (y/n), who wasn't scared to get close to his plague-riddled body.

"Hey, Ray!" Henry greeted him, trying to not seem as ill and as icky as he felt since he didn't want to appear weak, but he still looked like shit either way, not that Ray was buying his "I'm having time off work, 'cause I'm sick" act.

"Hey, handsome." (y/n) grinned, her mood lifting as his figure appeared in the room. Despite it not being her real boyfriend, one whom she could feel or touch or love properly, it was still nice to see him after leaving their home so early that morning because, honestly, she'd missed him. It had been three days of caring for Henry and whilst she didn't regret doing that, she'd be branded a liar if she said she hadn't missed spending all her time cuddling, kissing or being silly with him.

"Hey, Henry. Hey, sweet girl." God, his voice. His fucking voice. It sounded pissed off, miffed, sulky because both of his sidekicks weren't by his side, but it was so nice to hear, even though the static garble of the whiz watch. It reminded her how Henry would be well again in a couple of days and she could go back to her normal routine, the one where she got to have him clinging to her twenty-four-seven.

"How you doin'?" The boy asked, rubbing his sniffly, itchy nose on the back of his sleeve as he tried to keep everything in; he didn't want his nose to run, he didn't want to puke, he didn't want to collapse from exhaustion. Not that Ray was bothered.

"Hungry! Handsome and hungry." Ray answered, making sure to send a smirk down the link since he knew that it would make his girl giggle and roll her eyes, which it did. He knew her too well and had missed seeing her reactions to his bigheaded comments or his bulging muscles, he just wanted her home. The Man Cave didn't feel like it without her.

"Hey, Henry! Hi, (y/n)!" Charlotte's head poked into the hologram and she waved at the boy and woman, who were always glad to see her. She had taken on the main voice of reason in the Man Cave since (y/n) wasn't there, so both of them had sympathy for her since she had to reign in Ray's childishness and stop his ridiculous plans without any help.

"Oh, Char, you're already at work," Henry mentioned, not unhappy to see his friend there, just surprised that she'd gotten in so early. Geez, way to make him look bad, even though he had a valid excuse and the boss's girlfriend to support his side. 

"Yes, she is and we want breakfast and I want my girlfriend back. So, on your way to work, you and (y/n) stop off at Casa de Waffles. Pick up nine waffles, a dozen fat biscuits, some, uhhhh..." Ray started listing everything he wanted for breakfast and chose his girlfriend's favourite waffle place since he couldn't wait to see her smile and feed her bits syrupy waffle like the lovestruck idiots they were.

"Fresh fruit," Charlotte added in, wanting something healthy and light instead of a massive waffle or a biscuit. She wasn't as much of a junk food addict as Ray was and he definitely didn't see why she'd wanted something so blergh for breakfast.

"Pffft, fresh fruit. I'm Charlotte and I want fresh fruit!" He mocked her in a silly voice, making the young girl look at him with an uncaring face. She was used to him being a child and just let his comments wash over her because she always had (y/n) on hand to scold him for being so mean.

"Raymond! Henry can't come to work today, he's still sick. So, I won't be home until later 'cause I'm still looking after him." The young woman explained in a sharp, authoritative tone, making him stop all the joking around. 

Later? He didn't want later, he wanted her in his arms now so they could eat breakfast together. It had been days of her waking up at the crack of dawn so she could walk to the kid's house, meaning he'd been waking up alone (no chance for some early-morning action) and eating alone (being with Schwoz or Charlotte didn't count). It sucked and ever since he'd decided to make her his forever, he'd been needier than ever, so this whole situation was torturous.

"Oh? It's been three days. You wanna maybe see a doctor? Ray asked Henry, thinking that once you've reached the three-day mark, you should seek some professional help, not the kind-hearted generosity of his girlfriend. He was beginning to suffer too.

"Ehhh, I mean, it's just a cold, but I still feel pretty bad and (y/n) says I've got a fever so I should—" Henry told him. If he fought criminals in this state, he just knew he'd been walking into a disaster, being more like a punching bag than a sidekick and as per the young woman's advice, it was better to rest up until he felt better than to try and be noble.

"Kid, I totally get it. Just stay home, rest, let my girlfriend take care of you." Ray answered in a seemingly nice manner, although if you looked into his words deeper, you would be able to pick up on how salty he was inside. He hadn't been sick with a cold since he was a child and barely knew what illness felt like, so he didn't totally get it. He just got a stabbing twang of jealousy and loneliness when he thought about his girlfriend being anywhere but with him. He missed her.

"Aw, doofus, you're so cute. You sure you don't mind me staying here to make sure Henry's okay?" How could he be mad though when she was so obliviously sweet about it? He wanted to let her go out and share her sweetness, he wanted her to put her phenomenal nursing skills to work, even if it was just for a little while, but she was so gorgeous. He couldn't help but want her all to himself, he didn't know what to do without her.

"Yeah, he's all yours, sweet girl." He told her, not letting her see how desperate he was, but that didn't mean he wasn't suspicious. He just wanted her to think that everything was okay so she didn't see how he wasn't believing Henry's sickness story. He saw through his lies.

"I'll be home later, 'kay? I love you." She smiled, sending her warmest love to him through her gaze as he studied Henry's little hologram self. He didn't look that sick, just under the weather. Sick, his butt.

"Love you too." His heart melted at that, unable to truly hold onto the grudge when it could hold onto her love instead. It still felt crazy that he got to hear that every day and made the idea of the ring even more clear. It was right, fucking terrifying, but right.

"Later, man." Henry grinned at their mushiness, knowing how Ray was probably reeling from the knowledge of the ring box he kept hidden somewhere in the Man Cave. He wouldn't tell them where it was but swore that (y/n) would never find it so they settled for that, trusting that he knew what he was doing and in such a sweet moment, neither the woman nor Henry suspected Ray's frustration.

"Yeah, okay." And with that, the guy was gone, left pining for his girl and seething at his sidekick for making up some stupid cold so he could stay off work. He saw through it and was convinced there was some conspiracy that went beyond the thick blankets and ingredients for soup (y/n) had taken with her.

"Right, back into bed, you. I'll bring you some soup later, okay?" (y/n) told Henry once the call was finished and he diligently did as she said. Bed sounded quite nice right now and he trusted that she wouldn't let Jasper sponge him down. Rest, that's what he needed, just a bit of sleep...

~Meanwhile, in the Man Cave~

"That rotten, little mutt!" Ray snapped as he turned away from the computer with a scowl. He could let his anger out now and picked up a water bottle so he could sling it across the room in frustration. The only problem was that Schwoz was working on some technical wizardry in the middle of the room and when the water bottle hit him, it damn near killed him.

"Ray!" Charlotte protested, standing up to look at Schwoz's quivering, little body in horror. She knew he was mad about (y/n) not being around, she knew he was frustrated by not having a chance to propose over the past few weeks, but seriously? Why the aggression?

"What?" He asked in an annoyed tone, not liking her scolding tone. It was like what his girl used when she wasn't happy with him, only it wasn't the same and just left a poignant reminder that she was at stupid Henry's house.

"You could've killed Schwoz!" The girl told him, gesturing to the genius on the floor and how he was there because of how reckless he had been. Okay, that made him feel a little bit bad, he never meant to take his emotions out on his friends, especially the ones that had done nothing wrong.

"Oh, sorry, Schwoz. I didn't mean to hit you with that bottle." Ray apologised, feeling like it was the right thing to do. (y/n) would've made him say sorry, she was so nice and sweet and kind like that. Shit, he missed her so much.

"Well, you did." Schwoz groaned, reaching to grab Ray's hand so he could pull himself up but the hero just kept on walking. He wasn't that sorry and Schwoz wasn't that injured. Probably.

"I just I'm so angry at Henry for lying to me and stealing my girlfriend," Ray grumbled, leaving Schwoz to fall flat on his face. Okay, he was making it out to be a lot worse than it seemed. Henry hadn't stolen (y/n), she was a person, not a priceless diamond, and it wasn't like he was trying to steal her affections for himself, that would be weird. Very weird. No, he was certain that he just wanted someone to wait on him, bring him drinks and food, tuck him in when he couldn't be bothered to do it himself and (y/n) was too kindhearted to see past his ploy. 

"Wait a second, you think Henry's lying to you about being sick? And that he wants to get (y/n) away from the Man Cave even though he knows you're gonna propose?" Charlotte gawped at him, not believing he was serious. Of all the stupid, weird, over-the-top, mad shit he'd thought of over the years, this was the strangest and most ridiculous. Henry would never do that to Ray, he was like a brother to him; he'd never lie and he'd never deliberately come between him and his girlfriend.

"I know he's lying! And I know that he wants (y/n) to take care of him whilst he's doing the lying!" Ray nodded, causing the girl to gasp at what he was insinuating. Maybe she should call (y/n) and tell her that there was another baby who needed her care, 'cause this was just...wrong.

"Ray Manchester! How could you say that about Henry?" Charlotte scolded him in her best (y/n) voice, hoping it carried more weight when she said it like that. Where had all the trust gone? 

"Oh, okay, so you think he's telling the truth and he's not making (y/n) bring him soup and blankets just because he likes it?" Ray questioned with the lilt of sarcasm in his voice, looking at the girl and her folded arms. He wasn't surprised that she didn't like his ideas, she never did, only this time he was sure that he was in the right. I mean, who has three days off with a cold?

"I do," Charlotte replied firmly. She knew that Henry really was sick and that the phone call he'd made to (y/n) begging for her magic, healing touch was genuine. He'd needed help, so she went to his side, was that really worth such a big fuss? She came back in the evenings, he was just really needy of a proposal opportunity.

"Well, I think he's lying. So, we're gonna find out." Ray hissed to her, using his status as the boss to get what he wanted and Charlotte didn't like the sound of that. How was he planning on doing the finding-outing? Would it involve methods she didn't approve of? "Wait a second..."

"Schwoz!" Ray looked at the terrified man, who had had more than enough of beatings for one day. He didn't want to get hurt, he just wanted to do his work in peace. "Please, don't hurt me anymore." 

"No, I have an assignment for you. I want you to get yourself a disguise." Ray told him, which evaporated Schwoz's fear and filled his eyes with wonder. He loved disguises, especially if it was for a covert mission, it made him feel like a spy. "Okay, I will get a disguise."

"Yeah and then I want you to sneak into Henry's house, install some hidden cameras and microphones so we can spy on him and see what he's making (y/n) do." The larger man elaborated, sending thrills of excitement into Schwoz's body as he thought about the mission. Okay, yeah, it was gonna be weird, but also strangely cool to stake out the house.

"We're gonna spy on Henry and (y/n)?" Schwoz grinned, causing Ray to hold up one finger. They weren't spying on (y/n) per se, he already knew that she'd never lie to him and was over there for what she thought was a good cause. It was Henry whom he was truly interested in.

"No, no, just Henry. We're just gonna make sure that he's not ordering (y/n) around too much." He corrected, knowing that if his girlfriend found out, she'd kill him, or worse, break up with him. He just wanted to see what his sneaky sidekick was up to, he wasn't particularly bothered about her, apart from the fact that he missed seeing her smile around the Man Cave.

"No! I will not let you "spchy" on him and you know that (y/n) wouldn't approve either." Charlotte jumped in, using the young woman's name again since at this point it was the only thing she could use against him, not that it worked.

"Oh, Charlotte's saying no again." Ray mocked her, thinking that all she ever did was criticise him. Yeah, his sweet girl would be dead set against it, but what she didn't know wouldn't upset her, right?

"It's an invasion of Henry's privacy and it's wrong. You should just focus on proposing to your girlfriend." She went on, this time making the man shut up for a minute as he thought of a comeback. He already had all that stuff figured out, well, most of it, he was just waiting.

"Hey, you better not run to the tubes so you can run and tell Henry that we're gonna spy on him," Ray suggested, knowing that if he mentioned it, then she'd do it and then she'd fall right into his trap. He didn't want any interference, he just wanted to prove himself right.

Ray pretended to stop her as she made a run for it, sprinting up to the tube pad so she could escape. The man made some half-assed shouts for her to come back, acting as though this wasn't his plan all along and watched as Charlotte lowered the tube and smirked at him. 

"Ha! Up the tube!" Charlotte shouted, expecting that she'd go flying off, but just before the computer could register her command, Ray changed the settings so that the tube was locked and she was trapped. "Tube transport, locked."

"Locked?!" The girl gasped, looking around as she wondered what had happened, but Ray wasn't done yet. He. had to make sure she couldn't go anywhere, even if it was a. bit mean.

"And switching to manual control..." He mumbled, pressing a few buttons on the control panel so only he could activate the tube suckage. It was a system designed to trap criminals and bad guys that had managed to sneak into the Man Cave, not for Charlottes, but in this case, it worked for him.

"Hey! Hey! Why didn't I go up the tube?" Charlotte asked the men, who were mildly amused at how angry she seemed. Oh, they were smart, well, they still thought Henry was lying and that wasn't smart at all, but for being so crafty, they were slightly smart. Just a smidge.

"'Cause I switched it off," Ray told her through the microphone and smiled at how pissed off she became. Now she realised why he'd suggested it and cursed herself for falling for something so dumb, especially when he started taunting her. "Off?"

"Yeah. You can jump but you won't go far." He joked, really testing her patience. How long did he expect her to be in this thing? It was cramped and they still hadn't had breakfast, surely, he wasn't that cruel.

"Okay, you better not keep me trapped in this tube!" She warned him. When she got out, she was gonna break his legs, not sure how she was gonna do that, but she was anyway. 

"Okay. Up the tube...and other tube down...and Charlotte." He smirked, deciding to get cocky since his first plan had worked so well. He fiddled about with the controls, sending the girl up, only to bring her straight back down in the opposite tube, which made her blink in surprise as she ended up right where she was before. "There! Now, you're in a different tube."

"Oh, Ray, you're so incorrigible." Schwoz grinned, making his friend laugh since it sounded like a good thing and judging by Schwoz's happy face, he too had no problems trapping Charlotte behind glass.

"I don't know what that means," Ray confessed once his laughter had ended and Charlotte rolled her eyes. He could figure it out himself, she was done trying to be the mature one and hoped to god that Henry got better and (y/n) returned home soon, because, otherwise, Ray's head would be on a platter.

~

"Right, you get some sleep, I'm off to make soup. I'll be back up in an hour or two to see if you feel any better, 'kay?" (y/n) smiled gently at Henry as he snuggled deeper into his blankets, feeling better for having her there. He'd have to get her a massive gift basket or something 'cause she really had gone above and beyond to make him feel better, even when his dad and Piper told her not to bother. Mrs Hart was concerned about her son, of course, but just left her to do the nursing as she had no clue what to do and even told her to help herself to anything in the house if it helped.

"Yeah, thanks, (y/n/n)," Henry mumbled, already feeling his exhaustion pulling him under and even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to open his eyes again. He looked so cute all wrapped up in bed, even if his forehead was sticky and his eyebags were shocking, he looked smaller, if that was possible, vulnerable perhaps. Sort of like the kid she had first met three years ago, who knew nothing about fighting or the true villainry in the world. 

"No problem, kid. Just shout if you need anything." She whispered and gently closed his bedroom door behind her as she walked down the hall. 

Whilst she had been attending to her patient, Schwoz had been on manoeuvres and had infiltrated the house, planting some device in the kitchen sink that made Piper and her dad freak out when sparks started flying all over their kitchen. 

A very clever ploy that got even cleverer when he appeared at the door dressed as a very familiar Italian plumber, saying that he miraculously knew about their problem and had come to fix it. The Harts were certainly in need of help and practically pulled him inside before their house was on fire, allowing Schwoz to place a sneaky camera near the kitchen that would allow Ray to monitor the living room and kitchen. 

With Piper and Mr Hart still blinded by their terror, Schwoz easily made up some bullshit excuse about needing to go to the attic to plug the sink problem, something Mr Hart couldn't understand but then again, he wasn't a plumber, so he just went along with it anyway. It was like some Mission Impossible shit, Schwoz was rolling and diving, sneaking about with his back to walls and it was a good thing too; he was about to round the corner onto the hall where the bedrooms were but pulled himself back at the last minute when he heard a certain someone hum a familiar tune. 

Oh, god, it was (y/n) and for a moment, Schwoz panicked at the thought of her seeing him because that would blow the whole plan open and Ray would kill him, but he needn't worry. There was an extremely handy pot plant in the hall that gave him enough cover to duck behind and luckily, the woman had her nose too deep in her phone to see the shocking red of his costume stand out against the green of the fanned-out leaves. 

She walked straight past, not even sensing his presence as she scrolled through some online recipes for brown soup, a renowned medicine for those with coughs and sniffles. Schwoz could jump for joy, but stayed silent, letting her walk down the stairs and into the chaos that would keep her busy whilst he was sorting out the camera in Henry's room. 

"Holy shit, what happened?!" (y/n) exclaimed as she appeared at the top of the stairs, ready to ask Mr Hart if she could use his kitchen, but what she was met with was alarming, to say the least. Sparks everywhere, Piper and her dad trying to fan them away with a red towel, screams and panicked shouts, what the fuck?

"I don't know, the plumber said he'd fix it!" Mr Hart exclaimed as she ran over and examined the situation. Okay, she had no idea what was going on, sinks don't catch fire unless they have some electrical components and from a few metres away, it was impossible to see the small device causing the problem.

"What plumber?!" The young woman screamed, trying to stop Piper from flapping at the sparks since they posed a serious risk. They could actually start a fire if they spread onto something else, but she didn't know what to do without getting closer. Was this a fire extinguisher problem? And who was this plumber? She hadn't seen anyone or heard them, she had wanted to do was make soup.

~In Henry's room~

Okay, Henry was dead to the world, whether it was from his supposed sickness or (y/n)'s awesome care, he didn't wake up as Schwoz crept into his room and dug around in his toolbox for some cameras, which he started to place strategically place around the room. He only needed a few and quickly made for the window, hoping he'd be able to sneak out without anyone noticing, but that was wishful thinking.

The genius stumbled as he crept past the couch, making an awful rattling noise in his toolbox that roused the boy from his sleep and Ray, who had been testing out his new toys, saw the whole bloody thing.

"Wha--Schwoz? Is that you?" Henry asked groggily, thinking he was hallucinating as he saw what he thought was his friend, wearing a Mario costume, standing in his bedroom, hugging a toolbox. What fever dream was this? This couldn't be real, his sickness must have been messing up his mind, 'cause this was just insane.

"No. I'm...just a dream. Yes...a dream about a nice Italian plumber, so you go back to sleep and you just wait for (y/n)'s souuu---arghhhh!" The small man said in a soothing voice, although he should've worried less about Henry and more about where he was walking. He hadn't realised that he was creeping towards the window and when his heel nudged the windowsill, he tripped and fell all the way to the ground. To make things even weirder, he just laughed off his pain, prompting Henry to flop his head back down so he could snap out of this crazy dream. It had to be a dream, no way had just happened.

~A few hours later~

So, some good was coming out of this whole hidden camera business, well, there was for Ray and Schwoz, who had discovered that there was never a dull moment in the Hart household. Ray had dreamily watched his girl making soup after she had dealt with the sink issue (something that was strange, but she just put it down to kids since she had no idea what her boyfriend was plotting), and wished that she was at home making it for him. Stupid Henry eating her soup, Anyway, things brightened up when he flicked on the cameras again in the living and saw that Mr Hart and Piper were arguing about her dad wearing her new, flashing pants. Yeah, they didn't get it either, but still, it was hilarious to see his dad dancing.

"They have no idea that we're watching and laughing!" Ray giggled with Schwoz as they watched the father cower before his daughter as he fumbled for an excuse. They wouldn't want to be in his position, Piper was hella scary when enraged.

"Sorry, privacy, you've been invaded!" Schwoz joked, making his boss laugh as they both nibbled on some snacks. Henry had been asleep all afternoon, so this was the best thing they had watched, or rather, this was the best thing Schwoz had watched. He didn't find watching (y/n) cooking particularly interesting, to be honest. And things were about to get interesting; the elevator dinged and out stepped Jasper, who was completely unaware of what was going on at work since he'd been with Henry too, not that Ray missed him as he did with his sweet girl.

"Hey, guys!" He greeted, wondering what they were laughing about and he had yet to see that Charlotte was still trapped in her tube. At least she had been fed a burrito enorme, even if it had landed on her head when Ray sent it up the other tube. What a jerk, she couldn't wait to snitch to her friend about how mental her boyfriend was when he went more than five hours without her.

"Hey, other kid." "Hey, Curly." Ray and Schwoz replied half-heartedly, one being slightly nice than the other as Schwoz used (y/n)'s nickname for the boy just out of instinct. He normally heard her say it, so it must've just rubbed off on him, which was rather nice.

"Jasper! Get me out of this tube!" Charlotte cried, thankful that, at last, someone other than those two dickheads had arrived at work and could actually free her from his glass, cylindrical prison. Seriously, her legs were starting to cramp up and the air was getting close, not to mention she was going to tell Henry and then beat Ray's ass. She had a lot to do, she just needed to get out.

"Why is she in the—?" The boy asked his boss rather than heeding her order straight away. He had firsthand experience of pissing Ray off and knew it was safer to ask rather than do. It would save him a lot of embarrassment later.

"Oh... uh, we're just playing a game." Ray lied, acting as though Charlotte was loving it and Schwoz agreed. He was enjoying this way too much to let the girl be a spoilsport, and he also didn't want to ace Ray's wrath. The man had been partially (y/n)-less for three days now, he was like a grouchy dragon.

"It's not a game!" Charlotte argued, praying to god that Jasper would believe her and not those two idiots, but they weren't about to let her wiggle out of it and after months of him working in Junk-N-Stuff, Ray and Schwoz had learned just how gullible Jasper could be.

"That's part of the game." The superhero clarified for the boy, who just went with it since he was the boss and he was the one who paid him. Don't bite the hand that feeds you, his little motto for when he was tiptoeing around Ray and his temper.

"Okay, well, it's past nine and I've just locked up Junk-N-Stuff, so I'm gonna head on home...whoa. Is that—-is that Henry's room?" Jasper told the man but trailed off when he saw the familiar decor of his best friend's bedroom and then (y/n) popping into the shot as she carefully brought in a tray of piping hot, brown soup, one of her finest batches if she did say so herself. Henry had been asleep all afternoon and she figured that he'd be hungry, so she'd figured that they'd test the waters and see if he could keep some nourishment down.

"Yep," Ray answered, his eyes softening as he saw her smile, but then he remembered why he was doing this and he toughened up again. She'd be home in a few hours, then he could cuddle with her all her wanted, just like they normally did, although she'd probably be tired after a full day of nursing stupid Henry. 

"But how are you seeing video—?" Jasper tried to ask, but Ray wasn't a big fan of his questions, not when he was trying to concentrate anyway. He shushed the boy and carefully angled the camera so he could see what was happening more clearly. Oh, yeah, like that was soup, that kid had just made (y/n) lie to his parents so they'd think he was sick too. That shit was obviously chilli or something, not what he pretended it was and he couldn't believe that he'd dragged his sweet girl into such a filthy lie or that she was going along with it.

"There it is. You see Henry there? He's not sick." Ray scoffed, really zooming in on the boy's face as he gratefully accepted the steaming bowl from (y/n) and carefully blew on his first spoonful to cool it down before he swallowed. The woman made herself useful by sanitising a few surfaces, picking up some blankets that had fallen on the floor and just generally chatting with the boy to see how he was doing. The sight was nauseating.

"How do you know?" Schwoz wondered. All he saw was a kid eating soup made by the woman taking care of him. That seemed like something sick people did, whatever Ray found so heinous, he couldn't see it.

"Look at him! Sitting there in bed, eating a big, steaming bowl of chilli." The man hissed. This was a case of the more you think it, the more you come to believe it and at this point, Ray was certain that his sidekick was chowing down on the worst thing you can eat on a queasy stomach, thus making him a liar, liar, pants on fire.

"Uhhh, that looks like (y/n)'s brown soup to me," Charlotte commented and even from the other side of the room with her eyes squinted, she knew her friend's cooking when she saw it. It was damn good soup and it was clear that Ray's anger was running away with his sanity, not that he saw it that way. She was wrong, he was right.

"You're too far away to tell. No, look at it, all dark and thick with chunks. I know chilli when I see it." He argued, thumping his chest as he swore that if anyone could identify (y/n)'s soup, it would be him. He wanted to marry the girl, for god's sake, he knew her better than anyone, or he did when he was thinking straight. 

"I think he is eating (y/n)'s brown soup," Jasper stated as he looked closer at the screen and honestly, there wasn't any arguing with that. He knew the woman too and had eaten too many bowls of chilli in his life to know when he was looking at one and that bowl wasn't no chilli. It was soup, plain and simple.

"No. No, it's not my (y/n)'s soup. Geez, Jasper, you can't tell the difference between brown soup and chilli? You're not allowed to look at my monitors." Ray replied petulantly, once again falling into his childish side that was normally controlled by his girlfriend, especially when he was picking on Curly, but without her, it was left to Charlotte to point it out, not that he cared.

"Oh, Ray...now you're just being a child and I'll tell you something else. Henry and (y/n) are your sidekicks and she's your girlfriend. They're both very responsible and (y/n) would never let him—" She started to lecture him, using her most authoritative tone, but there was another beautiful feature to the manual tube control that would let Ray sulk in peace.

"Mute the tube." He instructed Schwoz, who nodded since he wanted some quiet time too and twizzled a nob on the computer's control panel that cut out all noise coming from Charlotte. She was essentially scolding herself now and only realised when she heard her voice echoing off the glass. Well, her situation was getting better and better.

"Nice. Now, back to Kid Faker or Henry Hartless 'cause he steals girlfriends!" With the peace resumed, the agitated hero focused on the camera feed again, hoping to catch something incriminating, but all he could see was the two chatting, nothing he could use as evidence.

"Ray, listen. Henry and I have been close friends, like, forever." Jasper piped up, suddenly feeling the urge to defend his best friend. He didn't like all this finger-pointing and he'd sworn to always have Henry's back, even if it meant crossing his grumpy boss.

"Ughhhh, get to the point, boy." Ray groaned, not wanting to more boring, pointless speeches from teenagers. He was a grown man in his own home and if he wanted to spy on his sidekick and possibly his hopefully soon-to-be fiancée then he damn well would.

"I just think if he were faking it being sick, he would've told me. And (y/n) would've spotted it straight away and talked some sense into him." The curly-haired boy told him, trusting in their strong bond and how if they had a secret, then they'd tell each other. Plus, (y/n) wasn't one for liars, not when they were doing it for a selfish cause and she'd have hauled Henry's ass to the Man Cave herself if she had thought he was truly ill.

"Yeah...guys do tell their best buddies everything. Their thoughts, their secrets..." Ray pondered the idea, stroking his chin as he stood up and contemplated an idea. Back when (y/n) was his best friend minus the girlfriend thing, he'd spill the beans to her every day, never missing anything and the way she listened to every little detail, even the stuff about his ex-girlfriends that he now knew broke her heart, made him thank whoever sent her to be his angel. But now, he still told her everything, of course, he did, but he wasn't sure if someone else qualified to be his new best friend, 'cause he had her as his lover, which was like a BFF only so much better.

"That's true. Like that time you told me you went to Martha's Vineyard with (y/n) and you f—" Schwoz said absentmindedly, not realising that the gossip had been uttered to him in the expectation that it would be treated the utmost confidentiality. No one needed to know what the couple had gone up to on that trip and if the woman found out that Schwoz knew, she'd never be able to look him in the eye again.

"Don't talk about it, Schwoz! God, (y/n) will kill me!" Ray snapped, causing the genius to button his lip before he went too far. Oh well, he could keep the secret for a bit longer. "Jasper, I'm gonna need you to go shave your chest."

"My chest? Why?" The boy questioned. It had to be one of the weirdest requests he'd ever received, but it would all make sense in a moment because Ray had formed quite a cunning plan.

"You're gonna wear a wire." He told him, sending the teen into a fit of excitement. Okay, Spy Jasper was ready to go, he'd seen all the James Bond movies, he knew how this shit worked and boy was he up for it. Sure, it was morally dubious but fun. "A wire?!"

"Yeah, Schwoz is gonna tape a secret microphone to your chest and you're gonna meet Henry at the Parkway Diner, where I'll be hiding nearby—" Ray explained his idea, drawing more and more enthusiasm from the kid. Normally, he hated it when Jasper got excited, he had too much energy for him and not the kind he liked, but on this occasion, he was critical to the plan, so needs must. "Oooh, and then what?"

"You're gonna ask Henry about this sickness and I bet you that he admits he's faking and using (y/n) for her exception soup-making skills." He finished, his arm around the boy as Schwoz smirked. It was crafty and a bit excessive, but it would probably work. No one would suspect Jasper of being a sneak, he just had one of those faces that people spill their entire life stories to.

"So, I get to be like—like a spy?" Jasper squealed, ruining Ray's patience which had been surfing okay up until now. It's fine, he could handle this.

"Sure, we'll call you...Double O...zero." He told him in a flat tone, not really caring since it didn't matter either way. Jasper was not the next James Bond, nor was this gonna be. A regular thing. He was just the safest option since Charlotte was a rat and Schwoz was just too weird.

"Yes! It's all happening..." Jasper whispered as his dream became a reality and the three listening just rolled their eyes. At least he was compliant though, with Jasper on board, Operation Kid Faker was a go.

~Fifteen minutes later~

Having accepted that Ray wouldn't listen to her no matter what she said, Charlotte had decided to use her time in the tube wisely and whilst Jasper was getting all technical, she just stuck her nose in a book. Sure, it wasn't the most exciting read ever, but anything was better than listening to Schwoz prepare Jasper whilst Ray put on his disguise. It was one of his stupidest getups, something that would probably make his girlfriend laugh out loud if she saw him; he'd slicked back those chocolate brown locks, put on some squeaky, leather pants and shrugged on a matching jacket in an attempt to look like the kind of cool cat that frequented a diner. But, he just looked a bit silly, like he was a really shit Elvis impersonator of something, which wasn't the look he was going for.

"There. Now, this is your microphone, right here next to your noople." Schwoz told the boy has he taped one of those itty bitty mics onto his chest, next to his nipple, not that the guy could say that word.

"Right. Let's go bust a faker." Ray said cooly, complete it his ensemble but putting on a pair of purely black shades, adding to his ridiculous vibe. Yeah, he didn't look like himself, but that was because he looked like an idiot.

"Okay, now will you let me outta here?" Charlotte snapped at the boys, hoping that she could go to the bathroom and stretch her legs. The book was boring and she was dying to tell Henry or (y/n) or someone what had been going on, but Ray saw right through her innocent face.

"No, you could still warn Henry or (y/n), so you gotta stay in there until we prove he's faking." He replied, shuddering at the thought of his girl hearing about this. Firstly, he was sure Henry was lying, and that would break her heart. Secondly, she wouldn't approve of his wild ways to catch him out, leaving her to shout at him and him nursing a wounded heart.

"And what if I need to use the restroom?" The girl asked. She'd been behind glass all afternoon and when you gotta go, you gotta go, so what did he expect her to do? Just go without any shame?

"I already thought of that." Ray reminded her, gesturing to the glass jar that he had sent down for her earlier, something that was as disgusting as it was degrading. The space was so tight, what if it spilt? What if someone walked in? The glass was see-through!

"I am not using this jar!" She hissed, picking the pot up so she could wave it around angrily. Even the nerve of this guy, he was cruising for a bruising.

"Good news for the jar." Ray scoffed, making his fellow fakery discoverers snort with laughter. Honestly, they were all children, but Charlotte did have one trick left up her sleeve. Something a bit cruel, but hey, she'd been trapped all day. She was desperate to pee and to let Henry know what was about to happen. "Let's go... Oh, uh, Schwoz. Three things." 

"Yes?" Schwoz smiled at his boss as he turned around at the last minute, just before he was about to go into the elevator. He would be left to guard the Man Cave, be commander of the helm, not that it was ever that exciting.

"Don't let Charlotte out of the tube 'til after we get back," Ray instructed him as he walked backwards, Jasper opening the elevator so they could get off to the diner before Henry got there. They didn't want him suspecting anything.

"Aye and what are numbers two and three?" The genius craned his neck so he could watch Ray in all his leathery glory before the door slid shut. 

"If (y/n) comes back early, tell her I love her and...don't eat any worms." Ray sighed, making one helper groan and the other two grimace. Okay, first off, awwww, he was cute, soppy, but cute. Second, what the hell, Schwoz ate worms? He was more of a freak than they realised and had often been caught sucking the worms up like spaghetti by the couple when they were just going about their business. He had a problem.

"Aw, but..." The genius pouted, having been hoping that with Charlotte locked up and Ray gone, he'd be free to scoff his favourite snack. The problem was though, that they stunk the whole place up, sort of like a musty, earthy, salty smell that linger on any cloth it touched, so everyone always knew when he'd been snacking and it made (y/n) gag. Therefore, Ray was adamant to welcome her home into a calm, worm-free environment so Schwoz had to behave.

"No buts, no worms." The superhero repeated firmly, pressing the button to go up as the little man rolled his eyes. He'd eat worms if he wanted to. He lived in the Man Cave too, he had rights.

"Okay, Schwoz, let me outta this tube!" Charlotte exclaimed once her idiotic employer and friend were out of earshot and on their way to ruin Henry's trust in them. And to possibly ruin (y/n)'s love for Ray, who knows? She didn't know how well the woman would take it and feared that accusing Henry like they were planning on doing would be the thing that finally made her iron resilience bend, maybe even break. She tolerated Ray's dumb moments so much, but not trusting Henry kinda meant he wasn't trusting her judgement and if she left, well, let's just say Captain Man would never be the same again.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no. You heard what Ray said about you and (y/n) and worms." Schwoz shook his head. Whilst he didn't care about the worms thing, he did care about Charlotte staying put and he was still contemplating passing on Ray's message, he just hadn't thought of the consequences for this entire thing.

"You better listen to me, Schwoz! 'Cause if you don't let me out of this—outta this—oh my—-I think I—-I think I—-ughhhhh." Charlotte fell against the glass limply as she clutched her chest and pretended to go into cardiac arrest or something. This was the cruel bit, tricking Schwoz into thinking she was dying, but if it got her out then she was gonna do it. 

"Ayyyyyy! Charlotte, are you okay? Please, be okay! Charlotte!—" The genius fell for it, hook, line and sinker. he scrambled to lift the tube before sprinting over to the girl's side so he could support her "limp" body, but when he got to her, Charlotte's energy returned with a fury, kicking him in the groin so hard it made him collapse.

"That's for not letting me out of the tube!" She growled as she marched over to the supercomputer, not even caring if she'd crushed his hopes of having little Schwozs in the future. She just needed to call Henry.

"Could you please call me an ambulance?" He groaned, bending over to try and stop the pain, but his entire lower half was in agony and he feared for whatever was going on down there. 

"No, 'cause I'm gonna get my phone, call Henry and tell him and (y/n) what Ray and Jasper are up to." The girl replied harshly, digging through her bag to see if she could locate her cell, but it was one of those moments where the one thing you need is nowhere in sight, which gave Schwoz the perfect opportunity to crawl to a drawer and pull out a can of worms, his comfort food. He couldn't be that injured if he wanted the worms.

"Where's my dumb phone? Hey, have you seen my—-Schwoz!" Charlotte yelled when she saw the man three seconds away from shovelling a fork piled high with long, brownish-black worms into his mouth and the sight repulsed her. "Ray told you not to eat the worms"

"You already bashed my pants, now just let me enjoy my worms!" He snapped back, having had quite enough of her sharp tongue for one day and turned his back on the girl so he could eat without any judgement. It didn't matter, Charlotte had more things to worry about, like where the hell she had put her phone. If it wasn't in her bag, then there was only one thing for it and she just prayed that Henry had his whiz watch on.

~Henry's porch~

"Do you know what Jasper wants?" (y/n) asked Henry as she shut his front door behind them. She was feeling a lot of mixed emotions; firstly, she hadn't had any of Ray's sappy texts for at least an hour, telling her that he was either up to something or too distracted to remember that she wasn't home, which wasn't a great feeling. Secondly, Jasper had phoned Henry out of the blue and had insisted that he go and meet him in some crappy diner because "he wanted to discuss something", whatever the hell that meant. And thirdly, Henry had actually fucking agreed, despite not being anywhere near better. Sure, the soup was still settled in his tummy, but some grungy diner was no place to go, not when he could spew at any moment. 

"He just said he wants to talk." The boy shrugged, making her feel a tad suspicious, but she shook it off. Yeah, Jasper knew Henry wasn't well, but perhaps it was really important and who wouldn't trust a face like that?

"Right, but if you feel like you're gonna puke at any moment, you're going straight back home." The woman told him sternly, which made him laugh. He could count on (y/n) to keep him safe, no bug or bacteria would beat her.

"All right, all right, I—-" Henry's laughter was cut off and they curiously looked at his whiz watch as it began to beep and flash. Hmmm, if there was an emergency, why wouldn't Ray call his girlfriend? Why would he want a sick sidekick to come and help?

"Hey, Char, what's up?" Henry greeted his friend as he casually flicked the watch open. Not the person he was expecting, but still, it was nice to see her after being cooped up for three days, although he wasn't going to like this.

"Bad things. Bad things are up!" She replied ominously, making (y/n) and Henry look at each other in worry. They'd only been gone for a bit, why was everything suddenly so dramatic and foreboding?

"Why? What's wrong?" The young woman asked, suddenly getting a nervous feeling in her gut. It was her danger-tingle, or it's what she called it, that sense in her tummy when something was going down and normally, it wasn't wrong. If something had happened to Ray or Jasper or Schwoz or her or Colin or the Man Cave or anyone she loved then she didn't know what she'd do, but...

"Ray didn't believe you were really sick and he thought you were making (y/n) look after you for fun, so he sent Schwoz to your house, dressed as an Italian Plumber so he could install cameras and microphones in your house!" Charlotte exclaimed, making the woman's dread morph into rage as she heard more and more about how ridiculously dim-witted her boyfriend had been. Just once, she wanted him to keep a level head and think about things rationally before he charged into something, but clearly, he thought she couldn't spot a liar herself.

"In my house?!" Henry gasped, looking completely horrified, mortified and furious at the revelation. He had been in bed, eating soup, what else did they think he was gonna do? He was sick! And a teenager, which felt a bit awkward since they had probably seen his bedroom, at all times, oh god.

"I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna fucking kill him, the thick, stupid, idiot!" (y/n) growled with her hands on her head as she tried to keep it together. Ray didn't trust Henry to be responsible and therefore, he didn't trust her to take care of things herself, that felt horrific. 

Trust is a big thing in relationships and usually, for them, it was a lack of trust in other people, who often didn't know how to leave a good thing alone so it couldn't be spoiled, but now, they weren't trusting each other, weren't believing that the other could get the job done solo. She didn't need to be supervised and sometimes, going out alone was nice. She'd enjoyed being the one in charge for a bit, had liked the change of scenery and whilst she had missed him terribly, it wasn't up to him to decide what jobs she could go and do and what she couldn't.

"And he's been spying on you all day, watching everything, including you eating a bowl of (y/n)'s brown soup." Charlotte went on, adding fuel to their anger as they realised that every single, intimate yet friendly moment they'd had together that day as carer and patient had been contaminated by prying eyes and ears, making the whole experience feel weird now. 

"Wha—but that was my private brown soup time with (y/n)!" Henry spat, looking at the woman with a similar face of disgust. This was what irritated him about Ray sometimes; in his boss's eyes, he wasn't a boy on the verge of becoming an adult, responsible and honest, he was a child, notorious for not always doing the right thing and it sucked. 

"And now, Ray's making Jasper wear a microphone so he can meet you at the Parkway Diner to try to trick you into admitting that you're not really sick and you "stole" (y/n) to turn her into your private soup lady!" The girl finished, barely being able to make out that Henry was biting his lip to stop himself from cursing loudly and (y/n) was just...livid.

"But he is sick! I know what sick looks like, why doesn't he trust me to make the right judgement? And Jasper's wearing a wire?" She asked, wrinkling her nose as she thought about the poor kid being dragged into her boyfriend's schemes. He was innocent in this, she was sure, just eager to help out, so she knew who the real culprit was. She loved him so damn much, but right now, it was hard to feel that whilst the anger was fresh and still stinging.

"Yeah! And Ray's gonna be at that diner, listening to every word you say." Charlotte told them, prompting an idea in Henry's mind. If ray wanted some dirt then he'd give him some. Something so damn filthy it would tell him that he knew what his game was and how he hated it.

"Oh...okay. Well, if Ray wants to listen to what we have to say to Jasper, then we're gonna make sure we say something goooood." He smirked, nudging the young woman next to him and she knew exactly what he meant. A little sabotage, a dash of deviance and a whole lot of lies, just to beat Ray at his own game. She liked it, time to see if he liked it when the tables were turned.

~Parkway Diner~

It was a classic setup. Rock music blaring, dirty booths that had been in place since the seventies, dim lighting, a bar that served root beer, alcohol and comfort food, this was the perfect all-American diner and the stage was ready for Ray's big showdown. Henry and (y/n) were a little nervous as they walked in the door, praying to God that Schwoz hadn't tipped the man off or the smell of beer and stale cigarettes wouldn't turn Henry's stomach. But it was all worth it, especially when they saw Ray in his stupid costume at the bar and Jasper acting all innocent in one of the booths. 

He waved them over and the two walked straight past Ray, pretending like they hadn't noticed him, despite (y/n) being certain that she could pick him out of any crowd, and his disguise wasn't great. They smiled at Jasper, the woman helping Henry to sit down since she still felt like he shouldn't have been walking around but still. Keeping up appearances was a must.

"Hello, Jasper." (y/n) greeted the boy, sliding onto the same padded bench as Henry so they could keep their back to Ray and look straight into the boy's eyes. Everything had been rehearsed and calculated to sound shocking, heartbreaking and just a little bit over-the-top. The perfect lies that Ray was looking for.

"Hey, Henry, (y/n)," Jasper replied, acting as normal as he possibly could, but his palms were getting sweaty. He could bomb this and face Ray's wrath, but Henry definitely looked sickly and (y/n) looked...well, he didn't know how she looked. She had a twinkle in her eye that unnerved him, but he couldn't stop the mission now, not when Ray was watching and listening.

"What's up?" Henry asked, trying to look like he had no clue what was going on and he did his best to smother his anger and disappointment as he faced down his best friend.

"Ummmm...how are you feeling?" He stuttered, taking a prompt from Ray so he could keep the conversation flowing. It's not like he could come straight out with it, he couldn't just shout until Henry admitted it, it had to be divulged naturally. 

"Uh, well..." Henry started, thinking for something he could say, but he didn't need to worry. Jasper's nerves were getting the better of him.

"You can tell me. We've been friends for...for so long." He chuckled nervously, making his friends look at him weirdly since it was such an odd thing to say. Of course, they knew why he was getting so squirmy and sweaty, Ray was figuratively breathing down his neck, but they couldn't let him onto that. "So?"

"So, even if you have a secret, I'm the perfect person for you to tell." Well, there went the subtly. It was a mistake to include Jasper, Ray was seeing that now. Missions require stealth and a sly attitude, neither of which the kid had; he said the word "secret", for god's sake, how much dumber and not secret-agentish could he get?

"Oh god, he's the worst..." Ray groaned to himself, lifting his glasses and pinching his eyes tiredly as he heard every word in his ear. This was excruciating to watch and he could see this whole thing going wrong, but it was so nice to see his girl sitting there, even in the dingy light, she was so damn pretty. He just wanted to stride over there and take her into his arms and kiss her like he had wanted to do for days, for the whole time he'd known her, to kiss her was the greatest privilege.

"Well, uh...great, 'cause...you know how I've been calling in sick to work and making (y/n) take care of me?" Henry whispered lowly, leaning forward with (y/n) so that they could get close to Jasper, who, along with Ray, was suddenly intrigued. Holy shit, were they onto something? "Yeah?"

"Well, he was faking! Isn't that funny?" The young woman giggled, laughing the lie off like it hadn't been anything serious, but to the eavesdropper, it was huge. He slammed his hand against the bar, jumping for joy at how he'd been right, but also, disappointed that he'd been let down. He couldn't help but feel like he'd been lied to by not only, Henry, but (y/n) too. Had she known and duped him?

"Why'd you tell Ray you were sick?" Jasper questioned. He too was disappointed in his best friend and the young woman, he thought they were more trustworthy than that, but also, he didn't know that they were capable of such deceit. 

"You swear we can totally trust you?" Henry looked at Jasper with a deadly serious face, not even a hint of a smile as (y/n) too grew emotionless. This was where they got to have some fun and dragging it out just made it even better. 

"Sure, I'd never betray my friends." Jasper nodded at both of them, trying to convey how sincere he was since he had to squeeze every last drop of juicy gossip from them for Ray. This thing was a lot more complex than he had first thought, but he was invested, like some kind of soap opera on the TV.

"Well, come here," Henry told Jasper and the boy shuffled as close to their faces as possible, practically bodysurfing the table as they all huddled in close so Henry could drop the biggest lie they could've thought of. "We're done being Ray's sidekicks."

"B-b-but why? You guys don't wanna fight crime anymore?" Jasper's mouth was on the table, his heart pounding in his ears as Ray felt his heart stop. Okay, this didn't feel right, what did they mean they didn't want to work with him anymore? Was it something he'd said?

"No, we do, but I mean, come on, Curly, we don't need Captain Man." (y/n) scoffed, ignoring how wrong it felt to say the words. She needed Ray in so many ways, from the way she'd never be able to fight bad guys with him protecting her to the way she'd felt loneliness for ten years before they finally fell into each other's arms and it was something she never wanted to experience again. The anger was so strong now, definitely still there, but fading away, leaving her more hurt than mad and being mean wasn't her style when she had her sensible self back in control.

"Ray's indestructible, you can't just get rid of Captain Man. And he's your boyfriend, (y/n), I thought you loved being with him?" Jasper stammered, seeing the coffee pour from Ray's lips as he heard every, heart-wrenching word and felt his world crumble around him. 

No, no, not his sweet girl, this couldn't be happening. Thank god he was wearing dark sunglasses, 'cause otherwise, everyone would see his eyes clouding with tears, but he couldn't stop the hand that sat over his heart, trying to stop it from aching. He knew this would happen, he knew that she'd outgrow him and move on, but he hadn't counted on it hurting so much, not when he had been sure, certain, absolutely positive they were gonna live happily ever after. The ring would have to sit and gather dust, 'cause he'd never be able to marry someone else, not when he had known his true love in her.

"Well, see...we've been working secretly with Doctor Minyak," Henry revealed, making Ray bring his glasses down his nose so he could see the situation with his own eyes and he could see Henry looking smug, Jasper looking gobsmacked and her, still looking so fucking beautiful and perfect, still calm, not showing the vulnerability she was feeling, still the one he wanted to marry, even if she wanted to leave. He'd never stop wanting her, not ever; he loved her, always.

"We've been developing this weapon that can melt Captain Man like the big doofus he is." (y/n) smirked, leaning back and folding her arms as she kept the lie going, although now that she said that, something didn't seem quite right. She still said doofus with such love and Ray stopped for a moment; could she...? Had they...? Wait...

"And check this out. Once Ray's out of the picture...come here. Come here...yeah, all the way." Henry told Jasper, bringing him in close again as he hung onto every word and Ray grew more and more sceptical with each passing second. His voice didn't sound uncaring either and although he was still terrified and hurt on the inside, he was trying to keep a brave face as he put down his stupid glasses and got to his feet. This fuckery ended with him.

"I'm gonna take over and make you and (y/n) my sidekicks." Henry hissed, making Jasper erupt into happiness. That was his dream and was what they knew would make him join their side in a heartbeat, screw his loyalty to Ray, he wanted to be a superhero, no matter what.

"Oh, Ray's our friend, (y/n), he wants to—I mean, you love—-we can't just—" Jasper stuttered, trying to communicate how this would break Ray. In his gullible view, this was a betrayal and having the engagement snatched out from his fingertips would break the man, something he wanted to tell her without ruining the surprise or shocking her to the core.

"You're either with us or against us, Jasper." (y/n) responded cooly, ignorant to what he was referring to, which was a relief to her boyfriend, who had decided that he needed to step in any time now before the idiot spy he'd employed blew the best and biggest plan he'd ever come up with, one that everyone agreed on; it wasn't dumb, it wasn't ridiculous, it was perfect. Well, it would be if Jasper held his tongue.

"Ummmmm...okay, I'm in!!" He broke, agreeing wholeheartedly and he was so happy to have been considered for a role alongside Miss Danger, he didn't even notice Ray coming over to put the whole charade to an end.

"Really? You're in?" Henry asked, surprised at how easy his friend had given in, but it didn't matter. It was amusing to watch and in about five seconds, or four, or three, or two...it would be over.

"Whatever you guys need me to do, I'll do," Jasper replied, just as Ray started a long, slow, loud clap, drawing the attention of the three sat in the booth and some other diners who looked at him weirdly before returning to their drinks. The game was up.

"All right, Henry. How'd you and (y/n) know Jasper was wearing a wire?" He asked the boy in a low, dejected voice, looking from him to the gorgeous woman sitting on his left, watching his every move with a slightly shocked yet still loving gaze. She hadn't expected him to come over and was wondering how he'd taken it and judging by his red, puffy eyes, not very well.

"'Cause we're not idiots." Henry spat, his anger coming to the surface again as he remembered how they'd ended up in this situation because Ray didn't think he could be trusted to have a few days off work sick without it being a lie.

"Ray...I didn't know you also come to this restaurant." Jasper said in a faux-surprised, fake voice and boy, his acting skills needed work. He was as stiff as a board and the way he pretended that Ray hadn't been sitting at the bar the entire time was hilarious.

"Give it up, son," Ray told him, shaking his head as Henry and (y/n) stood up, facing him so they could grill him for everything he'd done. The man looked sheepish and a tad nervous, instinctively going to bring his girl into his arms, but he shrunk back when she stood still, preferring to feel just her own arms around her body for the time being as she checked how she felt. Numb, buzzing from the aftermath of rage, stinging from the pain of not being trusted and aching from how she'd clearly upset him and gone too deep. It had been a stupid idea, her actions being born from her not thinking for a moment.

"I can't believe you spied on us." Henry frowned at his boss, the man who had grown to be like a brother to him, the man who would be (y/n)'s husband if everything went well, had all they'd gone through meant nothing to him?

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have had to do all of this if you hadn't lied to me about being sick for three days," Ray argued, acting like a wounded animal snarling back at those trying to attack him. He just wanted things to be okay again like they had been last week, but he couldn't see anything working other than him sticking to his guns, so he did.

"Ray, he wasn't lying. He had, like, this really bad cold or flu and I just wanted to make sure he was taking care of himself, why can't you see that? Since when do we not trust each other?" (y/n) groaned, her hands raking through her hair as she silently begged him to stop being so damn stubborn so they could talk this out. The stress wasn't good for the kid, he was getting paler and paler...

"Oh yeah, 'cause everyone with the flu loves to sit around eating big old, hunkin' bowls of chilli from my girlfriend. Yeah, I saw it." Ray spat back, digging the hole deeper for himself, although if he just put down the shovel, things would start getting much better. He didn't know why he was just arguing and arguing and arguing for arguing's sake, he just felt like shouting back, despite the pain it was causing to those who loved him most.

"That was brown soup." Henry frowned, wondering how wrong one person could be. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to leave him for a few days and let that dumb brain sit and think. 

"Brown soup, okay." He scoffed, making the sidekicks sigh as he brushed off their explanation, but Jasper was still listening and was still coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't going to be a sidekick. "I knew it wasn't brown soup!"

"Look, just admit that you were never sick, you just wanted (y/n) to care for you for a few days. Apologise and we can forget this whole thing." Ray patronised them, (y/n) stepping in front of Henry as he started to feel a bit queasy again. Why couldn't he apologise for getting it wrong and hurting them? Why did they have to be the bad guys?

"For fuck's sake, he was sick, he still is sick! God, I leave you for, like, what? Three days and everything goes to pot? It was three days." The young woman growled, taking a step forward as she responded to his aggression. It was a bit distressing to argue in public like an old married couple, but it seemed the patrons in the diner were used to a bit of shouting and just kept shining their glasses, leaving Ray to stare down at his incredibly hot girlfriend as she glared at him.

"Oh god, he's such a faker and you're just going along with it!" He grinned, winding her up even more as Henry tried to stop the bubbling nausea in his tummy. The brown soup was getting ready to make a reappearance, but the couple were too busy trying to be right that they didn't see his small frowns.

"A faker? Why would he fake this? And what do you mean I'm going along with it? Do I look gullible to you? I don't just let people walk all over me, Raymond, not Henry, not you, I know when people are fucking lying to me." She hissed, getting close to his chest and tried not to let how fucking good he smelled or how good he looked in a leather jacket affect her. She wanted to kiss and strangle, embrace and punch him all at the same time, furious at how he knew how to push her buttons and leave her wanting for more.

"'Cause he didn't want to come to work, 'cause he's a little punk and he's got no sense of responsibility and now look at us. We're arguing in the middle of a shitty diner 'cause he faked being sick and you fell for it!" He argued back, fuelled by how cute her anger-flushed cheeks were and how she looked like she wanted to kill him but never did. Everyone was looking at this point and Henry was feeling real bad, but they just wanted to win the argument, or spend hours cooling down before falling back into perfect love.

"You can call his dad, he'll tell you everything you want to know. And we're standing here arguing 'cause you insisted on coming here, looking like fucking Grease Lightning, and you won't admit that you're wrong and you were jealous." (y/n)'s voice turned icily calm, making Ray laugh coldly as he heard her guess the truth. 

Yeah, he had been jealous, envious that his girlfriend was spending her time with someone else, not in a wrong way, just knowing that she wasn't around, something that felt selfish, but he couldn't help but curse himself for. He didn't want to limit her, but he also wanted to be the only one who saw her smiles, heard her jokes, knew her the best.

"Pshh, sweet girl, I was not jealous. I just don't like to see you doing stuff for people who are taking advantage of you." He tried to sound sincere, tell her that she was correct and he just wanted the best for her but his stupid emotions stopped him from being what she deserved, but it came out all wrong. More like something he'd think back on later that night and kick himself for as he laid alone on cold sheets.

"Are you serious? Henry has not taken advantage of me. I chose to take care of him, Henry is—-Henry, holy shit, are you okay?" The young woman started making her point, looking back and forth from her boyfriend and the kid several times before she realised that he was groaning and bending over clutching his stomach. Oh god, she knew that he shouldn't have left his room.

"Oh, I don't feel good, think it's the soup." He mumbled, leaning on her body for support as she tried to get him to sit down or to a trash can, but Ray was in the way and just wouldn't stop talking.

"Oh, yeah, he's sick. Let me get the full performance, 'cause he's definitely not faking..." Ray mocked the kid, getting clever and imitating how his sidekick was in pain, much to the annoyance of his girl. He wasn't being very helpful and she just needed his stupid ass to move before...

"Oh, I'm not joking—" And puke all over Ray fetching, black t-shirt. Henry couldn't help it, his stomach just switched to being the boss and he projectiled all over his boss, who wasn't laughing now that he smelt and felt the sick splash down his front. Poor kid.

"Yeah, that's brown soup." He confessed as (y/n) rubbed Henry's back and guided him back to the booth. God, he felt tired and Jasper quickly assumed the role of temporary carer, pulling out his phone to call Mr Hart so he could come and retrieve his son whilst the young woman went to sort out her messy boyfriend. He didn't smell good now.

"Do you trust me now?" She asked her boyfriend coldly, blankly grabbing his hand and guiding him to a washroom in the corner of the restaurant. The diners had gone back to their drinks, not caring now that the argument was over and Ray stumbled after her as they entered the gross bathroom. It smelled and he was sure that this was the men's room, but no one said anything and he just followed her to the tiny sink where they could try to sponge him clean.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, taking fistfuls of paper towels from the dispenser so they could try and wipe most of it off, and seeing how tentative she was being made him ashamed and remorseful. She was still taking care of him, even though he'd been a dick.

"And I'm sorry for upsetting you. It was a dumb idea, I still want to be your sidekick." She replied quietly, ignoring how gross and foul-smelling the task was, she just wanted to stop feeling horrible over how she'd picked on a weak point and made him cry, even if it was just a bit.

"S'okay. I did worse." He smiled, knowing that he kinda deserved it. He had been so wrapped up in desperately wanting to see her again that he hadn't looked at the bigger picture and noticed how he was being reckless and destructive of everything good he had going on for himself; a great sidekick, a great helper and a beautiful girlfriend who he wanted to marry.

"We both did bad. And now we're making up in a diner bathroom with our fingers covered in barf." (y/n) smiled, trying to break up the sad tension with a joke and it worked. Ray cracked a grin, looking at the situation with crinkled eyes as they scrubbed at the stain, trying to get it as good as they could before they sped home and chucked the clothes in a washing machine.

"We make quite a pair, sweet girl...and I love you." He smiled, chucking an icky paper towel into a trash can in the corner of the room, watching as she did the same and turned to wash her hands with a blushy smile on her pretty face.

"I love you too, doofus. And your leather jacket." She smirked, watching as he got what she was saying and looked at the garment. He'd practically forgotten he owned it and only wore it since she wouldn't recognise it as something he'd go for, but perhaps it would become something more popular if she liked it so much.

"Come here, sweet girl." He murmured and dragged her into a kiss, finally getting what they both wanted as she ignored her still-damp hands and clutched the lapels of her new favourite jacket. He looked cool and hot, even if he did smell a bit. She loved him regardless and couldn't wait to go home.

[riddikulus-writings]

Distracted

Chapter 16

Did he live? Who Knows.

“No. no, no, nononono–” a wordless scream, ripped straight from someone’s throat, “I need to– he–” broke out in between grunts. A crack. A scream – pain. Shouting from more voices, more people, and– “Let me go, DuBois, he needs m– I need him!”

“I’ve always hated hospitals.”

“Me too,” Rick agreed, leaning back in his pale green chair, “Just somethin’ unnerving about ‘em.” he’d broken his arm once, playing basketball in high school. The doctors were kind, understanding, but the too-sterile atmosphere just jerked something in his brain.

He was hardwired for grime. Blood, dirt, getting down and dirty to do the things other people didn’t want to.

“I only started getting scared of them in my twenties,” she admitted quietly, “So, I guess I didn’t always hate them. Too many doctor visits, early twenties. Shoulder problems, hip problems. Sinus problems. Foot problems, fuckin’ knee problems, too. MRIs and arthrograms, x-rays, cat-scans. Parker would try to come with, but sometimes, most of the time – he was a busy boy, y’know. Too good at everything, and everyone wanted his help because of it  – so I’d be all alone, and I just started getting jumpy. Then he… the accident, back at the hospital– but he was DOA…”

Rick placed a comforting hand on her knee, squeezing to let her know she didn’t have to continue, “I know, Nyx.” He stood up, “Water?”

“I’m not incapable,” her eyebrow raised, hand swiping at the tears gathering in her eyes, “I could get it myself, but yes, please, if you’re offering.”

“You’re all bandaged up, hooked up to…” Rick waved a hand at her and all the tubes and wires– they were mainly for watching heart rate and blood pressure, but she was hooked up, nonetheless, “Those. Y’ain’t movin’.”

“I could be like my dad was and start yoinkin’ this shit outta me. He was not happy about being hospitalized that one time– I’m getting released this afternoon,” she gently took the paper cup from his too-large hands, “So, I will be moving. Thank you for visiting, though. It means a lot.”

Dad, hospitalized with stage-four inoperable brain cancer the week after her wedding. Dazed and confused, ripping his IVs out. Had a 24-hour watch put on him after that. Nyx thought it was funny.

Rick had never had the unfortunate scenario of being hospitalized with no one to come visit. His parents, a couple friends he doesn’t talk to anymore. Rick knows he himself doesn’t like to feel alone, “I also came to visit because I’m your ride home, hun.”

She shook her head, “No, I won’t make you do that–”

“Y’ain’t makin’ me do nothin,” he sat back down in the Visitor Chair and leaned on the beside, “Besides, consider us even for you drivin’ me back home when my truck had a flat after work.”

Nyx snorted, remembering the memory, “Knew you for, what? Two days? Surprised my driving didn’t scare you off.”

“It almost did.”

The windows of her truck were down, the cold spring breeze floating through, ruffling the discarded fast food wrappers and baler twine that littered the floor by Rick’s feet. An empty grain bag in the back seat crinkled. Nyx shrugged and swerved violently to the other side of the rough dirt road, hitting several potholes that made the entire Colorado shake, “I’m trying to miss the fuckin’ potholes. Goddamn, we picked a bad time of year to take time off.”

“We quit, Nyx, quit callin’ it time off.”

Her grin got bigger, and she turned her head to face him instead of watching the road, “I love quitting.” some of her hair fell into her eyes, despite most of it being held down by her grimy ball cap.

Rick admits, he’s never been to Wisconsin. It’s gloomy looking, up in the upper-central part of the state – “About right…. Here,” Nyx would say, offering her right hand as a makeshift map of the state as she pointed to the middle-knuckle of her middle finger, “Real hilly. Lots of trees. Not as hilly as Bayfield, or really further up north anywhere, but we’ll go exploring later.”. –. But, he told himself, grabbing the appropriately-named oh shit handle above his head as Nyx nearly put her truck in the ditch. One of the cats in back hissed – it is springtime. Springtime has gloomy colors. A greyscale almost sort of time.

The ditches are lined with melting snowbanks – brown with shuffled-up gravel from when the plow trucks went through – and almost overflowing with running water. The trees all lacked leaves, looking dead as the spindly branches hung over the road, “Gotta trim those,” Nyx mused, mostly to herself, “Now, be warned, there may or may not be some type of party at my house. Got it?”

Pothole. Rick’s teeth rattled. He almost smacked his head into the doorframe. How long is this fuckin’ road, “Party?”

“They missed me,” she shrugged, coming up to a stop sign, “And, remember, everyone wants to meet the Legendary Rick Flag.”

“Quit callin’ me that.”

“Hey, you survived getting stabbed in the chest with dirty porcelain,” she floored it, drifting the truck around the corner with a laugh, rain-heavy gravel spitting in a spray behind them, “I’d call that pretty legendary.”

“And you have… whatever you have. That ain’t legendary?” Nyx had no idea what it was. No idea about it until just a few weeks ago– turns out Waller just wanted her because she was a pretty face and a good soldier.

“Yeah… let’s not mention that to anyone,” she gave him a pointed look, “I don’ want Waller coming sniffing again. Just say I’ve got good de-escalation tactics so my family can scoff and tell you I usually escalate the situations, instead.”

“Y’sure they’re gonna like me?” he wasn’t sure why he was feeling so nervous all of a sudden. Everything he’s ever faced, and having a family meeting was the thing that was unnerving him?

“Here's my driveway,” it was a narrow dirt path cutting through what was probably normally a thick forest, “Brace yourself; my house is awesome. And I already told you, they’ll love you. I bet even my asshole goats will like you. If you offer them food.” she added on, “The dogs will bark, but that’s what dogs do. Our two are the German Shepherd lookin’ ones – but they’re mixes, the one is inbred a bit, I told you that, she’s stupid but she’s cute, I guess. Cousins might have their dogs by, too – and oh lord there’s a lot. I’ve got a ton, and… Yeah, Parker has a big family. I can almost guarantee, there’s a whole schmear of people roaming about my yard. I bet even our old landlord – previous farm owner – came by.”

“You got yourself a whole welcomin’ committee,” Rick mentioned, his voice uneasy.

Nyx turned onto a highway, “I lied about this road being my driveway, I was just pointing out what I would’ve liked my driveway to be. Our farm sits right on this highway, not ideal but beggars can’t be choosers.” 

There were cars lining the highway on either side, parked closer together the further they drove, “Eris…”

“Oh, don’t let the cars bug you,” she slowed down more, reaching a white-sided farmhouse with green tin, a trailer house to match on the opposite side of the drive, a big barn in back and farmland stretching further for what looked like miles. There were people crowding everywhere, dogs barking – the two aforementioned German Shepherd mixes sprinting straight for the pickup – kids of all ages running all over the place, “Ready?”

“No,” Rick admitted, not able to hide his toothy grin anymore. He grabbed the door handle and shrugged back at her, “But I have to be.”

[snugglebuddyhan]

Having my tooth pulled was probably the most brutal and scariest thing I've ever gone through. I spent a lot of time reading other people's experiences on reddit, bc I was so nervous I was constantly fighting the urge to vomit and was relieved after seeing so many people say it's not as scary as it seems only to have my mom come in, sit in a chair between my legs and hold me down. She had to literally put all of her body weight on me in order to keep me still and had to hold my hands in a criss crossed lock as tight as she could in order to keep me from hitting or grabbing the dentist, bc every time he put something near my mouth I'd fight him away from me. I wouldn't have been surprised if I caught an assault charge on the way out

She told me they gave me about 15 shots. It was like no matter how much they gave me I could still feel pain in my tooth and I wasn't going to let them anywhere near my mouth while still having feeling in it. She said they were injecting me with so much medicine she could see the liquid squirting out my mouth like a fountain, bc it had nowhere else to go

That gas shit they had me inhale didn't help. Paid 60 extra dollars for nothing. My anxiety levels were still through the roof. They couldn't calm me down if their life depended on it. I was physically shaking and ended up going mute. Like, I was on the verge of passing out. Someone came in the room and told me about this sedation pill I could buy for 90 bucks that would help me relax. Said to reschedule my appointment and take the pill 30 minutes before coming in, but I had to decline, bc I already paid 90 for the goddamn x-ray and wasn't about to pay it again when I had to come back

So, I was just there exhibiting anxiety in its rawest form and scaring all the hoes. I remember the assistant looking terrified the entire time, but it's like imagine how I felt, especially when I told them I felt pain while they were pulling the tooth out and they just kept going. Like, pulling it out faster somehow meant I wouldn't feel anything. I know the difference between pain and pressure and there was definitely pain. Me crying and screaming was not me simply causing a scene, but they treated it as such

I'm not exaggerating when I say I left that place traumatized. I am not the same person I was before I walked in there. Still can't believe the dentist told me I did good. Sir??? I almost took your eye out and grabbed your assistants wrist so tight I could have snapped it in two, what do you mean good?

Just thinking about the possibility of ever having to get another tooth pulled makes me want to literally kill myself. I'd rather go into a permanent rest than sit through that shit again. I've been having nightmares ever since. Tears just start pouring from my eyes any time I think about that day. I've actually considered seeing a therapist, bc I'm not okay

[crunchingtiger]

God you know one time when I was 20 years old I got half the skin ripped off my fucking foot because I was playing capture the flag barefoot and someone in cleats stomped down hard on my foot and twisted. I'm not exaggerating about half the skin from the top of my foot just straight up gone. I guess it got stuck to the bottom of his shoe but he ran off so idk. I hope it did I hope he found it and it traumatized him. Anyway just excruciating pain I think I briefly whited out just from the shock and the pain combined. My foot wound up swelling up and turning purple. Got it x rayed eventually no bones broken just the fucking trauma and bruising from getting the skin fucking brutally ripped off.

Then because I'm dumb as hell right after this happened I just gingerly wrapped it in soft bandages, got em tight, overlaid a stretchy ace bandage and then just left it alone. Left it alone for three days. Three goddamn days. Walked on it and everything. Just ignored it.

Then I realized "oh shit I've gotta change the bandages they're gonna get infected". So it's like 3 am cause I just came back from hanging with my toxic as hell FWB, we'd just had sexual contact for the first time. I lied and told my mom I'd been stealing college wifi parked up beside the college library to watch movies cause I just needed to get out of the house. Don't think she believed me, didn't care just didn't want her to ask questions, I think she was scared to. I think she was scared too.

Anyway so it's just me and my damn busted up foot and it's 3 am and I know I've made a series of bad fucking decisions and I go to start unwrapping my foot and I'm just peeling layers off and I'm not a praying person but I'm just begging for it to not be an infected mess under there.

And I get to the last layer and I can. God I can fucking see where the scab and the new growth has grown into the goddamn soft bandages. Just actually through the goddamn shitty Walgreens bandages I slapped over my mangled foot. And of course it does not come off cause it's part of my actual damn foot now.

So I soak my foot in hot water to loosen the scab and then I grab a washcloth I hope is clean and I put it between my teeth so I don't wake anyone up and so I don't crack my teeth from the clenching and I grab the corner of that shitty soft ace bandage and I rip the bandage and the scab and the new growth off my foot all at once and when I tell you that's the worst pain I've ever felt from an injury in my whole damn life I'm not fucking playing with you. Felt like I could feel every nerve screaming I thought I was going to throw up I'm just glad I had the damn mostly clean washcloth in between my teeth I bit down so fucking hard.

And when I fucking tell you the these goddamn period cramps are just as fucking painful I'm not fucking playing you either I swear to fucking god I am popping out one kid maybe two and then I'm getting fucking sterilized. Whatever I have to fucking do so I never feel this pain again in my entire goddamn life. I'll rip my own uterus out with a pair of tongs if I have to I don't fucking give a shit.

[inknopewetrust]

Make it Pink, Make it Blue

Summary: Who knew there would be so much joy in painting a nursery? Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader [WC: 2.2k] Warnings: so we’re all on this dad!Eddie kick, huh? Quick Links: Masterlist

The room was empty.

Early morning sunlight peeking through the blinds, it painted the carpet in golden rays as the emptiness of the space became apparent to the world. Two windows along the far wall, brown baseboards covered in blue painter's tape.

Hands on your hips, the first task in ‘operation baby’ was underway.

"Okay, okay!" His voice carried down the hallway and through the open door of the room. You could hear the struggle, however, he had been adamant that he 'could handle it.' A grunt as a loud bang and shutter collapsed against the wall made you believe otherwise.

As though you were not supposed to listen to his mumbling, Eddie grumbled as the wall quickly became his best friend–the side of his body calling on it for support as the two cans of paint were gripped in one hand and the supplies dangled dangerously from where he had tucked it all.

"Oh, shit," he muttered as the clang of a paint brush falling onto the floor echoed.

Over your shoulder, the top of his head was barely visible in the doorway because it was tipped to the floor, mourning the loss of the single paint brush he wasn't able to deliver in one trip. Everything about his determination reminded you of a kid trying to carry all the groceries inside the house because two, instead of one, was an inconvenience.

"Are you sure you don't need help?"

"No!" Eddie grunted firmly. "Almost there–" he huffed and lugged himself off of the wall and through the doorway where in a flash, the heavy tin cans found themselves on the floor and the materials spread themselves out in an unflattering spectacle beside it.

He rose back up and mimicked your stance with a proud smile on his face. "See?" Eddie said as if it had been easy work, "piece of cake."

"Yeah," you laughed, "if the cake was made of cement."

"What are you talking about?" He feigned stupidity. "Everything was so light it felt like carrying a feather."

"Mhm," you hummed. Taking a step forward, you grabbed one of the cans and set it on a short stool. No longer listening to his incessant, resoluteness that you shouldn't be one, carrying anything heavy, and two, doing no more work than you already are, Eddie shook his head at the sight before him.

Clad in old overalls that were stretched, he couldn't help but admire the willingness you had to be your own champion. Even if he wanted to be the lifeline you could solely depend on, he knew you'd always be steadfast in determining your own strength.

"You gonna open that with your bare hands too?" He joked as you turned the can.

"Why?" You quirked a brow with a smirk; the joy he was emitting was contagious. "Don't think I could?"

"Ha," Eddie scoffed and picked up a screwdriver that laid out on the floor in the pile of disjointed goods, "I don't think, I know you could. But," he held out the screwdriver to you, "probably not a good idea."

You took the screwdriver from his hand.

"Probably not."

Eddie put his can in a different spot on the floor, waiting his turn to open the can with the only tool that could open them. It had taken him fifteen minutes to find that flathead in the garage that morning.

As you picked the sides up, he had forgotten all about the discussion he had at the store with the paint salesman. So, when your face dropped as the lip popped off, he felt his blood run cold at the sight.

"Eddie," you said calmly which scared him the most, "we talked about colors didn't we?"

He smacked his lips together before giving you an awkward grin. "…yes," he dragged out the 's,' "but I thought… maybe… we could go with classic colors instead?"

He hadn't ever thought that. Eddie was just trying to find the fastest excuse to escape the accidental rage he was sure to follow. Not that he blamed you, no. He blamed the goddamn paint salesman named 'Josh.'

"I thought we said neutral tones!"

"These are perfectly fine colors!"

"They're bubblegum pink and a periwinkle blue! These are far from neutral!" You said exasperatedly. The blue pained your eyes as you stared down into the can.

"I just–" he sighed as you put the screwdriver down, "–the guy at the store said these were the most common nursery colors, so I couldn't tell him no! If I said I wanted yellow, he would have thought we were having a banana, not a baby."

"Since when do you care what people think?"

He didn't. He just wanted it to be perfect. And with perfection, Eddie had surging nerves that perhaps every choice he was making was wrong; that somehow, the baby–who wasn't even there yet–would hold every decision against him.

"I don't," he shook his head, sitting cross legged on the plastic cover that protected the hardwood. "Maybe we could do each wall a different color?"

"Like a chess board?" You rose an eyebrow at him as he surveyed the room.

"Or every two walls," he pointed to the wall with the windows, "like this wall," and he carried it over to the one next to it with the closet, "and this wall could be one color and the other two can be the second color."

His face reflected the excitement of the last few months culminating to this space in the home you shared. Eddie didn't have a 'picturesque' life to reflect upon–hell, few people did–but if he were able to provide that for something he helped create, then the man would put every bit of himself into that project.

Two colors it would be.

Even if you didn't know who that baby would turn out to be.

"Alright," you nodded, "divide the room then. I'll take the blue," you gestured to the can before you on the floor, "and you take the pink."

His expressive eyes beamed. That, indescribable, magnetism that drew you in and enveloped you like a warm, familiar hug.

"Really?" Eddie asked you seriously, his voice shroud with disbelief you'd agree so easily to something that would surely cover the child's room for years to come.

"Yeah," you nodded your head at him as he scrambled back onto his feet. "Whoever they turn out to be in a few years, they can choose their own color. And even if it's some shitty teal or purple, it will still be something they chose. We choose now, they can do it later."

“You’re sure?” He countered to give you an out as he approaches you. Feet planted beside yours, Eddie put his arms around your shoulders and swayed dramatically; he grinned the second laughter emitted from you. He felt your hands grip the side of the t-shirt he threw on to protect his good, band branded tees from the enemy that was ‘paint.’

“Yes, I’m sure,” Eddie’s teeth caught his bottom lip, enthusiasm spilling out of him like water from a dam. He cradled the back of your head with both of his hands and swayed a bit too hard—the table that held the paint can you had opened wobbled on its four legs.

“Oh my God!” You giggled as one of his hands flew toward the paint can, grasping it by dunking his fingers inside of it and grabbing the pail. The strategy wasn’t thought through, his face and emotions leveled the second he had registered what he had done.

“Jesus Christ!” The table stopped moving, the can of paint stilled.

Now, with four of his formerly clean fingers dunked in the can of periwinkle blue paint, you scrunched your face and backed away from him slowly.

“I think I’ll take the pink instead.”

“You’re not even gonna help me here?” He acted helpless. “Whats a man gotta do to get some help around here, huh?” Eddie lifted his hand from the pail and you scurried away from his vicinity because if you knew anything about Eddie Munson, it was that he would absolutely take the opportunity to spread all of that fresh, blue hue all over you too.

“I think ‘the man’s’ gotta go wash his hand and then get to work!” You grabbed the screwdriver on your way to the other can. “Can’t have me doin’ it all, remember?”

The smell of paint throughout the room was pungent even with the windows open and a pedestal fan circulating the air flow.

You stood on a small stool to reach the trim of a far corner—the absolute worst spots to try and not splatter it all over the ceiling that you really, really didn’t want to have to paint over. Every time you went to wet your brush with more pink, the clash of blue and pink in the room was chaotic. The colors did not mix; its lack of complimentary assistance to one another made your eyes want to start bleeding but below the window, Eddie focused increasingly hard to get the room complete in one go.

He sprinted through the room like it was a marathon he had trained weeks for. Two walls nearly finished, you were just beginning the space that conjoined the two you were supposed to have done. Painstakingly slow, you managed to not splotch the ceiling with the bubblegum pink and as you bent down again for more paint, Eddie put his down and in a very loud and enthused fashion, yelled “DONE!”

“And it looks exactly as I imagined it would,” you chuckled. “Help me out here?” You held up your brush and scrunched your nose.

Eddie clicked his tongue in thought before shaking his head, leaning back on his hands as he looked up at you from the floor.

“Nope,” he said, “payback for earlier.”

“Oh come on,” you sighed, “you put your hands into the paint, I didn’t make you do that.”

“But you didn’t help me out when I ask, so you have to finish the wall and then we’ll call it even.”

“Seriously?” You weren’t mad, but painting for two hours straight when arms get tired and other functions take you away from the task every ten minutes, help would be appreciated—and Eddie had been begging to paint the room since the day the stick turned.

“Mhm,” he nodded definitively. Shaking your own head, you turned back around and worked a little faster than before. If you could get it done, then it would be over and you wouldn’t have to do it again.

From his spot on the floor, Eddie’s view was nothing but spectacular in his opinion. Lounged, relieved that he hadn’t absolutely destroyed the wall with the blue, and content with the progress, he admired the way the overalls fell on your frame. The pockets too big, the brass buttons that hooked the back to the front shining in the lamplight and daylight that streamed inside. His foot jostled the plastic on the floor and knocked into the brush he sat down.

In the direction he was sitting, his eyesight made a line from his hand, foot, and paint brush.

A minute after he had gone silent, you heard ruffling along the plastic.

“What? You’re gonna leave me in here too? What if I fall?” You complained, dunking the brush again.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he replied passively. “And you’re not gonna fall.”

“Says the man who won’t help me,” you grumbled. His footsteps on the plastic were increasing in volume the closer he became.

“Change your mind?” You asked as you carefully went for the trim again.

“Well,” he said now directly behind you but remaining on the floor at the end of the stool, “don’t want you to fall or anything, right?”

Before you could get an answer out, you felt one of his hands plant itself firmly on your ass. It was pure luck that the pressure didn’t knock your own hand to touch the ceiling.

You glanced over your shoulder and he was smiling like a man who got away with murder. “This is your idea of helping?”

“Oh,” he dragged out, “you bet it is.” And then he put more pressure on the spot and you took one second to look for the paint brush he had dropped when he was finished. It was sticking out of the nearly empty can he had resting on the floor.

“Eddie?” You asked haltingly. “Please tell me there isn’t paint on your hand.”

He lifted his hand off you and held it up with jittery fingers. Remnants of pink paint covered the creases of the lines in his palm.

“Do I say oops or that your outfit was missing something? Plus, it’s like… one of my favorite parts of you… so, now you can go outside and everyone will know that we get a little… frisky.”

“Frisky…” you murmured but took no time to take the brush your other hand and swipe it across your free hand. “I’m pretty sure it’s obvious that we get frisky, Eddie.” Taking the palm you painted, you quickly pressed a blue handprint onto the left of his chest, over his heart, and when you lifted it, it stood out against the dark color of the shirt.

“Hey!”

“You did it to me!” You defended. “Now everyone knows my favorite part of you too.”

Not his chest, his heart. Eddie didn’t know how he had won the lottery with you, but he would never let that luck run dry.

“Oh!” He scoffed, “that makes me look like an asshole now!”

“You are an asshole… sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he wrapped his arms around your thighs, “but I’m your asshole, yeah?”

“Forever and always, baby.”

Five years later the room color changed.

And it changed to a simple, bright yellow of choice.

[wardenparker]

You’re So Vain - Chapter 1

Dieter Bravo x female Reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Oscar winning star Dieter Bravo’s reputation is suffering after the debacle of “Cliff Beasts 6″ and “Beasts of the Bubble”, so his management team has signed him on to a publicity stunt to find his soulmate and show the world a softer side of the erratic and unpredictable star. The plan quickly go awry, though, when Dieter’s soulmate wants nothing to do with him. 

Rating: Teen. But this blog is *always* 18+ Word Count: 5.7k Warnings: *Blanket warning for chronic illness, cursing, and deceased family members. This is a Dieter fic, folks, so there absolutely will be discussions of drugs, drug use, and addiction.* Enemies to lovers, family hardships. Summary: Dieter meets with his team about their new strategy to fix his image problem, and you battle your best friend about how to respond to it when the campaign goes live.  Notes: Welcome to the Soulmate Sunday Family to our favourite Trash Can Man, Dieter Bravo! This is my first time writing anything enemies to lovers and Keri and I are having a blast with the secondary characters for this series. Hopefully you guys will enjoy it as much as we are!

Dieter slouches down in the stiff conference room seat, unsure why they couldn't spring for something more comfortable. Fuck knows they charge through the nose for their services so chairs that didn't feel like the pew at St. Mary's when he was six and forced to go to every damn Mass because his abuela was convinced that his soul was damned, wasn't beyond unreasonable in his opinion. Hungover and desperately craving a snort of something, his eyes narrow behind his sunglasses. Ridiculous indoors to some, but he needs them against the bright florescent lights in the conference room. "It wasn't a big deal." He huffs defensively, folding his arms over his chest and looks over at the grim faced, horribly dressed suits that represented his team.

"Maybe not to you." Libby, his manager of twenty years, shifts in her seat and holds her hands in her lap like an unhappy schoolmarm. "But Paramount rescinded your last offer and I had to dig my claws into the Ray-Ban reps to keep them from ditching your endorsement contract." The venti, 3-pump, skim milk, no foam, extra hot chai tea latte in front of her is now cold and that makes her madder than she likes. If she didn't appreciate the huge fucking percentage she gets from being Dieter Bravo's representation, maybe she wouldn't be sitting here pissed off and she could have enjoyed her coffee. Right now, the fact that she cares about him as a human is secondary to making sure his career doesn’t tank. "Dee, I don't think you understand how bad a beating the Bravo brand is taking right now."

"The Bravo brand." He curls his lip always hating the way Libby would say that. Like he was a fucking sneaker or some shit. "I don't understand why this is being blown out of proportion. I did coke. I always do coke. It's not like it's a big fucking secret. I was bored and fucking trapped in that goddamn hotel shooting the movie you—" He points his finger at PR manager Phil, a snarky little shit that reminded him of a weasel. "Told me would be a fucking piece of cake. An 'easy payday' as you put it."

"It would have been if Carol Cobb hadn't tried to incite a rebellion." Phil contends, draining the last sip of his own coffee from a travel mug that was definitely half whiskey.

"Here's the thing." Libby sits forward in her chair again, wishing she had just put her plan into motion before talking to Dieter about it, but the rest of the team had overruled her on that. "Just because coke is a thing that you do does not mean that the rest of the world was going to be okay with it. Or that your fans were going to be okay with it. Now, we are going to have to do a rehab stint. No," she frowns again. "Don't roll your eyes at me, I already called Promises and got you your usual room. But we're going to need more than that this time."

"So what are we talking about?" He asks, looking around the table, very unhappy about the idea of going back to that fucking facility. He didn't give a shit how nice it was, it was all bullshit. "Visiting a few hospitals and kissing sick kids? I'm not a Marvel character." He scoffs. "I would look like shit in spandex."

"We have a very unique endorsement lined up for you," Phil tells him, looking around at the rest of his team. They had gone around and around on this idea for a week before making a move towards it and the fact that it landed well with the company in question was like early fucking Christmas for them. "Mate Marks."

"The soulmate app?" Dieter frowns, looking between the people on the opposite side of the table from him in confusion. "Wha— no." He spits out, shaking his head. "No, nope, not going to happen." He tells them quickly and starts digging into his pockets, looking for the acid that he had misplaced. "I'm not pretending to endorse that bullshit."

"You're not going to pretend anything." Libby tells him flatly. "It's all already set up."

"After this meeting I'm going to release the first social media burst." Phil adds firmly. "Dieter Bravo is looking for his soulmate."

His agent - Malcolm - pulls a press release out of the folder in the middle of the table and smacks it down in front of their client. "When people hear about this there are going to be a lot more Dieter Bravo fans in the world."

"We're launching an international search for your soulmate." Libby goes on. "Mate Marks will weed out the obvious phonies and pass the decent possibilities on to us while you're in rehab. I'm sure it won't take long to find them. By the time you get out, we should have a name and address. We'll take a camera crew to their front door, and you will be charm itself."

"I don't need to find my soulmate." He whines, pouting and nearly stamping his feet like a petulant child. He doesn't want to find his soulmate. Is actually terrified of it, if the truth were to be told. Afraid of rejection, not being good enough. Needy and petulant were not traits someone wanted in a soulmate. "I'll build a hospital in a third world country or whatever."

"The wheels are already in motion, Dee." Of that, Libby made sure. She's known him long enough to know that finding his soulmate isn't on top of his list of life goals, and therefore long enough to care what happens to him. He thinks she's a cold bitch in a business suit and sometimes she can be, but Libby Pryce does give a fuck about her clients. Finding his soulmate will be good for him. As frustrating as he can be, Dieter has bright spots. "Ten days in rehab and your soulmate. That's the price of getting your career back on track."

"There's nothing else I can do?" Dieter demands, looking around to the stone-cold faces of the fucking vultures he pays. Desperately wanting to be thrown a bone.

"Well," Phil shrugs his shoulders. "You could always do the full two weeks for once."

Dieter slouches back again, glowering at all of them and kicking at another chair under the table. "Fuck me." He groans, begrudgingly accepting his fate.

"If you're lucky." Libby agrees brightly, satisfied that he isn't going to fight back too much on this little publicity stunt. He can be stubborn as a mule when he wants to be. "This is going to work, Dee. And who knows? Maybe you'll even like them a little."

"I fucking doubt it." He huffs, wondering how quickly this incident will blow over so he can go back to his life.

"Well, since we've had a chance to touch base on all this." Sliding the press release back into its folder, Libby surveys the team at the table with satisfaction. "Let's get you home so you can pack, okay? We'll have a car bring you to Promises and you can look forward to a little rest and relaxation while we get down to the dirty work of finding your soulmate."

“Right.” Dieter rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet, finally finding the pill that he had been looking for and pops it to his mouth. “My soulmate.” He murmurs, wondering what kind of person the universe picked out for him.

******

"And the man in the back said, "Everyone attack" and it turned into a ballroom blitz...and the girl in the corner said, "Boy I want to warn you it'll turn into a ballroom blitz...ballroom blitz..." Singing along with your After School playlist as you cook dinner in the empty house is fairly par for the course on a weekday. It's your little ritual, enjoyed as an indulgence after you've gotten home from work and before your best friend - and sister-in-law and housemate - returns from picking up her little girl from daycare after her own long workday. Tonight will be a baked chicken and kid-friendly mashed potatoes and zucchini, all things that you have carefully learned to cook to accommodate your niece's copious dietary restrictions. The sound of the front door brings you out of your revelry and you turn down the volume on the speakers in the kitchen. "Steph?" You call your best friend's name as you thoroughly wash your hands in the sink. "How was work?"

Stephanie grunts, dumping her keys and trying to kick off her shoes while she holds the increasingly heavy child in her arm. “Talk about it later.” She calls out, immediately heading up the stairs to bathe Nora where she had had an accident after refusing to wear her pull ups.

"Got it!" You turn to grab the open bottle of wine from the fridge and a glass out of the cupboard, pouring out a glass for Stephanie and topping off your own. Now you're extra glad you picked up some ice cream at the grocery store when you stopped for dinner ingredients on the way home.

There are days Stephanie Valeria swears she would never have survived the last few years without you. You are her best friend, more than that - you are family. Moving in with her when her husband - your brother, Shawn - had succumb to his battle with long Covid, you were the only reason she was barely afloat. Although most months, the medical bills that come in make her soak in the bath and cry after Nora is asleep. “Come on baby girl.” She watches as her daughter holds onto the bar installed in the bathroom to help her from falling as she starts to strip her down. “After we clean you up, we can go see what Aunt Gigi cooked for dinner, okay?”

"'Kay." Nora looks up at her mom with tearful eyes, understanding just enough in her little mind to know that her mother is sad. "I sorry I got messy, Mommy."

“Don’t you worry about that.” Stephanie crouches down and thumbs away the tears in her daughter’s eyes, reminding herself that the young girl couldn’t help her body sometimes doesn’t let her know her needs. She had just wanted to be like the other kids and she wouldn’t shame her for that. “We’ll get everything fixed up like it didn’t happen, okay?”

"'Kay." She nods her little head seriously, being at an age where she tends to take her mother at her word in all things except when extra dessert or watching a movie past bedtime are concerned.

After a quick bath, Stephanie brings her downstairs and walks into the kitchen. “Say hi Aunt Gigi!”

"Hey, there's my girl!" You kneel down and open your arms for a hug when you hear them behind you, guessing that Nora must have had another accident since she's scrubbed clean and in new clothes. The toddler screeches a happy "Gigi!" and comes straight to you, giggling happily when you swing her up in your arms and set her on your hip. "Did you have a good day at daycare today, sweet girl?"

"Uh huh." She nods and gives you a sweet smile before she rocks forward, nearly catapulting herself out of your arms so she can see what you are cooking. Because it's nearly an everyday occurrence, Stephanie doesn't have a heart attack and walks over to the fridge to start pulling out Nora's evening medications to get them ready to take with dinner. "What's dinner?"

“Herb roasted chicken, zucchini, and Nora’s very favorite mashed potatoes.” You smile gratefully when Nora claps at the announcement. Because of how sick she is, sometimes she’s too nauseous or in too much pain to eat and even smelling food can make her cry at those times. Right now, though, she seems to be okay. “And for dessert there’s pound cake and cherry sauce. So we’re definitely gonna eat all our veggies, right sweet girl?”

She pouts but gives you a begrudging nod. She doesn’t love zucchini, but you make it taste almost yummy. Instead, she zeros in on the important thing. “Cake!” She squeals happily.

“That’s my girl.” Carefully setting her down again, you nudge the second glass of wine you poured toward Steph with a tired smile. “And grown-up juice for Mommy and Gigi.”

“When can I have that?” Nora asks, eyeing the liquid that looks like juice.

“Probably never, sweetie,” Steph tells her honestly. “People with the kind of sickness you have can’t drink grown-up juice even when they’re grown-ups.” The list of dietary restrictions for Nora is far longer than the list of what’s good for her, and struggling to make the same bland ingredients taste good in different ways to her four-year-old has been something she has been grateful for your help on. “Remember the word the doctors taught you? Digestion? Grown-up juice is a no-no for digestion.”

“This is bullshit.” Nora huffs under her breath, using her mother’s favorite saying when she isn’t happy with something.

“Nora Skye.” Steph’s eyes narrow at her daughter in that way that looks intimidating, but you can tell she’s trying not to laugh. “What did you just say?”

In the way that young children will do, push boundaries, Nora narrows her eyes back at her mother. “This is bullshit.” She repeats a little louder.

“Alright.” Steph shrugs, crossing her arms at her daughter matter-of-factly. “Little girls who curse don’t get dessert, so I guess no cake for you tonight.”

Nora scrunches her face up in a combination of horror and bewilderment. “You say it.” She accuses plaintively, like that is a good reason that she should be allowed. “All the time, when you look at the ‘fuckin’ bills.”

“That’s three times, Nora Skye.” Steph knows that her daughter knows curse words are bad words, but since she’s self-aware enough to realize that the girl probably wouldn’t be hearing these things if not for her, she just sighs. “No dessert for three days, end of discussion. You know that bad words are for big girls.”

“Not hungry anyway.” The younger girl huffs under her breath, wiggling to get down from your arms with the beginnings of tears in her eyes.

You sigh, leaning back against the stove with a drawn face as Nora runs off to her room as fast as her little legs will carry her. There truly are days when you just don’t know what to say in situations with your niece and being a bystander in this particular moment makes you feel like you’re a shit aunt on top of everything else. “This is why I teach high school.” You murmur softly, shaking your head.

Stephanie scrubs her hand down her face with an exhausted sigh. “Maybe I’m being too hard on her.” She murmurs after a moment. “She’s four, she’s not a teenager.”

“Maybe we just save the swearing until we know she’s gone to bed? She’s getting it from both of us, and the last thing you need is to get a call from her kindergarten teacher next year when she’s moved on to compound swears.” Although the image of a five-year-old saying motherfucker does amuse you more than it should. “How was work?”

Another heavy sigh, and Stephanie pulls the wine glass towards her as if all the answers to her problems can be found in the bottom of the glass. She gulps down a large sip and looks over at you with only a slight amount of panic in her eyes. “They have to cut my hours.” She tells you, biting her lip and taking another large sip of her wine.

“No…” That means your extremely tight budget is about to get tighter, and the stress level in the house is about to go up again. A house that you can’t really afford anymore and a stress level that is already three stories past the roof. “I’m so sorry, honey. Did they give you a reason?”

Her lip trembles as she tries to fight back tears, feeling hopeless once again. “Not enough hours for everyone and I call out a lot.” She closes her eyes, desperately wishing she were stronger, feeling like such a failure in life. “I miss Shawn.” She whispers.

"Steph..." Without hesitation, you set your glass back down on the counter and wrap your friend up in your arms, gently swaying from side to side just like it's Nora against your chest and not her mother. "I miss him, too, honey. Every day." Your brother was always an emotional rock. He had a killer job that he could do from home for half the week, and he had the practical know-how to get things done around the house without having to call a repairman ninety percent of the time.

Shawn and Steph were perfect compliments - a doer and a dreamer who combined forces to make things always feel possible even when they were far-fetched. And Covid had reduced him to a shell of himself before it took him completely. "I'll see if I can find something better than waiting tables for summer work this year. We'll get through it, I promise." Even if you have to take two summer jobs, or god forbid three, you'll do whatever it takes to bring in more money. The school year only has a week left and then you can be working on lesson plans and paperwork any old time of day. You will find a way to help.

"I can't ask you to do that." Steph practically sobs, feeling guilty that she can't do this by herself. The life insurance was quickly eaten up by the medical bills but still didn't put a dent in them, and their savings had dwindled down to nothing while he was battling the virus. "I— I don't know what to do." She confesses softly. "I started looking for another job, but I'm scared to leave. Not have health insurance for Nora - shitty as it is."

"You're not asking me, honey, I'm offering." You just hug her tighter, grabbing a paper towel off the roll on the kitchen counter with one hand and slipping it to her to let her keep crying. "We're family. We take care of each other. End of story."

"I shouldn't have to." She takes the paper towel and wipes her eyes. "I should be able to do this on my own. Shawn trusted me to take care of Nora and myself and I'm - I'm failing."

"Of course Shawn trusts that you'll take care of Nora." The instinct to hold her tighter would probably smother her so you run your thumb soothingly over the peak of her shoulder. "But that also means knowing when to ask for help, Stephy. You're not a failure if you can't do it alone, you're just human." Having moved into the house while your brother was sick, you saw firsthand the way that Steph would look at things as her burden and her burden alone until you just stood in the middle of the mess and forced her to accept your help. "And honey...it's not your fault that Nora is sick. That came from Shawn's and my side of the family, so literally none of this is your fault in any way. We're going to get through this as a family."

"I –" She gives another great, heaving sigh and her shoulders sag under the weight of everything that she is feeling. "Enough with me bringing down the mood." She pulls back and shakes her head as if to shake of the negative feelings. There wasn't a whole hell of a lot that she could do right now anyway.

"Go check on your little sailor and I'll put dinner on the table." You offer, wiping the remnants of tear tracks from her cheeks. "After dinner we can break out Woody, Buzz, and Jessie and watch Toy Story 2?" Nora's current film addiction happened to be a little retro but she's in love with it and it will make it that much better when the Lightyear movie comes out soon.

Steph chuckles and shakes her head. "God save me." She murmurs, reaching out and taking your hand to squeeze gently. "Thank you." She whispers softly.

“Anything for my favorite sister.” You shoot her a wink and a grin as she heads toward the stairs, then start pulling out plates and utensils to set the table. Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll start applying for extra summer work. Whatever it takes.

Stephanie takes the stairs slowly, walking past family photos, Shawn holding Nora with a giant, beaming smile on his face. Running in the yard and chasing after the curly haired girl, both of them laughing and Nora seemingly carefree. Her issues hadn't made themselves known yet, leaving 2020 to dump all the nightmares onto her family in one swoop. Coming up on her daughter's door, she hears the soft hiccups, indicating that she had been crying. Understanding the feeling completely, she knocks so she doesn't startle her and pushes the door open. "Hey sweetheart." She calls softly, seeing her sitting on her little bed and holding her doll in her arms, the last one that her father had given her. Again, making another pang of guilt flood Stephanie. "Are you ready to talk?"

“I’m s-sorry I said bad words, Mommy.” Nora hiccups, kicking her little socked feet on the edge of her bed and looking down at the doll in her lap. While she knows she did something wrong she doesn’t really understand what’s so bad about some silly words. But it still made her mother upset.

"I know." Softening, she walks over and sits down on the bed, wrapping her arm around her daughter and pressing a kiss to her braided hair. "I know we've talked about bad words before, but I know that it's not fair that I say them when I'm frustrated." It’s true, she had gotten bad about hissing the curses under her breath and obviously Nora was picking up that habit. "How about we both promise really hard not to say them, okay?"

“Does Auntie Gigi get to say them?” She asks, sniffling into her mother’s embrace but trying hard to understand the rules.

"Aunt Gigi is going to try hard not to say them too." Steph promises, smiling at how much she loves her Aunt Gigi and wants to be like her. Thank god for you and that silly, sweet nickname you had come up with. Her own mom wanted to be called Gigi. Had cooed and clapped when her only child had announced she was pregnant with her first child. Only to be taken from this earth before she ever got to meet Nora. Six months pregnant and just really starting to show beyond the 'have you gained weight?' comments, you had saved Steph's sanity at the funeral, blurting out that you were going to do double duty. You were going to be Nora's aunt and her Gigi, thus Aunt Gigi was born.

“No more bad words at all.” Nora seems to at least be able to get behind a family effort and she nods in her mother’s arms. “I sorry,” she repeats sadly, not liking when her mom or Gigi is upset.

"It's okay baby." Another kiss to her head, a soft, soothing hand that strokes her gently. "I think I was a little too harsh on your punishment." Stephanie has such a hard time taking away desserts from Nora, especially ones that she can eat, during times when she can eat. "How about instead no dessert, we go to bed thirty minutes early tonight?" She offers. "Ten minutes for every bad word?" It's fair, and still reinforces that there are consequences for bad behavior.

“‘Kay.” Though the prospect of still being punished doesn’t sound like fun, Nora perks up at getting cake back. However, one very important question still remains. “Do I still get to have a bedtime story?”

Stephanie laughs, the first bright spot in her rough afternoon and she grins down at her daughter. "You still get a bedtime story." She assures her, always wanting to reinforce that love of reading and storytelling. "Let's go downstairs and eat, huh? Aunt Gigi might think that we don't like her cooking anymore."

“But we doooooo!” Nora jumps down from her bed and thunders downstairs with the resilience that only little kids seem to have.

Stephanie takes just a second, chuckling and shaking her head before she follows after her daughter.

******

The bottle of wine comes out again after Nora has gone to bed, and you and Steph are sitting in the backyard with your glasses of grown-up juice swapping TikToks or telling stories from the day. Since your seniors have already graduated it’s coming up on final exam time for the rest of your students, which puts you in an interesting spot as an art teacher. Instead of proctoring tests you’re observing presentations, and that means you’ve had some absolute doozies in terms of bullshit that the kids have tried to get away with. Not being particularly artistically talented is one thing, but claiming that your final project was influenced by the great Renaissance painter Kurt Cobain definitely qualified as zero effort.

Steph leans back, looking up at the sky and smiles. She might be drowning in debt and sometimes hanging on by the edges of her fingernails, but she loved this house. Purchased with Shawn, she had conceived Nora in house, brought her home from the hospital and even, devastatingly, lost her soulmate here. This space holding so many memories for her the back yard that she and Shawn had renovated as soon as the keys were in their hands. The plans for a pool never happened but Nora enjoyed the kiddie pools when she got them.

“I just want to watch dumb TikTok dances, why must I watch ads?” You bemoan, having accidentally closed the app while flipping between videos. Now, on the reopen, you’re ready to swipe the ad away immediately when you see that it’s for Mate Marks. There is nothing that the soulmate matching app could possibly offer you, and you self-consciously tug at the long sleeves of your shirt that you wear despite the summer night’s warmth. The less you look at your shared marks, the better for your sanity. It’s in that split second, though, that the audio on the ad erupts. A classic rock-style instrumental track plays over a clip of him. Dieter Bravo hugging fans and waving in a collage of promotional video moments all cherry-picked to make him look his ‘best’ and seem less like the selfish asshole the whole world knows him to be. “Finding my soulmate would mean the world to me.” The audio says, in a way that makes you wonder if it’s just spliced together from interview sound bytes. “I’m hoping they’re out there somewhere, ready with an open mind and an open heart.” You shudder, nearly throwing your phone across the backyard in an effort to shut the damn app quickly, but it’s too late. Steph’s head has already perked up. “Fudge. No.” You tell her immediately, strained with the effort of not immediately letting loose every swear you’ve ever heard in your life. “NO.”

"He's looking for you." Steph rocks forward violently and snatches your phone out of your hand so she can watch the ad. "Oh my God, he's looking for you!" She squeals, looking up at you and grinning. "Come on! You aren't the least bit curious?"

“No.” You repeat rather violently, picking at your long sleeves again. “I have absolutely no desire to be a publicity stunt because I’m sure that’s all that that is.” Any and all mention of your soulmate is considered strictly off limits in your house - even Shawn had abided by that rule despite your older brother loving to tease you - ever since his marks started showing up on you as a preteen to the usual curiosity had been frustration for you. “I’m sure somebody else has gotten his tattoos by now. Let him find them.”

"You still aren't over that?" Stephanie huffs and rolls her eyes, reaching for your arm and shoving up your sleeve to reveal the large black triangle. "It was years ago and it didn't even happen to you. You know, he might have changed? He was just starting out, fame and all that bullsh-oney" She cuts off the curse. "Bologna. Like it or not, you are Dieter Bravo's soulmate."

“I do not like it.” Snatching your arm back, you pull your sleeve back into place with a grimace. “I’m perfectly happy in my life and I don’t need it interrupted by some self-important butthead,” the word does not even begin to describe what you know of the man.

"It could just be his public persona?" Steph doubts it, but there is always that chance. Act obnoxious in front of the cameras either for attention or to keep them from looking too hard at him.

"After this long?" You have no doubt that it could have started that way, but after a few decades it's more than likely just who he is. "Would you really want him around Nora? All the drugs and the completely reckless behaviour? That's not the kind of person who would be a good influence over her."

"I think that he can't be all bad." Stephanie tells you. "Honestly, I've watched all his movies, he's a good actor. A great actor actually." She shrugs when you give her a shocked look. "What? I stream them when I'm in my room since you want to pretend he doesn't exist. I never stopped being a fan, even if I was disappointed."

"Steph, the man looked you straight in the face when you asked for his autograph and walked away." The incident may be ten years past, but it had cemented your poor opinion of the universe's choice for you and you had sworn the day it happened never to give Dieter Bravo the time of day ever again. Since then you have not watched a single minute of film or read any interviews with him, and you certainly do your best to never think of him. "The only reason I give soulmates any credence whatsoever after the train wreck of a match I'm stuck with is because you and Shawn were soulmates."

"And?" Stephanie had been completely crushed at the time and slightly embarrassed but she also realizes that she was perhaps in the wrong for how she had ambushed him. "He is just as entitled to bad days or just saying no as any of us are." She reminds you. "He didn't owe me an answer. Would it have been polite? Yeah, but I also didn't have to walk up asking him for anything."

"I don't understand how you can be so forgiving." You shake your head, finally taking back your phone and closing the app to shove it into your pants pocket. "I hope the closest we ever get to that man is three feet on a sidewalk ten years ago."

“I don’t think you should just ignore your soulmate.” Stephanie murmurs quietly, rubbing the hand where her own soulmate mark, some dumb little tattoo that Shawn had gotten, a little star, had disappeared when he died. She had only gotten it replaced, duplicated on her skin, just after last Christmas. The money was a gift from her parents in Shawn’s memory.

"Well, I'm not entering some stupid contest." That isn't up for debate. Not even for a second. "If he wants to do a Prince Charming tour of southern California and show up on every single doorstep with a shoe and a sob story, maybe I'll actually look him in the eye and say 'no' to his face."

"Would you really?" She huffs out a laugh and shakes her head. "I honestly think you enjoy disliking your soulmate."

Grumbling slightly in indignation, you drain the rest of the wine in your glass in one go and pour a whole new one. "If your soulmate was Dieter fudging Bravo, you'd dislike it, too."

"I don't know." Steph shoots you a grin. "He is kind of hot. In that messy kind of way. Plus, I've heard he's great in bed."

"Oh gross." The gagging noise you make is animated just like the way you shudder in your seat. "Forty-something is too old to be relying on the messy-artists-are-sexy trope. And I want to know how much those girls were paid to sing his praises." Many - many - years ago the two of you had swooned over a younger Dieter Bravo in fan magazines, but those years are far behind you.

She smirks over her wine glass and hums. "It wasn't a girl that was spilling the tea." She doesn't completely believe your stance on your soulmate. You protest too much for it to be true loathing. Always wondering if you were scared of 'Dieter - fucking - Bravo' being your soulmate. Afraid that you wouldn't be enough for the eccentric star.

"Whoever they were, I'm sure they were compensated amply for their positive statement." You slump in your seat, arms crossed while you sip your wine with a scowl. "There is nothing he or I could possibly do for each other to make each other happy. End of story. So I have no interest." It's what you've told yourself for ten years and you'll be damned if you're going to let that philosophy go by the wayside now. Not when you have a career you've worked for and your family to help take care of. You wouldn't let God themselves get in the way of that.

"Whatever you say. " She's learned over the nearly twenty years as your best friend, that sometimes the easiest thing was to let something drop. You had a tendency to dig your heels in and held a grudge like no other. "I'm sure that he will be wrapped around some young starlet soon enough."

"Which is a whole other reason to pay this Mate Marks publicity stunt absolutely no mind." The decision is made in your mind, and that is that. You've gone your entire life with only your closest friends and family knowing the truth about your soulmate. There is no need for anyone else to ever know.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42

YSV: @tortor-mcgee @hnt-escape

My Masterlist!