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azrielbrainrot · 17 days

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Loose Lips and Big Feelings

Band Member!Azriel x College Student!Reader

Description: Azriel gets a little drunk and you take care of him.

Warnings: Alcohol?

Word Count: 2320

Notes: This is a little short but very cute. As always, this is part of the band au but you can read it as a standalone. Also I decided the boys make early Arctic Monkeys type music because imagining Azriel singing 505 sounds delicious. Hope you enjoy!

Band AU Masterlist

The bar was already packed with drunk people by the time you arrived. It was so full you were surprised they even let you in, you had to take a deep breath, readying yourself before diving into the sea of people. Finding Azriel and his friends was going to be harder than you thought, you might have to text him again. The situation was somewhat nostalgic to the first time you set foot in this bar, the same night you met Azriel. It's amazing how much things have changed in a matter of months.

Someone was doing a cover of a song you recognized on stage, it almost made you want to hum along and enjoy it for a bit, but you needed to get to Azriel's table first. You couldn't really see the woman singing on stage aside from her striking ginger hair and blue dress, but her voice was truly amazing. You could definitely understand why everyone was so excited to see her. You'd have to ask Azriel if he knew her, maybe try to see one of her shows properly.

You hadn't actually planned on coming tonight, Azriel and the boys weren't even playing and you'd rather sleep away the week. In fact, an hour ago you had been sitting at your desk hoping to get enough progress on an essay so you could completely free up your Sunday to rest and lay in bed all day. But, when a mildly intoxicated Azriel texted you, asking you to meet up with him at the bar, you couldn't resist the offer.

It's not often he asks you outright to meet him, always so conscious of your hectic schedule and workload, even your recent aversion to social outings. So you couldn't really deny him the one time he actually did. You were also a bit curious to see what had him so excited, his happiness was extremely contagious, and admittedly a bit curious to see what he's like when he's drunk, if your intuition had been right then he was close to wasted when he sent you those texts littered with typos.

He had told you that they were sitting at the table by the big red poster, you were pretty sure you knew which one he meant, but unfortunately it was close to the stage which means it would be difficult to get to it while the performance was happening. You were caught between excuse me’s and apologies when you finally caught sight of familiar broad shoulders and luscious tied back hair.

Even when they're not on stage, they're hard to miss. Cassian is at least a head taller than the crowd, so even when he's sitting down you can always count on finding him. He's the first one to notice you as well, greeting you with a shout of your name, somehow audible over the music, and a big grin, as you keep trying to gently push your way through the crowd to get to them.

You find the three of them tucked into the sofas by the table Azriel told you about. Apparently being one of the performing bands gave you access to the best seats in the bar, you always got stuck with the regular chairs. As you get closer to the table you notice Morrigan and another girl you haven't met before were also present.

“You came,” Morrigan yelled excitedly as soon as you got up to the table. It seems they're all drinking tonight, the table is full of grins and flushed cheeks.

“I did,” you chuckle at the overenthusiastic greetings from everyone at the table. A familiar scarred hand reaches out for yours immediately, tugging on it so you would sit down next to him. It's not missed on you the eyebrows the gesture raises, you've learned that he's not always forthcoming with letting people touch or hold his hands so you're sure they didn't really expect him to do it so easily. They probably didn't know Azriel told you everything either.

The sofas were small so it was a tight fit as you sat down right next to him, having no other option but let your leg comfortably rest on his, the feeling of his rough jeans on your bare skin making you giddy for some reason. His arm comes around your waist straight away so his hand settles on the side of your thigh, pulling you even closer into him.

The gesture makes you look up at him, his face a lot closer than you expected, you could feel his breath hit your skin and if you moved even an inch closer your nose would bump against his. The smile he gives you almost takes your breath away as you let out a soft greeting, “Hi.” You're surprised he even heard you, if you weren't so close to each other he wouldn't have been able to over the music, but he throws the same word back at you, in the same whispered tone you used, as his smile widens, eyes not making any effort to leave yours.

“So this is Azriel's friend,” the girl you haven't met before says, with a tone that suggests she's heard a lot about you. The thought of Azriel or any of the boys telling anyone about you has your heart skipping a beat. Her voice also cuts through the spell you and Azriel seemed to be locked in, finally breaking eye contact with him so you can answer her. But, as you look back to the table, you become more than aware that everyone just witnessed your little moment and the smirks on their faces make it hard to play it off.

“This is Amren. She's our manager,” Rhysand explains before you have to ask, a shit eating grin growing on his face as he takes in the flushed state of yours.

“Nice to meet you,” you try to keep your voice leveled but even to your ears it sounds breathless. You swallow softly and try to move the conversation along as Azriel starts rubbing small circles over your skirt, “You didn't tell me why you're celebrating.”

“Rita just told us she's doubling our performances at the bar,” Azriel explains, a little slur noticeable in his voice.

“Really?” You turn back to him as he nods again with a big grin on his face. He looked really excited to share the news with you.

“She's giving us a raise too,” Cass adds, and then looks back at his mostly empty cup and then at your empty hand, “We need to get you a drink.” You stop him before he can get up. “I think I'll be the responsible one tonight and stay sober.” The disappointed reactions around the table make you laugh but also accept that you'd be the babysitter tonight, they were all bordering on wasted already.

As the night went on, everyone only got progressively drunker. It seems like since they can't usually drink too much when they have to perform, they took the opportunity that everyone was here to party as much as they could. Even Azriel, who you never really saw drinking, was talking and laughing like you've never really seen him. He's more of a quiet guy most of the time, preferring to listen rather than entertain. It was nice to see him let loose a little.

The bar was getting quieter since the performance had ended a while ago and the big majority of the attendees started filtering out shortly after. The only people that were still around were ones that were as drunk as your present company. You didn't really mind being sober though, Cassian had brought you some sort of juice so you had something to sip on, and as loud as they were, they were easy drunks to deal with.

Amren had left right after the performance ended with a warning not to stay up too late since they had practice tomorrow. You got the sense she wasn't too much of a crowded bar person but she seemed nice enough. After that everyone else seemed to leave one by one, you tried to keep track of them, not wanting them to end up in trouble as drunk as they were, but as you saw Morrigan making out with a pretty girl with long black hair on the dancefloor your worry subsided.

This also left you alone with Azriel, who has been a lot more talkative and touchy than he usually is. At this exact moment, he was telling you a story, that you lost track of about halfway in, and holding one of your hands in between his, as he played with your fingers, twisting and turning the rings you were wearing. He has also not made any move to sit away from you even though you were the only remaining people at the table, your leg really didn't need to be thrown over his. Azriel was a clingy drunk and your cheeks hurt from smiling at the realization.

You were pondering on how to stop him so you could take him home. It was getting really late and you've already gotten almost unreadable texts from everyone saying they left. He had also told you he had work today so he has to be exhausted. But you didn't have the heart as you watched him excitedly continue on with his story.

At some point, he notices you weren't really following along and just stops, tilting his head to the side slightly. Your smile only widens at the sight. “What?”

“You're cute when you're drunk,” you admit.

“I think you're cute all the time,” he retorts without missing a beat, making your face heat up.

You always had a hard time telling yourself to keep your feelings for him platonic, but between the boyish smile, the flirtatious comments and the lingering touches, it was getting close to impossible to achieve today. “And flirty,” you struggle out.

“Only with you.” Cauldron. You really needed to get him to sober up and take him home.

You get up to do just that and within ten minutes, you're out of the bar and waiting for an uber by the same empty parking lot you usually find yourself in when you come out. He's also a pretty obedient drunk it seems. All you had to do was grab his hand and he looked like he was ready to follow you anywhere your heart desired. You were so glad you chose not to drink because your heart was definitely giving you ideas and your brain was the only thing stopping you.

Azriel was still holding onto your hand and you honestly had no intention of letting go of him. You couldn't really take your eyes off him. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed, the low lights of the bar hasn't let you really take in the sight. Some of his hair was sticking to his forehead and that same boyish smile hasn't left his face all night. No one should be allowed to look this good when they're drunk.

“Remember when we met here?” His words were starting to sound a bit clearer, maybe the cold air was helping him sober up a little or he was just getting tired. You think he told you he had work today and it was already late.

“Of course. It only happened a few months ago.”

“Feels like I've known you my whole life,” he says as he looks down at your linked hands, running his thumb softly over your skin.

“We didn't meet here though,” your voice seems to bring him out of his thoughts, his eyes finding yours, “You gave me back my keys when we were still inside.”

His smile turned a little shy at that. “I'm not sure that counts. I was running late and barely said anything,” he says rubbing the back of his neck, “I was beating myself up over it the whole show.”

“I…” you hesitate for a moment, unsure if he'll remember anything come morning. unsure if you'd want him to, “I was having a really bad day when we met, didn't even really want to come out, but I'm really glad I did, even though I got a massive headache out of it. If I hadn't come I wouldn't have met you. And I can't really imagine my life without you now.”

You tighten your hold on his hand and use it to pull him a little closer to you, close enough that you have to crane your neck back to be able to keep looking up into his eyes. “I think you came into my life at the perfect time, Azriel,” you smile up at him.

The emotion that crosses his face is so overbearing it's impossible to miss or confuse for anything else than adoration and… something more, something you've been trying to ignore for far too long. Gods, you really wish he was sober.

He raises his hand to cup your cheek softly, rubbing his thumb over your warm skin. “I think so too, princess,” he whispers, looking at you like he can't believe you're real. You've noticed the nickname only comes out when it's just the two of you and at times like this, when it seems he doesn't even realize he's said it, like he's been holding himself back from doing it regularly.

You could have stayed here, looking up at his beautiful hazel eyes all night, but it doesn't take long for a black car to come to a stop a few feet away from you, effectively pulling you out of your thoughts. You almost forgot you were still outside the bar, still needed to take this big drunk bat home. Taking a step back, you tug on his hand once again, so he can follow you to the car. “Come on, Azzie. We need to get you home.”

taglist: @bookishbroadwaybish @sad-anxious-muffin @mika-no-sekai-blog @starwholistenanddreamsanswered @secretlyhers @evergreenlark @vermillionwinter @anuttellaa @lilah-asteria @tinymarklee @lupinswolfsbanes @therealmoonstone

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel fluff

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builtbybrokenbells · 1 year

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Spitfire

Jake finds himself enamoured with an enigmatic woman at the bar, wanting to do whatever he can to get to know her. Unfortunately, circumstance seems to stand in the way of fate, leaving him wondering if he’ll ever get the chance to love her, or if she’ll remain solely a memory.

Read part two here

Listen while reading: witchy woman - eagles

Pairing: jake kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: drinking, swearing, bars, smoking, frat boys, creepy/mean ex-boyfriends, mentions of drugs, mentions of sex, touch of physical violence, sorry if i miss any!!

aha! jake mini-series!! not sure how long this will turn out to be, so stay tuned i guess! also, if you can, i suggest listening to witchy woman by eagles while reading :) as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

Music was pounding through the sound system, bouncing off every body that was present on the dance floor. It wasn’t particularly good, but you were certain that you could get drunk enough to enjoy it. You’d only been inside the bar for a moment, but somehow your friends had already disappeared into the crowd, leaving no indication on where they could’ve went. You paid no mind to it, knowing they would show up sooner rather than later. You pushed your way through the crowd to get to the bar, earning some strange looks. When you landed in front of the wooden countertop, you were a bit out of breath and eager to start drinking. The familiar bartender looked to you, giving you a smile.

“Hey, Mike.” You greeted.

“Was wondering when I’d see your face back here.” He pulled a glass from under the counter.

“Roommates finally let me out of house arrest. Did enough chores to make up for the last time we were here.” You joked. He let out a chuckle, shaking his head at you.

“You’re gonna get yourself hurt fighting like that.” He scolded. The last time you’d been at the bar, you’d gotten in a physical altercation with a frat boy who’d been bothering a girl. You’d never been scared to throw a punch or speak up. Growing up with four brothers really taught you a thing or two about how to fight. Your quick temper seemed to get you into trouble, but thankfully this particular bar staff knew you only got physical if deserved. They didn’t care, because they didn’t want people like that in their bar any more than you did.

“No faith in me, Mikey?” You asked. He slid a drink towards you. You picked it up, taking a sip. “Jack and coke?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Had to go with your second favourite, apparently that fireball gets you feisty.” He grinned.

“I don’t think it was the fireball, baby.” You confided. “I was actually applying for the bouncer position, anyway. You guys don’t seem to want to hire me; figured I just needed to show off my skills.”

“If you were the bouncer, I don’t think anybody would get through the front doors.” He chuckled. “Plus, if we had to pay you to be here, we’d lose out on all our profit.” You laughed as you pulled a twenty out of your purse. As you handed it over to him, he waved you off. “First ones on us, we missed you.” You shoved it back in your purse, pulling out a ten instead.

“Fine, here’s a tip, I missed you too.” You left it on the counter, grabbing your glass. “Oh, and put some better music on. I don’t want my favourite dive bar turning into a club.” He let out another laugh, throwing his head back as he did so.

“Will do, spitfire.” He moved on to the next customer as you turned around, losing yourself in the crowd. The boy on the stool next to you stared at the spot you’d been standing moments before, turning his head to watch you weave into the mess of bodies. He turned back to the bartender, who was making his way over to him. “Refill?” He asked the boy, nodding towards his empty glass.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. Mike pulled down a bottle of whiskey from the display, filling a glass with ice and pouring the liquor atop it. “What’s that girls name?” He asked. Mike looked up at him, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.

“The one who was just there?” He nodded his head towards the empty spot beside the boy. He gave a nod. “Y/n,” he answered “but if you think you’re interested, tread carefully, man. She’s something else.” The bartender smirked.

“You seem to know her pretty well. Could you put in a good word for me?”

“What’s your name, kid?” Mike questioned, placing his drink in front of him and taking his used glass away.

“Jake,” he introduced himself, reaching a hand across the bar. “And you’re Mike?”

“Yeah, that’s me. I own the place.” He smiled. “I’ll try my best to send her your way, but no promises. I’ve known her for a long time. She’s a force to be reckoned with. She does whatever she wants, whenever she wants to. I’ve never been able to reason with her.”

“‘Preciate it, man. I think I can handle her.” Jake smiled. Mike let out a laugh, knowing the boy was maybe a bit too confident in himself.

“Whatever you say.”

Back on the dance floor, you’d found yourself surrounded by a group of people you’d never met before, but seemed like they knew how to have fun. You’d finished dancing with one of the girls, blowing her a kiss as you continued on your journey through the sea of drunkards. A familiar head of red hair caught your attention. You pushed past a pair of frat boys, giving a scowl as you did so. They were your least favourite type of people, and the university you’d been attending was full of them. You caught up to your friend, grabbing onto her arm before she could slip away again.

“Hi!” Eve exclaimed, smile lighting up the room. “I didn’t know where you went!”

“Had to go say hello to Mike!” You shouted back. “Where is everyone else?”

“I think Ally’s doing blow in the bathroom.” She giggled. You rolled your eyes.

“Of course she is.” You were a party animal, but even you had to admit that Ally, one of your roommates, definitely had a problem that she wasn’t willing to deal with yet.

“Ben’s probably guarding the bathroom door for her,” you nodded. Ben was Ally’s boyfriend, always making sure she was safe. You liked him; he wasn’t necessarily overbearing with her. He never stopped her from doing what she wanted, but just made sure she was protected while she was doing it. “And I think the rest of them are over playing pool.”

“And you and I are gonna dance.” You smiled, grabbing her hand and twirling her around. She let out a laugh, reciprocating the action. The two of you moved your hips in time with the music, dancing on each other and sipping at your drinks. From behind you, a wolf-whistle sounded. You straightened up, spinning around to see a guy you’d seen around campus a few times. You gave him a glare, flipping him off in the process. He rolled his eyes at you, turning to look the other way. “Asshole.” You muttered, bringing your glass to your lips and finishing the rest of the drink in one gulp. “Come on, let’s go get another.” You ushered her along. The two of you stepped down the stairs leading back to the main floor, catching sight of your third roommate. “Ally!” You shouted, waving her over. Her head whipped around, following the sound of your voice immediately. She gave you a grin as she joined you, hooking her arm through yours. “Hello, sunshine.” You greeted.

“Fancy meeting you here.” She jittered. You had to laugh.

“Let me buy you a drink, sugar.” You gave her a small yank towards the bar. You pooled into some stools, all scooting your chairs closer together. Mike made his way over to you, a towel over his shoulder. He placed his hands on the edge of the counter, leaning forward and giving a disapproving sigh.

“You troublemakers are back again?” You gave him a sweet smile. He was an attractive guy; a bit older, but very good looking for his age. He had his head shaved and tattoos littered his arms. You always played the flirting game with him, knowing you’d let him take you home under the right circumstances. Still, you enjoyed drinking there far too much to ruin it over a quick fuck.

“Couldn’t stay away from you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. What are you having this time?”

“I’m thinking shots. What about you, ladies?” You asked. They gave a collective nod. “Six jägerbombs.” He obliged, grabbing a can of red bull and the dreaded green bottle. He poured out six, placing two in front of all of you.

“Oh, there’s a guy over there that seems particularly interested in you, too.” Mike said, nodding in the direction of a booth behind you. You raised an eyebrow, giving a smirk.

“Trying to pawn me off on some poor patron?” You asked. He shook his head.

“I’m just relaying the message, sweetheart.” You turned around, seeing a group of boys sitting together. Your eyes scanned them, taking in each one of them individually. One had long curly, dark hair and a sweet smile. He looked different than the other three, who all seemed a bit similar. There was a lankier, taller boy who sat next to the curly haired one. He had a bit of facial hair growing in and long, brown hair that barely had a wave to it. On the other side of the booth, there were two boys who looked quite similar. One had short fluffy hair, shaved down on the sides and a grin that never left his face. The boy beside him had long hair, too, but his aura looked a little darker. His smile wasn’t as wide when it crossed his face, and he looked a little stoned.

They must be twins, you thought.

They were all good looking; you wouldn’t mind taking any one of them home, but that wasn’t your intentions lately. Boys, and girls, for that matter, were not your peak interest. Too much drama, too much effort. You liked drinking and having fun. Freedom was great and you used all of your time not spent with your friends, studying. You didn’t need someone to drag you down. Still, out of curiosity, you had to ask. “Is it sunshine and rainbows, or dark and broody?” You turned around, a laugh on your lips.

“Dark and broody,” Mike chuckled. “How’d you know?”

“Come on, you know me well enough by now. I know everything.” You took the first shot, feeling the warmth flood your chest for a second. It was quickly washed away by the carbonated drink. “He is cute, though. But I’m not interested in wasting my time.” You sighed.

“Y/n, he’s gorgeous. You have to go talk to him, at least.” Ally pleaded.

“Take your shots and maybe I’ll think about it.” You brushed her off.

“He seemed to really like you, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Seemed like a nice guy.” Mike offered, throwing another drink in front of you before he stalked off to serve another group of people. You thought about it for a moment, taking another look over your shoulder at the guy. You found he was already looking at you. He gave a small smile, to which you returned.

“You know, maybe it would be good for you. You haven’t even so much as looked at anyone since the last asshole.” Eve said. You shrugged.

“For good reason.” You kept it short and sweet, not wanting to get into it now.

“Just give him a chance, y/n. You never know.” She took both of her shots back to back without a flinch in sight.

“Oh, I know,” you rolled your eyes. “All guys are the same. They just want to fuck and ruin your life, then act like it never happened.” You stood again, grabbing your drink. The two girls shuffled to their feet, following after you. You made your way to the pool tables, taking a seat on the side of one the rest of your group was playing on. Ally’s boyfriend shooed you off without any hesitation, completely used to your antics. You jumped off, now watching the game they were playing. Ben and his roommate were playing together, and they were down to the 8-ball. The tension seemed a bit high; they always contested each other in pool. It was their version of a pissing contest. You had learned not to comment on it.

The mood shifted in the air suddenly. Mike had adhered to your request, changing up the music. Overhead, the opening notes of Witchy Woman by Eagles sounded, sending a jolt of energy through you. “Thanks, Mike!” You yelled over to the bar. He looked up, giving you a wink.

From the booth the group of boys sat at, Jake looked over at you, pleasantly surprised that you’d requested the music change. You were singing the song to Eve, and she was dancing to your voice. Jake admired the way your hips moved, the life behind your eyes, and the heart you were putting into the performance. “Go talk to her, man.” Josh elbowed his brother in the side. Jake snapped out of his trance, looking over to his twin.

“Oh, no,” he shook his head. “I don’t want to bother her. She looks like she’s having fun.” In reality, he was nervous. He’d never met a girl who affected him quite like you did. Your whole aura drew him in, like you’d casted a spell on him. The way you were so openly you and not afraid to show it was enchanting, and new. Not many people were like that. He thought your song choice had been fantastic, because if he had to pick a song to describe you, it would have been that one.

“Just ask to buy her a drink; she looks friendly enough.” Sam said, now looking back over his shoulder to get a glance at you. Jake took a deep breath, nodding his head once.

“Yeah, okay.” He stood, throwing back the last of his whiskey and advancing towards you. You caught sight of him as he was approaching, finding your breath catch in your throat. He was really good looking, and even better up close. He gave you another smile when you caught his eye. You stopped dancing, trying to channel a bit of your confidence that you’d lost momentarily. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I could almost believe they wrote this song about you.” He spoke once he got close enough to you. You gave him a smirk.

“Flattering,” you looked him up and down. He was wearing dark jeans; you couldn’t tell exactly what colour they were due to the dim light, but they looked black. He had a dark blue button up on, only the bottom few buttons fastened together. The sleeves were cuffed at his elbows. His chest was tan, the skin looked soft and was inviting you in. His neck adorned a few chains, one with a pendant hanging from it. You couldn’t get a good look at it. He had dark features: brown hair, brown eyes and dark eyebrows. He was beautiful, and definitely had a good music taste for knowing the song, but you weren’t willing to fall for it. You were certain there had to be a catch. “What brings you to my side of the bar?”

“You,” he was blunt. You hated to admit it, but you liked it. His eyes scanned your face, taking in your red lipstick in particular. He wasn’t disrespectful with his gaze, though. It never fell below your shoulders. “I couldn’t let you leave without at least introducing myself.” You gave a chuckle.

“Trust me baby, I’m not leaving any time soon. They shut the bar down when I’m ready to go.” His heart sped at the pet name. “Now, tell me what you really wanted.”

“I wanted to buy you a drink.” His confidence was non-existent, but he attempted to sound sure of himself, anyway. “A woman with a music taste like yours is certainly deserving of a beverage of her choice.” You softened your stare, easing up on him a bit.

“I guess that depends on what drink you had in mind.”

“You don’t strike me as a bottom shelf kind of lady.” He let out a small laugh.

“You got me there.” You smiled. “I think-“

“She’d love to have a drink with you!” Ally cut in, earning a glare from you.

“Come on, Ally, you didn’t even let me intimidate him first.” You rolled your eyes, making a quick joke.

“He looked pretty scared to me.” She giggled. You looked back at the boy, shrugging.

“I guess he does.” Jake let out a nervous chuckle. “Come on, pretty boy, let’s go get a drink.” You grabbed his hand, pulling him along behind you. When you reached the counter, he pulled a bar chair out for you, letting you sit down first. He took a seat beside you, turning to look at you.

“So, witchy woman,” he smirked “what’s your name?”

“Hm, I think I like that name better.” You grinned.

“Come on, I’m sure that pretty face has an even prettier name.”

“Y/n,” you said, crossing your legs. “What about you, mystery man?”

“Jake.” He told you. You looked at him for a moment, slowly nodding your head.

“That fits. You look like a Jacob.” He laughed.

“I do?”

“Yeah, I mean, not in a bad way or anything, you just look like a Jake.” You stated, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Noted.” he replied. Mike stopped in front of the two of you. “I’ll get the same as earlier,” he looked to you “and one of whatever this beautiful lady has been getting all night.”

“Lady is a strong word for this one.” Mike chuckled.

“How rude, Mike. I may just have to leave a bad review.” You snipped. He waved you off.

“You love me too much for that.”

“You’re right, I do. I can’t get this cheap of a drunk anywhere else. Glad to see you referred to my Spotify playlist for tonight.” You mentioned, hearing a Cream song begin to play.

“It was too good not to play.” You watched as he poured the drinks. “I should pay you instead of the shitty DJ’s they bring in.”

“Hey, twenty bucks is twenty bucks.” You sent another wink in his direction.

“You think I pay them that much?” The three of you let out a chorus of laughs. He handed you both your respective drinks.

“Add them to my tab, please.” Jake told him. Mike gave a nod. “And all of her drinks for the rest of the night.” He added. You gave him an incredulous look.

“Absolutely not,” you scoffed “that’s very kind of you, but I won’t do that to you.”

“I don’t mind, really.” He assured you. Mike gave him a look of warning.

“She’ll drink you broke, buddy.” He told the boy.

“It’d be worth it, then.” Mike gave a shrug, walking away and doing as he was told without another protest.

“Jake, you really don’t have to-“

“I want to.” He cut you off, a tone of finality in his voice. You closed your mouth, pleasantly surprised at the authority. Usually, it would irk you, but from him, it was more than alright. You sipped your drink before the conversation continued. “So, what do you do for a living?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m in school right now, actually.” Now that you were looking at him, you were realizing he might have been a bit older than you. You’d never seen him around the town, or the campus. He was a mystery waiting to be discovered.

“What are you taking?” He asked, eyes never leaving you.

“What do you think I’m taking?” You figured it would be fun to play with him a bit. He studied you for a moment, trying to pry into your brain.

“Something science-y.” He deducted. You were impressed.

“Yeah, actually.” You smiled.

“Biology?” You nodded.

“Well, sort of.” You gave a small laugh. “Chemical engineering. Moving on to biomedical engineering for my masters.” His eyes widened at your statement.

“So you’re a genius, too?” He asked.

“If you want to say that, sure.” You played into it. “What about you, Jacob?”

“I’m a musician.” You narrowed your stare at him.

“Any good?”

“I’d like to think so,” he responded, eyes crinkling with the upturn of his lips. “I guess I’ll have to show you sometime so you can judge for yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” You trailed off. “So that’s why you have such a good taste in music, then?” He gave a small shrug.

“I grew up on the type of music you like.” Was all he replied.

“So you play rock music?”

“Modern rock, yeah.”

“That’s actually really cool.” You admitted. “You play guitar, don’t you?” He nodded.

“How’d you know?”

“Woman’s intuition, if you may.” You scooted your chair closer to him. He welcomed it, doing the same. “So you’re just passing through town, then?”

“Yeah, we had a show here last night. We’re gonna be here for a couple days, though.” He was much more intriguing than you’d originally pegged him for.

“Where’s home for you, then?” You pried, genuinely wanting to know him now.

“Michigan.” He answered, setting his glass back on the countertop. “You?”

“Washington.” You replied.

“You’re a long way from home, then.” He noted.

“Well, I couldn’t really turn down a scholarship from John Hopkins.” You practically scoffed. “My parents would have killed me if I did.” You laughed.

“Yeah, fair enough.” He conceded. “How far along are you?” He asked.

“I’m in my third year of my undergrad. I’m finishing up my bachelor’s early, then I’m starting my masters in the fall.” Jake was blown away at your words.

“You amaze me.” His expression showed nothing short of admiration.

“I guess I can add ‘impressing celebrities’ to my resume.” You smirked, leaning forward slightly. Perhaps it was the alcohol lowering your common sense, but he looked very good, and you’d likely never see him again. It was a win-win for you. “I think I’d like to make your time in Maryland memorable, Jake the rockstar.”

“You already have, Y/n the engineer.” He was leaning in now, too.

“Oh, so you don’t want to kiss me?” You teased. Your noses were practically touching, the smell of whiskey on his breath was driving you crazy.

“No, I would love to kiss you.” He assured you.

“What are you waiting for, Jacob?” Before you could say anything else, his mouth was on yours, desperate to know what you tasted like. It was heated, both of you tipsy and fuelled by attraction, but it wasn’t sloppy. When you pulled away, you giggled at the lipstick that stained his lips. “Reds your colour, I think.” You wiped away the smudge with your thumb. He couldn’t hold back his smile, placing a kiss to the pad of your finger.

“You think so?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. But, in your true nature, you stood, cutting the moment short. “Come find me before you leave, rockstar.” You placed another kiss on his lips, walking away without another word. He followed you with his eyes, dumbfounded at the sight of you walking away. He watched you until you disappeared back into the sea of people, not sure if he should follow or not.

You ventured back to the pool table, joining your friends once more. They didn’t notice you right away, but when the girls caught sight of you, they had a shock at your smudged lipstick. Instead of explaining, you grabbed a pool cue and started up another game after convincing one of the boys to go buy a round of shots.

Jake joined his brothers in the booth, wordless and still trying to comprehend the interaction you’d shared with him moments before. “How did that go?” Josh snickered.

“I… I don’t know.” He said. “I mean, she kissed me, then she just… left.” His twin reached out and gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

“Maybe you’re a bad kisser,” Sam chirped, earning a pointed look from his eldest brother.

“Did she say anything else?” Josh questioned.

“She told me to find her before I leave.”

“Well that’s not a bad thing, then!” He exclaimed, trying to cheer him up.

“I don’t know, man. I’ve never met anyone like her before. I’m scared I might’ve blown my shot.” He sighed, swirling the ice around in his cup.

“You’ll just have to find her, later.” Sam shrugged. “Then you’ll know for sure.”

Back at the pool table, you were on your last solid ball, eyes already on the 8-ball and planning your victory. You lined up your shot, guiding the cue through your fingers and knocking it into the cue ball. It bounced into the orange one, hitting it against the corner and rolling it back into a corner pocket. You gave a smirk of triumph at Ben’s roommate, who still had three balls left to sink. He said nothing, barely willing to make eye contact with you before you took aim again. You shot at the black ball, eyes following it carefully as it landed in the hole without issue. You placed your cue on the table and gave your opponent a sweet smile.

“I’ll take another Jack and Coke. Make it a double, honey.” You told him. Instead of arguing, he placed his own stick down and nodded, walking to the bar without another word. While waiting for him to return, you checked your makeup in your phone camera. You pulled out a tube of lipstick, reapplying it in the places it had worn off. When your refill was brought back to you, you thanked the boy and turned to your own roommates. “I’m going outside, anyone joining?” You asked. The girls nodded, grabbing their drinks. They scuttled behind you as you made your move toward the door. The bouncer caught sight of the drink in your hand and moved in front of the exit before you could get outside.

“You can’t bring that out there, y/n.” He told you.

“Oh, come on. You know I’m coming right back in.” You bargained with him. He didn’t budge. You put on a little bit of an act, letting an innocent look fall over your features. “You know, a lady is never supposed to leave her drink unattended. You never know what could happen.” He faltered, shaking his head, knowing he wasn’t going to win the argument.

“Fine, but make it quick. Don’t let Mike see you, either.” He warned.

“You know he couldn’t stay mad at me.” You reminded.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he chuckled. You blew him a kiss as you passed by, Ally and Eve following close behind.

The night was cool, but it felt nice after being inside the warm bar. The exposed skin on your legs filled with goosebumps at the sudden breeze, but you paid no mind to it. You handed one of the girls your drink, pulling a cigarette pack out of your purse. You took one between your lips, offering it around to the others. They each took one, mimicking your actions. You took your lighter and lit all of them, slipping it back into your bra. You took your drink back, letting out a long exhale of smoke. “You guys having fun?” You asked.

“I’d be having more fun if you could set me up with one of mystery boy’s brothers.” Eve said. You gave a low chuckle.

“You can have mystery boy, too.” You flicked off the ash that was accumulating on the end of your cigarette.

“Why? What’s wrong with him?” Ally asked, eyes wide.

“Nothing,” you shrugged “he was a good kisser, probably a good lay, too. Just not looking for anything like that.” You were lying. You were very into him, even before he’d kissed you. If it were with him, you’d be willing to try another relationship. You barely knew the guy, but he had an effect on you you’d never felt before. You knew if he walked out of the bar and joined you, he’d have you wrapped around his finger, and you didn’t like that feeling.

“Babe, he may be a fantastic guy. He seems really into you. I think you should give him a chance.” Eve pushed.

“I told you, not interested.” You replied, leaving it at that. “He’s a musician, anyway. Best case scenario, I fall for him and I get to see him twice a year. Doesn’t sound fantastic to me.”

“No, y/n, the best case scenario is you get to know each other and he treats you really well. Maybe he’d even take you across the world with him.” Ally interjected. You scoffed.

“As if I have time to travel across the world with a horny rockstar.”

“Don’t let you-know-who ruin this for you.” Eve warned.

“I don’t want to talk about him; how I feel has nothing to do with him.” You snapped. She knew your ex-boyfriend was an off-limit topic. She conceded, still knowing that you weren’t being 100% truthful. He’d really fucked you up, and was still trying his best to make you miserable months after your dramatic end by following you around, blowing up your phone non-stop, and ruining any new, blossoming relationships before they could amount to anything. You wanted nothing more to do with him after your caught him hooking up with a sorority girl at a house party, and that was one of the lesser injustices he’d committed against you in the time of your relationship. You were surprised he hadn’t shown up at the bar, yet, just to disturb your night. The cigarettes were slowly dwindling to an end and the tension had yet to subside. “I’m going to have another one, I’ll meet you guys in there.” They nodded, departing back into the building. They were well aware you just needed a minute alone; you’d be fine by the time you went back inside.

You lit another cigarette, leaning back against the building with no real thoughts. You watched the passerby’s, wondering quietly about what was going on in their heads. People were fascinating. It was always strange to think that every person that passed by had their own stories, thoughts and dreams. At face value, they were just bodies. You couldn’t begin to fathom the amount of memories and tales each person that walked by held in their minds.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A voice broke you out of your own mind. You looked up to see the same blue button-up and black jeans from earlier.

“Following me, rockstar?” You smiled. He shook his head, holding up his own pack of cigarettes.

“Just luck.” He leaned against the wall next to you, not close enough to make you uncomfortable, but enough to make your heart flutter.

“Guess so,” your usually witty comments seemed to be lost. The liquor coursing through your veins seemed to be making the decisions rather than your conscious mind, now. All you knew was that he was gorgeous, and you’d never have to see him again after the night was through. You hated that you were so back-and-fourth with your own mind, but you couldn’t help it. Those were your only justifications for what you said next. “Do you plan on taking me home tonight, Jacob?” You turned your head slightly, peeking at him through the corner of your eye.

“If you’ll let me.” He looked at you, now.

“I think that would be alright.” You said, turning your body towards him. He mimicked you, eyes finally fully landing on your face. He let out a shaky breath, stunned by your beauty. He thought he’d never get to experience it that close to him again. Without another word, you threw your cigarette to the ground and pulled him in by his shirt collar, landing your lips on his for the second time that night.

His hand shot to your hip, pulling you into him. Your tongue darted over his bottom lip, begging him to open his mouth. He did so without hesitation, knowing that he’d take you right there if it meant he got to have you at all. You were lost in the feeling, the taste of him intoxicating you more than any of the liquor you’d drank that night. You felt as though nothing could break your focus from the beautiful boy in front of you. But, all things come to an end, and in this case, it was by your name being called frantically.

“Hey, sorry to break up the moment, but we’ve got a problem.” Both of your roommates were in front of you, wide eyed and anxious. You were still coming back to reality, confusion etched in your features.

“What is it?” You finally mustered, taking a step back from Jake, who also looked very disgruntled.

“He’s here. He saw us, and he’s looking for you.” Your expression turned stone cold. Jake looked between you and the girls he didn’t know the name of, silently begging for someone to tell him what was going on. “We have to go.” They tried to usher you away, but you kept your feet planted to the ground.

“Let him find me.” There was no shakiness in your tone; you were serious, almost eager for him to come outside.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Ally said, shifting on her feet.

“I think it is.” You brought you drink to your lips, draining the last of the liquid into your mouth and swallowing it down. “This is my bar.” You reminded them.

“Okay, hold on,” Jake said, intervening now. “What isn’t a good idea?” With that, the front door to the building opened and a boy stepped outside, eyes immediately settling on you. You took a step forward, a smile twisting on your face.

“Finally found me, then?” You handed your glass off to one of your roommates, not looking to see who grabbed it. His eyes were menacing, but they had never scared you before, and they certainly weren’t, now.

“Didn’t have to look very hard.” He took a step towards you. Jake was watching, still unsure of the situation. He looked to the other two girls for an answer, but they weren’t paying any attention to him. “Just had to find the sluttiest outfit at the shittiest bar.”

“This is getting pretty pathetic, Aaron.” You crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a look of disdain.

“It’s been months. You won’t speak to me, you won’t answer my calls, you won’t even fucking look at me when we pass each other on the street.”

“I wonder why,” you rolled your eyes. “We broke up. You were an asshole, I left. Get over it.” You snapped. “Stop following me around to the bars and waiting for me outside of my apartment complex. It’s creepy; get a fucking life.”

“Maybe I would stop if you would just talk to me! I just want to have a conversation, maybe figure this out.” You scoffed.

“No, I don’t think we’ll be ‘figuring this out’ any time soon. Or ever, really. Take the fucking hint and move on. Or get some help, preferably.” He took a step towards you, a look of warning crossing his features.

“Don’t speak to me like that.” His voice was low.

“Should we stop her?” Jake whispered to your roommates, wondering if they were really going to let you take on a guy two times your size all on your own. They both looked back at him, having to bite back a grin.

“Honey, if you’re really interested in her, you’ve gotta understand: nobody can stop her. Most we can do is cheer her on.” The red-head explained. He was still nervous, looking at you and the unknown guy. He was towering over you, but you had no intent on backing down.

“Should we help her, then?” He asked.

“I promise, she doesn’t need any help.” The blonde one spoke now, a ghost of a laugh lingering in her tone. Jake backed down, deciding it was best to just watch how things played out before getting involved.

“You don’t even have the decency to give me any closure, and I come out here and see you whoring around with,” he looked at Jake for a moment. You could see the gears turning in his head while he searched for a good insult. “Van Halen wannabe?” You almost giggled at his shitty pass at Jake.

“At least the Van Halen wannabe could get me off if he wanted to.” You cackled. Your roommates gave Jake a pat on the back, reassuring him that it was alright. He wasn’t even paying attention to the insult thrown at him, more worried about you. There was quite a crowd forming now, everyone wanting to see what the fuss was about. Although, Jake did happen to notice, everybody was looking at the boy as if they were scared for him.

“Sure, you’re laughing now, but you won’t be when you realize he won’t stick around, either. You’re not worth much more than a quick fuck. He’ll realize that pretty soon, too.” The demeanour shifted quickly. You were no longer in a mood to throw insults back and fourth all night. You were itching for a fight. “You can spit out insults all you want, but it won’t change the fact that you’ll end up alone. Wasn’t hard to find someone better. All I had to do was bring home the first girl I saw at that party.” Your vision turned red, furious at the thought he’d even bring up that night. Your hands were vibrating, fuelled with rage at the sight of him, now.

Before anyone could do anything to stop it, your arm raised, hand balled as tight as you could get it, and you swung at his face. Your fist connected with his nose, knocking him backwards. He stumbled, hand coming up to grab where you’d hit him. “Sure, Aaron.” You shook your hand out, barely paying any mind to the stinging. “If telling yourself that helps you sleep at night, keep it up! But if you’re going to lie about it, you can at least leave me alone. Hard to believe you can find someone better when you’re still chasing after me like a lost puppy.” You gave him a sweet smile. He had straightened up and approached you again, about to open his mouth for another jab. Before he could, you moved swiftly, landing another punch to his face. “Now do me a favour and stay the fuck away from me.” It felt nice. You’d been waiting to do that for a long time, finally happy the perfect moment had presented itself.

By that point, the bouncer had caught on that something was going on outside. He’d pushed through the crowd, catching sight of you. “Y/n! Again?” He snapped, making a move towards you. You let out a laugh, stepping back.

“Sorry, Cody!” You shouted your apology to the bouncer as you turned towards your roommates. “Tell Mike I’ll see him next weekend!” You grabbed the girls hands, staring to make a run for it. Jake watched, still trying to process the entire interaction that had unfolded in front of him, amazed that a single punch from you could have knocked a boy that size, backwards. He only clued in to what was happening when you paused in front of a building a few down from where he was standing. You were pulling your heels off, still trying to walk while you did so.

“Wait, y/n!” He called after you, not willing to let you get away that easily. You turned back to look at him, faltering for a moment.

“Sorry, rockstar!” You yelled back, genuinely feeling your chest ache as you ran away. “Nice meeting you!” Your voice echoed through the street. You thought maybe you should turn around and get his number, but pushed the thought away. He was leaving in a few days and he’d likely never remember you, anyway. You told yourself it was for best.

Jake watched your silhouette disappear into the night, debating running after you. But he stood, frozen, until you were completely out of sight. He was head over heels for you from the minute he saw you, even more so now after seeing you hold your own against a man two feet taller than you and probably a hundred pounds heavier. In the background, he could hear the bouncer scrambling your ex-boyfriend to his feet, eager to get him off the property before he had to call the cops. Jake didn’t care to pay attention to it, though, because he was only caught up in wondering if he’d just let the love of his life run away without even getting your last name.

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piratefishmama · 1 year

Text

Crossing The Line | Part 9

“Eddie. Dude. You have to stop pacing, you’re gonna wear a hole in the goddamn floor and we ain’t covered for that.”

Eddie did not stop pacing, he just turned on his heel and went in the other direction, starting a fresh line in the floor. “But what if— nah, he wouldn’t… I doubt it, no he was probably just—but then what if—"

“Man, you’re spiralling, if he’s gonna come, he’s gonna come, if he doesn’t, then he doesn’t, what’re you worried about, you don't even like the guy” Eddie didn’t stop pacing. “Unless… Do you?”

“I… may have… actually looked into him?”

“You what?”

“After he turned up at the coffee shop! He was just… he was nice, dude, and… an he had no reason to be, at all, I was a bitch for a whole week towards him for no reason, but he was nice, and funny, and he can sing even if he can’t do shit with metal, he can sing, and… his photoshoots don’t touch up shit he really is that pretty, and I think i'm going to spontaneously combust and die if he turns up tonight dressed to blend in.”

“Wow.”

“Leave me alone!”

“Okay, so, what did you find out on your deep dive through Instagram?” Eddie finally stopped pacing. They were in what the bar deemed to be a ‘green room’ which was really just a room in the back for bands to get their shit together before the gig started, Corroded Coffin always turned up a good hour or so early to make sure everything was set, and of course, get rid of any pre-gig jitters. Gareth was the only one completely ready, his drums were already out there, set up and covered by a black sheet waiting for their time to shine, and his outfit was sorted ages ago.

So Gareth was the one currently in charge of dealing with Eddie, while the other two primped elsewhere.

“Not just Instagram, Jesus, imagine if I’d have scrolled too far back and liked a pic from like, 2001 by accident. How about no to that inevitable mortification. I googled.”

“You googled.”

“Yes I googled!! Did you know that he donated like, ninety-something percent of his earnings from a bullshit rom-com soundtrack deal to LGBT charities across the US after they cut a lesbian couple out of it?”

“No…”

“Neither did I! The fucker didn’t tell anyone!! I HAD TO DEEP DIVE INTO ROBIN’S INSTAGRAM! Trust me that was a scary thing to do, she’s scary. but he pulls that shit all the time apparently!” It wasn’t for publicity, it wasn’t to make himself look good to a demographic, he did it because he could. Because he wanted to. “Did you know he regularly terrorizes producers and directors into offering fair contracts for their child actors and young muscians like a goddamn world class showbiz babysitter?”

“…Nope.”

“Neither did I!! Did you know that he got PERMISSION to sing Crazy Train from the actual goddamn Osbornes? Cause I sure as shit didn’t know that either! He spoke to Sharon, DIRECTLY, Gareth, DIRECTLY. What the actual fucknuggets on fire, does he want with me?!”

“I dunno, to kiss you maybe?”

“WHY?!”

“Can’t claim to have an answer dude, you’re not exactly my type. Maybe you’re his, he did come all this way, right?”

“Pretty sure he could find a weird metalhead in his own damn town, y’know?”

“Maybe it’s not the metalhead thing, I dunno Eds, I just know that maybe this guy will be in the crowd, and if he is, hell yeah, you have managed to secure probably thee best opportunity we’ve ever had in the history of ever, by… being a bitch.”

“We’ve ever had?” Eddie looked at him with a small frown

“Yeah man! Steve Harrington is a huge star in the music world. Dude probably has his own goddamn recording studio in his place… maybe if it goes well… we could ask him if we could use it, save us some cash on a recording studio for demos.”

“…Dude. That’s. That’s kinda taking advantage isn’t it? An I’m not whoring myself out to get free studio time.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it, BUT if you start dating this guy—"

“Gare, anything you say that relates to me using my first potential relationship as a step ladder to fame, is SUPER shitty. Let’s not do that. If he offers, then… maybe, but… that’s not—I wouldn’t even think about asking for that, we wanna get where we’re going on our own, not have it handed to us, right?”

“Well… yeah but… a helping hand would be nice sometimes, y’know? Get us out of playing these shitty dive bar gigs and into the big leagues, you know I can’t stand part time work filling the gaps in the wages, man, retail managers always suck donkey dicks. I cannot work another summer at Staples, they have like no AC, it’s torture, it’s like an oven in there and Ralph doesn’t wear deodorant, he claims it’s an allergy, but I know, I know it’s not, he does it as a power thing it’s weird. This… could be our ticket out.”

“Steve isn’t a ticket. Maybe stop digging a grave you can’t climb out of, yeah? I know I wasn’t the best towards him but… he’s better, deserves better than that… I’m not using him. An honestly I dunno if I’d even know how y’know? It’s not like I’m bursting with experience… barely even—y’know what, I’m not talking about this, big nope on the using Steve as a cheat code to achieving fame! Let’s just… get our shit together and get out there!”

Gareth smiled before rising to his feet, drumsticks in hand “you’re the boss, man. Where’s Jeff an Frank?”

“Bathroom touching up their shit… promise me you won’t bring it up to Steve, yeah? Like… if he does come, you won’t—”

“Dude, dude… I was just throwing out dumb ideas to get you out of your head, I’d never, that’d be really uncool of me” Eddie looked at him with doubt because… okay, maybe there was a little truth to the interest in the subject, Gareth had worked part time in the stationary section of Staples for three years now and he was just about ready to die if he had to deal with his supervisors summer BO any longer, but if Eddie put his foot down and said no, then it was no, the idea was vetoed. Axed. Deader than dead

He could deal with Ralph. Probably.

“…Right, well… oka—”

The door opened, a frizzy head of hair poking around the entry way, one of the bartenders, “You’re on in five guys! Wh—Where’s the rest of you??”

“Gareth go get em for me? I’ll get the crowd warmed up.”

“On it.”

T-5 minutes. Gareth rushed out the opposite door to the bathrooms behind 'stage', otherwise known as the staff bathroom. The bar was heaving, music from the speakers to fill the void of sound before the live music act, loud and thumping, it’d be them soon, filling that void, deep breath. Eddie fluffed his hair once more, spritzed it with hairspray one last time, checked his minimalist eyeliner, and shook himself out, and grabbed his baby.

Show time.

Part 11

#PirateWrites #Crossing The Line #Steddie #Ficlet #okay so... Gareth is a lil desperate to get out of retail #lets cut him some slack #even if he is being a little shit there :'D

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teejaystumbles · 1 year

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Smapril Day 3: possessive + exhibitionism + “Come over here.”

Dream of the Endless is annoyed. Hob Gadling has persuaded him to visit a modern dance club with him. The music is too loud and the air stifling. All that would not normally bother Dream, who is Endless and perfectly capable of selecting how much sensory input he allows to touch him in the Waking World. There is one thing he is not capable of, though, and that is, apparently, to not be bothered by the proximity of human bodies. Particularly their proximity not to his own body, but to Hob’s. Hob is dancing and Dream is not the only one unable to keep his eyes off him. A man and a woman have for the past few minutes made continuous efforts to dance as closely as physically possible to Hob and Dream has become aware of the fact that he is grinding his teeth more violently the longer he stares at the wisps of salacious daydreams both of them are entertaining. Hob seems blissfully unbothered and happily grins at the woman and later the man who dances with him. Dream is clenching his fingers so hard into his palms that his nails leave achy imprints on his skin. When the man puts his hands on Hob’s hips Dream steps smoothly closer, miraculously unhindered by the other dancers.

“Hob. Come over here.” he grinds out and shoots the man dancing with Hob a withering look. Hob looks up at him and smiles radiantly, even as the strange man tries to pull him closer again. Dream hurriedly grabs Hob’s hand to pull him off the dance floor. Over his shoulder he shoots a murderous glare at the other man again and receives a sneer and a frustrated eyeroll. “What’s the matter, duck?” Hob asks as Dream pushes him away from the dancing crowd. When Hob’s back hits a wall Dream dives in to kiss him. Hob, though evidently confused, moans and kisses back with enthusiasm. When Dream lets him take a breath he gasps: “What’s got you so riled up, love? Everything alright? Do you-” His next words are lost as they turn into a breathy whine when Dream pushes his knee between Hob’s legs and up into his crotch. He buries his face in Hob’s neck and licks a long stripe from his trapezius muscle up to his ear, relishing the taste of his fresh sweat. Hob shivers violently against him and Dream almost growls when he asks: “Is that man still watching us?” Hob’s breath hitches and he answers shakily: “Y-Yes. Dream, what…” “Good.” Dream presses his hand against the front of Hob’s jeans and his already hardening cock and Hob throws his head back against the wall. It connects with a dull thud and he moans and clenches his fingers tightly into Dream’s coat. “Dream…” “Hush, lover. I am merely doing what he has envisioned himself doing quite vividly…I will remind him of the futility of his daydreams.” Dream follows the trail his tongue has made up Hob’s neck with his teeth and whispers against his shivering skin: “You’re mine.” He bites down, hard, and Hob surges up in his arms with a barely muffled cry, fingers digging almost painfully into Dream’s shoulders. His hips are twitching helplessly into Dream’s hand, seeking friction. Dream laves the bite with his tongue and then throws a glance over his shoulder again. The insolent man is still staring at them, cheeks flushed and mouth open. Dream frowns. He looks at Hob and sucks in a breath. His lover’s cheeks are a lovely shade of rose, eyes glassy and pupils dilated as he stares at Dream with an expression so full of devotion and desire that Dream feels his temporarily manifested heart beat hard in his chest. “Care to…elaborate on that…at home? Unless… you want to give him even more of a show?” Hob murmurs, voice rough and breathless as he bucks into Dream’s hand again. He licks his lips and Dream copies him quite without meaning to. He shakes his head a tiny fraction and says quietly: “I think these people have been granted quite enough privilege tonight.” Hob grins brightly and to Dream’s chagrin, winks at the strange man across the dance floor, before extricating himself from Dream’s arms and grabbing his hand to pull him towards the exit. Dream speeds up their journey home with the help of his sand once they are out of the club and proceeds to “elaborate” on his statement of ownership quite thoroughly and much to Hob’s apparent delight.

#I just went for all three prompts today LOL #smapril 2023 #dreamling #smut prompts #own writing #the sandman fanfiction #drabble

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slavicviking · 6 months

Text

In the mood for some delicious miscommunicatio trope for steddie so here we are >:) part 1 of ??

wc: 1281

tags: friends with benefits, requitted unrequitted love, idiot4idiot

Love sucks.

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You’re supposed to have my back, Robin,” Steve sighs and slumps against the counter.

“I do have your back,” she replies with a light pat on the shoulder. “I am, though, going to ask you to stop moping over the counter, dingus. I just wiped it down a moment ago.”

“That’s so rude. Maybe crying over this counter is exactly what I need right now, you know?”

“Don’t. The stench of boy-desperation is going to seep in.”

Steve snorts. At least with Robin here the Monday morning shift is not so overwhelmingly, mind-numbingly boring. There’s only so many times Steve can reorganize the backroom, trying not to think about, well, The Situation.

Robin hands him a small packet of skittles from a bowl as peace-offering. If they’re lucky Keith will never notice. “Okay, but, really – I think you should consider it.”

“It’s not that easy, Rob,” he sighs, wincing when the customer bell sounds from the doors, even more when he sees who it is.

“Howdy,” Eddie greets them before diving straight into the horror section of the store. Steve sees Robin follow him with her eyes, her lips pulled down at the corners. He knows that look and though he appreciates her feeling protective over him, Steve is past his need or desire for any sort of escalating drama, especially within a group as tightly-knit as the Party. His hand lands in hers under the counter and squeezes.

Eddie comes back around ten minutes later, a video tape in hand. The plain T-shirt and the usual ripped jeans don’t look like much but Steve still finds it too magnetic to look away.

“The Shining?” Steve quirks an eyebrow. “A bit too mainstream for you, isn’t it?”

“It’s a classic, Stevie,” Eddie grins before leaning closer, twirling a lock of hair between his fingers, and if Steve didn’t know any better he’d say Eddie looked nervous. Which - ridiculous. Nothing to be nervous about, not in Eddie’s case anyway. “Actually, I was wondering. I mean, it is a classic, right? Already mentioned that, um. But we could watch it together. If you’d like. No pressure, or anything.”

Before Steve can reply, the bell over the doors rings again and in a flurry of motions a chipper blonde runs up to the counter of Family Video, a dimpled smile plastered over her face. Jenna, if Steve recalls correctly – Robin’s year.

“Hi, Steve!” she greets loudly, hair pulled up in a high ponytail bouncing up and down. “I didn’t know you worked here. I mean, I did, I’ve been here before. Breakfast Club, remember? Anyway, after the earthquake I kind of thought you’d jump the ship. I mean, I would, but parents, you know?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve blinks. “Guess I stayed.”

“Glad you did,” Jenna giggles, slim fingers just barely grazing over Steve’s arm. Enough to cause goosebumps. “Anyway, I’m here to return Fast Times for my brother. He was supposed to but he’s apparently too busy with basketball.”

Steve knows how this conversation should go, would have gone a few months ago, probably. He would ask about her brother and basketball, throw in a quip or two, maybe flex his arms, wink. It would work perfectly, too. And Jenna – she’s sweet, all dimples and cute skirts, colorful ribbons in her hair. She’s everything he should want right now – something easy and stable and realistic. But he can’t help but let his eyes drift to Eddie, how quiet he has gotten all of a sudden, maybe stressed about Jenna and the jock crowd she usually falls into; maybe because she feels eerily similar to how Chrissy used to be. Who knows.

In the end Steve just smiles politely and tells Jenna the fee to pay in a manner so robotic King Steve would cower in embarrassment at the mere sight. She looks miffed but it doesn’t deter her completely because she slips him a piece of paper with a poignant look shot Robin’s way. As if Robin was her greatest competition. Turn around, a little bit to the left, and there you’ll have it – the reason Steve Harrington is off the market.

Not that Eddie knows. Or will ever know.

The boundaries he set were pretty clear, Steve gets it.

“Did you see The Look?” Robin snickers next to him once Jenna’s gone and he can’t help but snort because, sure, Steve did have a crush on Robin very briefly what feels like ages ago, but by now the idea of them ever being considered a romantic couple is just laughable. Eddie, though, stays silent, eyebrows dropped low and eyes glued to the door.

Steve decides to bite the bullet.

“I’m game, you know.” Eddie shots him a perplexed look and he feels a hot wave of embarrassment wash over him swiftly. It’s clear Eddie hasn’t given the invitation much thought, maybe didn’t even really mean it in the first place but wanted to be polite. “You know, for, uh, The Shining.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, that,” Eddie shrugs, shoulders rising almost to his ears. “You can come. If you want.”

“Cool.”

Eddie doesn’t linger after that, leaving Family Video with much less vigor than when he entered. Maybe that’s Steve’s effect on people, he muses as he dumps the slip with Jenna’s number into the bin in the backroom. The Steve Experience is an intense one, as he has been notified of before.

“So. What the hell was that?” Robin pokes him in the arm, nails surprisingly sharp and painful.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Steve sighs. “He hates me. Fuck.”

“He doesn’t, dingus, I promise you,” Robin slings her arm across his chest and leans against his back. Steve loves her so much. “But he’s being super weird. I mean, my guess would be that he got jealous, honestly-“

“You know it isn’t like that. It’s just sex, he said so himself.”

And, okay, so. The Situation.

The weeks following Vecna’s attempt at world-domination royally sucked ass. The NDAs, the nightmares and all-encompassing fear – that Steve knows, that he can deal with on most days. Physical therapy was a nicely added new feature, it at least spiced things up a little. It’s also how Steve and Eddie ended up spending a lot of time together. Becoming friends with Eddie was surprisingly easy, falling for him – a slippery slope.

It's Eddie that suggested their little arrangement and it’s Eddie that has been vocal since the beginning that it’s nothing more than hooking up – blowing off steam, as he once called it. Happened only a handful times, too, and only after one or the other couldn’t sleep because of nightmares. So, really, it’s on Steve to get so attached to an idea that exists only in his own head.

Before they close up, Robin taps him on the shoulder. “You deserve better, Steve, okay? Someone who cares. Just – think about it.”

A slip of paper with a number finds its way into his pocket, second one today but first for a boy; some guy that Robin met via a mutual friend – Dorothy, or whatever. It weighs on his mind the whole drive to the trailer park but the moment Eddie opens the door, it really doesn’t matter anymore, does it?

For once, Steve wants to be in control. And with Eddie looking at his mouth the way he is, Steve feels wanted, desired, however illusory that really is. The kiss grows heated once they enter the trailer but the second he lays Eddie on the couch, a pair of hands pushes him away gently.

“We shouldn’t,” Eddie pants. “We- I don’t think we should do this anymore.”

Fuck.

part 2??

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #st #my writing #i live off drama and drama alone

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Pink Scarf - PART 18.1 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: References to sexual situations. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: OKAY Y'ALL, Part 18 is split into two parts (18.1 & 18.2), so be aware that there is a bit of a cliffhanger for this reason. This part as a whole is another monster, but in a completely different way than the action-packed Part 17, and I didn't want to torture y'all anymore by making you wait for a GIANT chapter, since I was at 13k+ with no end in sight! We're diving into uncharted territory here (which was a challenge, let me tell y'all!) and 18.1 is all in flashback because of this. The vibe is DIFFERENT for obvious reasons, which you'll understand shortly. I promise there’s a good reason for the pivot, which will become more apparent in 18.2. Thank you so much for your patience, and I really hope you enjoy this perspective change in the story!

I've set the mood with lyrics from Teresa Brewer's Till I Waltz Again With You which is the song Elvis really sang in the talent show in '53 (unfortunately there is no recording of him singing it *sob*), and I've added pictures of our boy in the different years referenced, just to really give you a mental picture and break your heart a little bit. Only because I love y'all!

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

Elvis in 1951

You'll be waiting for my arms

September 1951

Elvis meanders down the hall through the crowds between classes, quiet, blue eyes sharp and watchful. He heads towards the lunchroom, his cheap and worn guitar slung over his shoulder. His dark blonde hair is too long for the popular style, greased and pushed back, a stray lock falling into his eyes. The style of his clothes is too bright and bold for a scrawny 16-year-old white boy, gaining him stares that range from curiosity to contempt, but he doesn’t care. He is wholly himself, a separate standout from the masses, but somehow unassuming through it all.

A few weeks into junior year, he already has his head down and tries to pay attention in his classes as best he can, even though sitting still is hard. He knows he must graduate and his mama and daddy will have his hide if he doesn’t, so he sits in the back row and listens and does his work as best he can. He makes decent grades. He’s respectful to his teachers, all “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, sir,” just like he was raised. All the while, his fingers drum out rhythms on his legs (the desk is too loud—he learned that the hard way a long time ago), his mind whirling and spinning with melodies and harmonies and dreams for the future.

But mostly he observes. He knows he’s different. He knows most kids don’t understand what he’s about. He’s a poor, church-going kid from the projects who is so quiet that he seems a little slow, except that those piercing blues see and hear everything, constantly cataloguing, constantly adapting, constantly thinking, constantly moving. Always searching for a way to get his family off the dole and into comfort. So, he waits and watches and learns. He doesn’t care if that earns him strange looks.

The halls start to thin as underclassmen hustle to their classes and upperclassmen run to lunch, loud and hungry and antsy. Elvis is not in a hurry, though, yet not without direction.

The little, fluttering thing that rounds the corner is, however, and plows straight into him, managing to knock herself and her books to the floor. He’s not quick enough to get out of the way, but he is fast enough to catch her as she goes flying backwards.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, his hand grasping your forearm as momentum carries you in the other direction. He somehow manages to swing his guitar down gently enough that it doesn’t splinter but the strings thrumb in a dissonant chord as it hits the ground.

The move to save both the guitar and the girl throws off his center of balance, so as you wheel back, you take him with you. In your panic to stay upright, you grab at him desperately, latching onto his wrist, which damns you both, but does serve to soften the blow as you land with a gasp on your backside.

His fancy shoes have no traction on the slippery tile, and he struggles and slips this way and that before gravity wins the battle, sending him ungracefully to his knees, pinning your skirt between your legs. He manages to catch himself with his free hand at the very last moment, avoiding completely crushing you under his weight. His breath huffs out with the exertion, and that’s how he ends up sprawled on top of you in the middle of the hallway, your books scattered around like shrapnel.

Time seems to slow for a second, and he really looks at you for the first time, his face in too intimate of a proximity for comfort as he looks into your big, wide eyes and sees a pink blush grace your cheeks. Your pretty hair surrounds you like a halo in disarray. And your lips, well, they are much to close because he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. His chest heaves and then catches because you are quite beautiful, sprawled out there on the tile under him.

Then reality and propriety rushes at him like a freight train, realizing the compromising position you are both in, through no fault of your own, but compromising, nevertheless. He feels heat rush to his face at the inappropriateness of his thoughts.

“Aw, h-heck, s-sorry,” he blunders, pushing up and back off of you as fast as his lanky limbs will allow.

“No, I should be the one that’s sorry,” you bluster back, leaning on your forearms “I was too much in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going.” Your voice is light and as pretty as you are.

“Are ya o-okay?” he asks, truly concerned but also happy with the excuse to look you over as you sit upright, your hair cascading over your shoulders. Taking in your slightly disheveled state, he can’t help but feel like you’re the loveliest girl he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s not just because you’re pretty—of course you are—but more like the feeling he gets from you, like you’ve reached something inside of him that no one else ever has. He can’t explain it. It’s like he’s always known you somehow. Shaking off those strange thoughts, he kneels, gathering your scattered books off the black and white tiles.

“Aside from my bruised ego, I think I’m fine,” you sigh shakily, “and now I’m late for class, on my first day, no less.”

“O-Oh, y-you’re new?” he asks, stammering yet again. He doesn’t understand why he’s so tongue-tied. He talks to girls all the time. The boys may despise him for a multitude of reasons, but the girls…well, he likes them a lot, and they seem to like him right back, with all his sweet Southern politeness and his pretty eyes and how he strums on his guitar and warbles at night in the shadows at the Courts. He’s had girlfriends from the time he was twelve, and he seems to have some innate knowledge of what women of all ages like. It’s one of the things he’s good at—talking sweet to girls and kissing on them.

But this pretty little girl has him thrown for a loop.

You’re both kneeling now, gathering papers and books. “Yeah, we just moved here…oh, thank you,” you say as he picks up your books and stands, offering his hand to help you up. Your hand is soft and cool in his larger one, the touch of your skin on his shooting and crackling through him like lightning. Those eyes of yours catch his briefly, and he almost feels dizzy with the way they make him feel.

Lord have mercy, he thinks, what the hell’s wrong with me?

“Oh gosh, I hope I didn’t break your guitar!” you gasp, seeing it discarded on the floor, obviously mortified at the prospect. It’s the last thing on his mind, and he manages to tear his gaze from you for a second to look down at the instrument. Honestly, he’d break a hundred guitars if it meant running into you again, but by some miracle, it’s undamaged.

Elvis picks it up and strums it. “It’s fine, no harm done,” he drawls, lip curving up in a shy, boyish grin.

Relieved, you flash a little smile, and the sight nearly knocks him over. “Well, good,” you say breathlessly, taking your books back. “I really am sorry, again. I—uh—I gotta get to class.” You are obviously worried about being late, face still flushed with embarrassment. Before he can say another word, you are already rounding the corner, scurrying away, your hair bouncing in your wake.

He stands there, staring after you and blinking as if coming out of a trance. He realizes he didn’t even catch your name or get a chance to introduce himself. All he knows is that you’re a pretty little freshman that just moved here, and while this information is pertinent, it doesn’t really help him much.

Walking to lunch in a daze, all he can think about is how he can go about seeing you again.

Till I kiss you once again Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

Unfortunately, he doesn’t see you, not for a while anyway. The school isn’t that damn big, but he never seems to be able to catch you or your name. Which is a damn shame because his thoughts seem to drift towards you when he least expects it. You show up in his daydreams or when a song he’s singing strikes him a certain way. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

By the next time he finds you, he’s just about put you out of his mind. But the minute he sees you that morning, out in front of the school, giggling with your new girlfriends, it’s like you’ve plowed into him all over again. His heart thuds a little harder in his chest as he passes you, trying not to stare, but he manages to catch your eye for a split second all the same.

At first, there’s no hint of recognition, which nearly breaks his heart, but then your eyes widen with realization and a hint of a shy smile plays on your lips. He returns it in kind, unable to stop himself from the bashful and relieved way it spreads over his face. For a moment, he considers stopping and asking all the questions he’s dying to know the answers to, but the flow of the crowd pushes him onwards and into the building.

He’s near giddy the rest of the day, wondering how and why the pretty girl he barely knows has captured him so completely.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in 1953

April 1953

Standing backstage in the high school auditorium, Elvis wonders why the hell he’s agreed to do this damn talent contest. His hands are shaking and clammy and he can feel the vomit rising in his throat. He’s scared shitless because he’s really only ever sung in the dark to his neighbors at the Courts, or in church with the congregation, but something inside him knows he needs to do this, even if it’s just to show himself that he can. It’s like a part of his soul drives him forward, even though his mind thinks he’s nuts.

It's not until he sees you backstage, ahead of him in the line, that his mind switches from crippling stage fright to a sense of excitement and curiosity. Your hair is done up real pretty and you’re wearing your Sunday best, he can tell. You don’t see him right away, and he knows he’s staring, but at least it’s keeping his mind off his churning stomach. You must feel his gaze because you turn and look back, your intelligent, wide eyes locking onto his.

It sends a thrill of a different kind through him when you tiptoe back towards him, and his heart races a little more than it already is.

You look him over carefully, and he might feel more self-conscious except your eyes are kind and concerned. “You okay?” you ask in a hushed whisper, not wanting to interrupt the current act on stage.

“I-I-I-I…yeah,” he stutters, unable to get the words out. His legs are wiggling, hands shaking, and he feels like he might puke all over your shiny shoes, but sure, he’s fine.

Lord, why is it in this moment of all moments that you come to talk to me?

You smile knowingly. “Yeah, I’m real nervous, too,” you breathe, seeing right through him. When he looks at you this time, he can see it, how you wring the sheet music in your hands and your eyes keep darting to the stage. It makes him feel a little better, somehow, knowing he’s not alone in this.

You stand there with him for a moment, and it should be awkward, except it isn’t at all. That strange familiar feeling of you makes this seem natural. He can’t seem to get any words out, so he just waits and jiggles.

“It’s gonna be fine. I think we’re just supposed to imagine everyone naked, right?” you whisper a little too seriously and that sets him off, a loud chuckle erupting from his mouth. Hearing the word “naked” come from your proper, pretty little lips just tickles him in a variety of ways, and he can’t help it. Other people in the line shoot him warning looks for being too loud, so he quells his laughter as best he can.

You look over, your eyes dancing more with amusement than nervousness, and you cover the giggle that starts to come out of your mouth. He’s reminded once again by the warmth that spreads through his chest that you are the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and hell, you’re funny, too.

You have to stop looking at each other because you’re one small step away from setting each other off into more peals of nervous laughter, which would surely disrupt the show. He watches as you bite your pink bottom lip and thinks of how much he’d like to do the same to you, imagining how soft it would feel yielding to him. Then he tries to push that less than appropriate thought right out of his head as soon as it pops up because, damn, this isn’t the time or place for that kind of thinking.

As your laughter dies, you look down at your feet, obviously feeling a swell of fear as you play with the necklace around your neck. He can feel it coming off of you in waves, despite your attempts to comfort him.

Suddenly, he can’t stand the sight of your uncomfortableness. He has the deep urge to fix it and make you feel better. Without thinking, he nudges you with his elbow. When you look up at him in surprise, he crosses his eyes, making a googly-eyed silly face at you. It has the intended effect, sending you into a fit of giggles, earning a glare and shush from the teacher in the wings.

It’s the cutest thing, watching you laugh like this, and it sends a rush of calm and satisfaction over him to know he’s the cause. He almost forgets that he has to go out there and sing in a few minutes.

“I’ve got to go, we’re on next,” you whisper.

“You’ll be great,” he says. He doesn’t even know what you’re going to be doing but it doesn’t matter. Anything you do will have his attention.

You smile shyly, as if reading his mind somehow, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks that has nothing to do with his stage fright. You nod, then skip off to the front of the line.

He watches in awe from the wings as you accompany your singing friend on the piano. Your hands fly over the keys with practiced, concentrated ease, and if he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t ever have guessed that you were nervous.

He suddenly thinks he needs to take up the piano. Maybe you could teach him and then he’d have an excuse to see you.

That thought is fleeting though, as your performance is through in the blink of an eye, and you exit the stage with a relieved smile, meaning that he’s one step closer to having to get out there himself. Now that he knows you’re okay, his nerves come rushing back. His leg vibrates uncontrollably, but he still manages to give you a thumbs up.

You slow as you pass him, placing your hand lightly on his bicep. He stills and looks at you in surprise at the contact.

“Thinking of them naked works,” you whisper with a smile, “Break a leg out there.” Then, you give him a light squeeze before being ushered away. Sparks fly through him at the echoes of your hand on his arm.

Elvis thinks his heart might explode. It’s crazy, this way you make him feel like he’s flying. It carries him out onto the stage, where he sings a rendition of Teresa Brewer’s “Till I Waltz Again With You” that somehow brings the house down and wins the talent show. They even call him out for an encore.

Thinking of them naked works, indeed.

But when he closes his eyes to sing, it’s you he thinks of. It’s you that gets him through.

The feeling he has coming off that stage is a buzzing, electric high he thinks could get used to. A dangerous, tiny thought in the back of his mind tells him to chase it like there’s no tomorrow, but the relief at the whole thing being over is too strong and pushes the thought away.

But the feeling lingers in his body like lightning in the clouds, just like your touch.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

Elvis in 1955

Winter 1955

Jack somehow convinces him with a begging phone call, on this cold-ass winter night on one of his only nights back home in Memphis in so long he doesn’t even remember the last time he slept in his own bed, that he has to help Jack get some broad at some diner across town.

And because Jack’s his best friend and he hasn’t seen him in years due to Jack’s stint in the Army and his insane touring schedule, Elvis bags off his family and Dixie (poor, lovely Dixie) and jumps in the Caddy to head to this diner across town. He figures he’s gotta eat anyway, so might as well get some time in with an old friend, and it’ll be a bonus if he can help ole’ Jacky Boy get some tail.

Absolutely exhausted from gallivanting all over the South, playing sold-out shows, and doing other things he’ll never tell his mama about, he drags himself into the diner, hands stuffed in the pockets of his big wool coat. Good old Jacky sees him coming and leaps out of the booth to give him a big, manly hug.

Elvis can both see and feel the change in Jack. There’s a bravado to him now, an air of machismo that is new. He’s broader and more muscular than the boy who enlisted right after graduation instead of waiting for the draft to get him. And Elvis gets it—Jack didn’t have much to stay for, what with his father being such a mean drunk and him having no special skills to speak of. Jack figured, why not just get it over with?

Even though Jack’s only a little over four months older than Elvis, he was a grade ahead in school, but that discrepancy never mattered much to either of them.

“Look at ya, ya sonnofabitch! Finally got some meat on those bones!” Jack says gleefully, slapping him on the back.

“And you’re as ugly as ever,” Elvis shoots back with a smile, sliding into the red booth.

“Damn, man, I’m hearin’ your songs all over the radio. Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it when I got home and every station I turned on was your warbling ass,” Jack teases in a congratulatory tone.

“Honestly, I’m so damn tired I could sleep for a week, but we’re back out on the road tomorrow,” he replies.

“What happened to that scrawny, shy kid who’d only play in the dark, huh? I’d be scared shitless to get up in front of all those people! Now you’re playin’ all the time…I just can’t believe it, man,” Jack shakes his head.

Elvis shrugs, “Can’t really ‘splain it. It’s like the biggest rush ya could ever have and it just overpowers the fear. The crowds are wild though—never knew chicks could be so crazy.”

“Oh, I bet you are just drowning in it, ain’t ya?” Jack says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Elvis shrugs nonchalantly but his lip curls up into a mischievous grin as he looks out the window. He was indeed taking advantage of his newfound popularity with the girls, almost to an insatiable extent. He’d done good resisting in those first few months, knowing he had Dixie waiting for him at home, wanting to be faithful to her, wanting to be a good Christian boy. But damn, the more he was on the road and the higher the highs of his performances, he just needed a way to wind down at the end of the night. And there were just so many pretty girls literally tearing themselves apart to get to him.

In the end, he hadn’t been strong enough to resist. He knew cheating on Dixie was wrong, and he felt terrible about it, having her waiting here at home for him like she was, but with every show he was learning that he wasn’t gonna be giving any of this up any time soon. No, he wanted to take this as far as he could go, and while a small part of him wanted to hang on to the idea of starting a family with Dixie, a bigger part knew that wasn’t in the cards, not anymore.

“Speakin’ of, what the hell am I doin’ here? You suddenly forget how to talk to girls while in the service?” Elvis ribs, yet truly wants to know.

Jack lowers his voice to a hush and leans in, his eyes darting up every so often to make sure he’s not overheard. “No, man, but this girl, she’s different, I’m tellin’ ya. This ain’t about gettin’ laid. I don’t know what to say, I walked in here right off the train my first day home and it was like the goddamned heavens opened. Every time I try an’ talk to her, I just get all tongue tied like an idiot. I figure, you were always good with talkin’ to girls in general, so I need your help buddy.”

“You’ve got it bad, man. She must be a real looker,” he says, shooting up an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. She’s smart…oh, shit, here she comes! Be cool,” Jack hisses, leaning back too casually, a dumb grin spreading over his face. Elvis can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his friend being so head over heels for a girl he barely knows. He leans back, taking a much more relaxed and subtle stance than his friend, one that has been well practiced these past few months, as the waitress comes up from behind him to take their orders.

If nothing else, watching Jack be a dumb shit is entertaining, he thinks.

The waitress bounces over and Elvis rolls his eyes slowly up her body, taking in every lovely curve along the way.

“Oh, hi, Jack! I see you’ve got a friend with you today.”

Elvis freezes, his eyes reaching your face just as you start speaking and look over at him.

It’s you.

Holy shit, it’s you.

His brain short-circuits. He hasn’t seen you since he graduated a year and a half ago. And damn if you don’t look prettier than ever, all grown up and filled out in all the right places, your smile brightening the room.

His lips part as his mouth drops, he can’t help it.

“Um, yeah, y/n, this, uh, this is my friend Elvis,” Jack stumbles over the introduction, looking to Elvis for help. But in this moment, Elvis feels utterly useless, every ounce of confidence he’s gained in the past year draining out of him all at once.

His heart gallops in his chest, and he sits up straighter. He can see you looking over him expectantly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place him. He knows he shouldn’t care if you remember him, but by god, if you don’t, he thinks he might be crushed. But he’s also aware he’s different, too. He’s filled out and his hair’s darker, and why in the hell would you remember him from all those years ago anyway? You’d barely spoken to each other in four years.

“Elvis…” His name drags and plays on your tongue in a way that makes his toes tingle. “Like that singer?”

Of course, that’s how you recognize him, he thinks. But at least you know of him, even if it’s not in the way he wishes. He decides to lean into being “Elvis” because maybe that’ll make him feel less like an awkward high schooler and more like a cool cat. Regardless, the shyness he’d felt for being odd in high school is now mostly gone, and his unique style is part of the reason he was garnering so much attention these days. His confidence, especially with the ladies, is ever-growing. He knows he’s getting to be hot shit in the South and now has an image to live up to. There is no space for shy Elvis Presley here in this diner, for all the reasons. So, he manages to turn up the dial on his Southern charm, forcing himself to relax in your presence.

“Well, Miss y/n, seein’ as I never met another man with that name, I suppose, yes, like that singer,” he responds with a coy smile.

“Aw, don’t let him trick ya with that modesty. This here’s the one and only Elvis Presley,” Jack kicks him under the table, the message clear: Use your fame to help me out.

Your face lights up a little at that, which has a little flutter rolling in his empty stomach. “Now, Jack, you never told me you were friends with a celebrity,” she teases, her attention divided between the two men.

Elvis has to very consciously remind himself that he is here to help Jack, not steal you out from under him, but it is taking everything in him not to reach over and play with the hem of your skirt and tell you just how much he wants to take you home to his mama, Dixie be damned.

Jack smiles almost giddily, obviously pleased with your attention. “Well, I’m not one to go showin’ off or nothin’,” he says self-deprecatingly.

Elvis rolls his eyes at that.

“Well, my sister is gonna be beside herself when I tell her who came in tonight. She’s thirteen and might be your biggest fan, Elvis,” you say cheerily. He notices you aren’t completely beside your own self over him being here, which he has some mixed feelings about. On the one hand, he desperately wants your attention and admiration, but on the other hand, it’s kinda nice that you aren’t fawning all over him. It makes you even more appealing somehow.

“So, what can I get ya?” you ask, taking out your pen and paper, looking from man to man.

“I’ll have a hamburger, well done, please, and one of your vanilla milkshakes,” Elvis says, unable to take his eyes off you.

“I’ll have the same, except the burger medium rare, like a real man,” Jack jokes, poking fun at Elvis’ picky eating habits. Thankfully, you don’t react, and Elvis can’t help but kick the shit out of Jack’s shin.

Jack winces.

“Hmm, why do I get the feeling that you two are gonna be trouble?” you smile knowingly at them, pointing at each with the top of your pen. “I’ll be back with those in a jif. Try not to kill each other before I get back.” You bounce away and both men turn to watch.

“No promises, honey,” Elvis calls after you.

“Y’see what I mean, don’tcha? Ain’t she just special somehow?” Jack whispers excitedly, totally gone over you.

Oh, Elvis knows intimately how special you are, but he can’t say it, so he settles for a, “Yeah, man, she seems great,” and tries not to feel sullen about how he’s got to be Jack’s wingman for his own dream girl.

They shoot the shit, and he does his best to get Jack talking to you when you come by, even though it’s hard because he wants you for himself. It’s painful having to keep himself so in line, his heart cinching in his chest every time you come by to check on them. That’s when Elvis knows he’s in deep trouble. He reminds himself often that he is off the market anyway, at least when here at home in Memphis.

He promised to help Jack out, and so he will, even if it kills him.

“I gotta take a leak, man,” Jack says after the food is finished, scooting out of the booth.

You sashay over to clear the plates, and Elvis can’t help but stare as you lean over the table. Your eyes dart to his and he swears he sees a hint of pink on your cheeks. Warmth spreads across his chest and he tries not to avert his eyes. Any other girl he would confidently ogle, so he tries his best to stay the course.

“Y’ know, I’m not sure how you do it,” you say, breaking some of the tension as you stand over him, hands full of dishes.

“Do what, honey?” he drawls, raising only his eyes. Now that Jack’s gone, he’s laying it on thick and can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Not when it’s you.

You shift your weight, but otherwise ignore his advance, much to his chagrin. You’re probably used to getting hit on by customers. “Getting up in front of those big crowds, all those people, and singing like that. I could never,” you shake your head.

A split second and he decides to play his hand, mostly because he has to know, just has to, so leaning back confidently, he drawls again, “Oh, well, a pretty girl once told me you just hafta picture ‘em all naked.” A slow grin spreads across his face.

Your eyes widen as it hits you. He watches you carefully, cataloguing your expression as you remember, your eyes travelling over him quickly, trying to reconcile your memory of him with the man in front of you. Your cheeks go rosy, and he relishes in the fact that he’s the reason.

“Well, damn, I guess I give really good advice,” you finally say, a little breathless, with a shake of your head.

Elvis can’t help the loud laughter that escapes him at that. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but you surprise him with your quip. You smile back at him, proud of yourself. The smile makes him feel special somehow, like he’s the only guy in the world.

“You’re really somethin’ else, y/n,” he says, his laughter dying down and being replaced too quickly by the awe he always seems to feel in your presence.

Something flashes over your face, something he can’t quite interpret. “Right back atcha, Elvis Presley,” you respond, and there’s something in the softness of your voice and in the way your big eyes stare straight into his that sends electricity zinging down his spine.

Then, as he watches as you walk away, he knows with absolute certainty that this won’t be the last time you see him.

Till I waltz again with you Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

And it isn’t. In fact, Elvis somehow manages to stop into the diner nearly every time he is home from then on out. Sure, Jack is his best excuse, but he also rounds up the band and Sam and even Dixie once or twice to go to this great diner he “just happened to find.”

Once he knows you are more often than not going to be there because it’s your family’s place, he wants to go frequently, and Jack is thrilled because the man might be more entranced with you than he is.

It’s not long that being friendly customers turns into being friends. Even when they find out you’ve got a serious boyfriend (because of course you do), neither him nor Jack is much dissuaded by the fact. Elvis would much rather have you in his life as a friend than not at all, and Jack is somewhat delusional in thinking you’ll drop your boy for him.

And while Elvis wants more than anything in the world to have you all to himself, he knows it’s likely not in the cards, at least not now, and maybe not ever. Not with the boy you want to marry you ever so close and Jack waiting in the wings like a puppy. And certainly not when he is running himself ragged with tours and recording, with his very real dreams of stardom so near he can taste them. But, as reality shows when he and Dixie finally part ways in late spring, it is no kind of life for a successful relationship.

So, he has to be content with watching you walk away with someone else, knowing he can’t have you, even though those electric shocks go through him every single damn time he sees you.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in early March 1956

March 1956

Elvis’ career takes off so dramatically that he barely has time to process his good fortune. In the moments when he’s not traveling, recording, touring, or appearing on television, he relishes the somewhat normalcy of hanging out with friends and family. It’s steadily getting harder for him to go out without being bombarded by fans, but he generally enjoys the attention. He’s grateful for his fans and for his budding success, though sometimes it feels so overwhelming he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There are moments when he desperately wants to be still and alone but when he finally has a moment to himself, it feels like the world is closing in on him.

It’s one of these moody, antsy nights that he finds himself at your doorstep, without anyone else in tow. The last time this happened was the night he signed his contract with RCA. You’d been the first person outside of family he wanted to share the news with and without a thought, he’d ditched everyone else and showed up at the diner in his fancy suit, uncharacteristically lifting you up in a hug and spinning you around in his exuberance.

But the mood tonight is decidedly less enthusiastic. He’s tired but hasn’t been able to sleep in what feels like days, pressure pushing in on him from all sides. Usually he didn’t mind, taking it all in stride as part of his new life, but tonight he was worn and restless, his body vibrating with energy that has no outlet.

When he feels like this, he gets needy. He’s already the sort of guy that thrives on physical touch, but in the state he’s in, it’s a necessity rather than a preference. Normally, he might go out with a girl and fool around a bit, but the idea of having to charm and swoon and put on airs right now feels impossible. But he knows he needs a woman’s touch to soothe him and that’s how he finds himself here, alone, knocking on your door.

Your eyes widen with surprise when you open the door and then soften with concern at the state of him, near pitiful with the dark circles rimming his eyes, his body slumped against the door frame, and his pallor a sickly pale.

God, he just wants to weep at the welcome sight of you.

You quickly and quietly usher him inside. By some merciful twist of fate, you are alone. Your mother and sister are out of town visiting relatives and your father is working late at the diner.

This visit should be awkward but isn’t—it’s as though he has been dropping by your house alone and unannounced your whole lives with the way you receive him, and for this he is thankful. And perhaps this is why everything seems to hit him at once, a wave of anxiety rolling over him so strongly that he can barely speak as you lead him to the couch.

It’s suddenly all too much, this feeling of responsibility towards his family and friends and fans. He’s overworked and overtired and the panic of his rising success has him shaking before you, his heart beating too fast and his breathing too shallow, making him dizzy and lightheaded. As he hyperventilates, you hum at him softly, prompting him to put his head between his knees while rubbing circles on his back. Tears leak from his eyes, staining his cheeks and where he leans his head against his forearms on his knees. He too worked up to even be embarrassed by how completely raw and vulnerable he is before you.

With very few words, you just seem to know what’s happening. You don’t ask him to explain or to defend his feelings, you just accept them for what they are and accept him for all that he is. There are no expectations. He feels incredibly relieved by that.

As he eventually starts to calm, he falls over, exhausted, laying his head in your lap. He feels your slight hesitation, but only for a second, before your fingers begin to cart through his hair. He cannot help the small whimpering moan that escapes his lips at the tenderness of the gesture, one he so desperately needs in this moment.

You are exactly what he needs, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to deny that right now.

Perhaps that is why, once his breathing slows and he feels himself start to fade away into drowsiness that he turns in your lap and asks what he does.

“Can I stay?” he breathes, begging, looking up into your beautiful eyes. The plea is not full of lust, yet there is an open-endedness to it that he doesn’t hide, as his need for your comfort in any way you will give it to him is his prerogative. He cares for you far more that he dares to admit and cannot resist the pull of your soul to his, not tonight.

He watches your face carefully, seeing your brow furrow in the slightest and how you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. Propriety says you shouldn’t dare go there—you both know this—but at this point he’s not beyond batting his long lashes at you hopefully and a little mournfully.

“Oh, alright,” you finally concede, “but you need to be quiet as a mouse. I don’t know when Daddy will be home. And no funny business, Presley.” You point at him playfully, but there is a seriousness to your tone that makes him nod to give you reassurance. Exhaustion and moodiness cloud the way his heart wants to soar at this development of trust between you two, but he is too worn out to even muster a joke about the situation. That and he admires you too much to do anything that might jeopardize your blossoming friendship.

And with that settled, he raises from his all too comforting position in your lap. Much to his dismay, he’s unsteady on his feet, his attack having drained him of what little remaining energy he had, but you are quick to come to his side and walk him through the house to your room.

This doesn’t stop an unintentional tension from building, however, as you enter your room with him held close. He waits for you, wanting to follow your lead, wanting you to be comfortable, though he would just as soon collapse on your single bed without another thought.

You turn to him as though not exactly sure what to do next, your mouth opening then closing quickly, and he suddenly wants to kiss you so damn badly it’s painful. But it’s not the first time he’s felt that way in your presence, and probably won’t be the last, but then again, it never has been just the two of you alone in your bedroom before.

“I…I’ll be right back, I’m just going to…to go change,” you stammer, grabbing what is likely a nightgown out of your dresser. “Um, make yourself comfortable.” Then you escape into the hallway beyond, and he can’t help the little smile that plays at his lips in your wake.

He takes the moment alone to remove his coat and jacket and slip off his shoes and socks, folding them neatly at the end of the bed. He hesitates for a moment with his shirt and pants, but as emotionally wrought as he is, all he can think of is the calm feeling of being near you and ends up stripping down to his boxers and undershirt. Figuring he can always put them back on if it eases your mind, he then sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

It's not long before you come back, clad in a pretty white nightgown with little blue flowers all over it, your hair all brushed out and face washed pink. His heart actually skips at the sight. You look gorgeous and he has to remind himself that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here for you, yes, but not in that way. Luckily, his exhaustion overrides that sort of thinking rather quickly—he’s not sure he could do much in this state, even if you wanted to. You shut the door quietly behind you, even though there is no one else home to hear.

The air in the room feels heavy with potential and he can sense your trepidation as you turn back towards him and sit near him on the edge of the bed. His body begins to drag with sleep, the comfort of your arms and your bed beckoning to him. Finally, he chooses to break the silence.

“I’m not going to hurt you...I would never do that. I promise I won’t touch you like that. I just want to—” he says softly.

“I know, Elvis,” you interrupt quietly, “It’s okay. I know.” And your eyes are so big and sweet and open to him that it nearly makes him want to start crying all over again. Part of him wishes he didn’t need you like this, that you didn’t have to see him in this moment of weakness, but part of him is glad it is you. It could only be you, really, that he would give this part of himself to, he realizes, though he’s not entirely sure why. It’s that strange, unspoken bond between you two that has lingered under the surface from the beginning. This almost unreasonable need to take care of each other even when it doesn’t always make sense.

Once you climb under the covers and invite him to join you, he falls in next to you faster than you can blink. The bed is small which doesn’t matter much since he instantly curls close into your side as you lay on your back, notching his head into your shoulder. He can smell the soap and cold cream on your skin, and he drapes his arm over your midsection as though he’s done it a million times before. You stiffen at the contact at first, but then he feels you relax, your head leaning onto his, eventually running your fingers soothingly over his arm.

Yes, this is what he needs, he thinks dreamily, feeling like he can finally breathe again. And it’s not long before he drifts off into a deep slumber, surrounded by your comforting scent and warmth.

It’s the gray early morning light peeking through your white curtains that has him stirring awake, and it takes him a good minute to figure out where he is and who he is with, a feeling he is all too used to considering how much he’s on the road. But waking in some seedy motel in the middle of Texarkana in the arms of some random chick from the night before is not anything like waking in your cozy little bed, your warm body pressed back into his.

There is a care here with you that he yearns for, positively aches for, but did not realize he wanted or needed until this very moment. He is surrounded by the sweet smell of your silky hair, the warm softness of your bare legs against his convincing him that everything about this situation is just right. In his sleepy, unthinking haze, he pulls you closer, spooning you tightly into him, thinking he could just stay here forever, blissfully unaware yet of why he shouldn’t do so.

Until his virile, 21-year-old body reminds him, that is.

Perhaps it is the drowsy little sigh that escapes your lips in the same moment you unconsciously wiggle back against him that does it. Suddenly, he is very much awake, in more ways than one.

A stupid, instinctually carnal part of him very much wants to lift the hem of your nightgown up higher than it is already bunched and slide himself right between your inviting, bare thighs and into your heat, and dear god, that thought has him unraveling himself from you quicker than lightning.

Aw, hell.

He rolls over and sits up too fast, forcing himself to think of anything and everything but how you are lying in that bed so invitingly near. He closes his eyes against the brightness of day and breathes a few deep breaths before reaching for his clothes at the end of the bed.

A lesser man might allow himself to slide back into that bed, but by god, he swore he wouldn’t touch you like that and he refuses to take advantage when you’ve been so good to him. This thought, more than anything, sobers him as he puts his clothes on.

“El…Elvis? Are you okay?”

Oh, the way your sweet little voice sounds all clouded with sleep has him biting his lip so hard he nearly draws blood.

“Yeah, baby, it’s all good. Go back to sleep, honey,” he whispers, finishing the buttons on his shirt as quick as he can.

The domesticity of this little scene coupled with the ache in his groin has every damn cell in his body wanting to get back in that bed, and maybe if it wasn’t you, he would. But it is you. And as desperately as he wants this, he respects you too much to let his hormones get the best of him.

So, before he can change his mind, he kisses the top of your head for a little too long, breathing in the scent of you one last time, then puts on his shoes, grabs his coat, and climbs out the window, escaping into the dawn.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

His thoughts drift to you all day. He doesn’t even want to change or shower because the smell of you still lingers on his clothes, on his skin. The unfamiliar feeling of being so well rested and content has him singing and smiling all day, prompting his mama to ask him, with a knowing eye, exactly where he was last night.

And this gets him thinking about how much he would love to wake up beside you every damn day if he could, how amazing that would feel, and about how maybe, just maybe, it’s possible that he can.

Ted is out of the picture, and it’s been long enough now that you’ve moved on through the heartbreak. You’ve even casually dated a little bit, though no one has seriously caught your eye.

But then there is Jack, who is still pining hopelessly over you, refusing to make a move. And Jack is one of his best friends. It wouldn’t be right to sweep you off your feet right out from under his nose. He knows he could do it, too, and not just because he’s cocky in his growing fame. After last night, he just knows somewhere deep in his soul that if he asked, you’d be his.

And he wouldn’t even consider it except now he’s had a taste of you, of your sweetness and your comfort and your care and goddamn it, your smell is still all over him.

Well, shit or get off the pot, Jack, he thinks, because I ain’t waitin’.

He works himself up into it, trying not to think about all the obstacles in the way, namely his career and how it’ll take him far away from you, but in this endorphin-fueled moment, none of that matters. Only you matter, that and how you make him feel like he’s on cloud nine and how now that he knows what it’s like to wake up next to you, he knows he wants that again and again for as long as possible.

In truth, if he’d stop long enough to really think on it, he’s known it for a long time.

He’ll catch you at the end of your shift tonight. He buys a bouquet of flowers and everything. Energy pulses through him all day, sending his fingers tapping and his legs bouncing so much that his mama tells him to go run it off. Junior and Gene and Red think maybe he’s lost his mind because he’s even more restless than usual.

Finally, after a full day of working himself up into a near frenzy, he jumps in the Caddy and heads to the diner, ready to make you his.

But when Elvis parks in front and looks through the window of the car and into the diner, he sees Jack has gotten there ahead of him. He sees Jack holding your hand and then kissing it, pulling you into the booth next to him. He sees the lovely way you blush and smile in response.

And then he watches as Jack pulls you into him for a long, lingering kiss on the cheek. The way your eyes flutter closed tells him all he needs to know.

Fuck.

He’s too damn late.

Jealousy roars through him as he sees his best friend touching you, touching you when it should be him, not Jack, doing so. He can’t help but feel the memory of your body pressed so perfectly against his just mere hours ago. At that, at the thought of never having that part of you ever again, Elvis’ heart breaks into little pieces. He rests his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, unable to look at the romantic little scene before him.

This is how it was always supposed to be, he tries to convince himself. It was always Jack who was pursuing you, not him. And the worst fucking part is that he knows that Jack can give you something he can’t: Jack can be there for you, stable and sure, with you in the same damn city every damn day.

He cares for you, but he knows that his career is taking him places you cannot follow. And it wouldn’t be fair of him to ask you to put your life on permanent pause for him, no matter how desperately he wants you, no matter how deeply he believes that there is something powerful drawing you two towards each other with every breath.

He cares enough for you that he realizes, at least for now, that he has to let you go.

Friendship it is, then.

My light, my light I will keep my promise true Till I waltz again with you

Elvis in 1956

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powderblueblood · 1 month

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I'm sorry. Eddie's 15 year old WHAT now???? 🤯🤯

HAHA YEP! YEP!

things happen when you're 21.

and sometimes things are self-described spiritual iconoclasts like mary lee oliver, the professional groupie. eddie met her at an iron maiden gig in chicago, where she told him he had an incredible aura and then said these fated words...

"do you wanna come backstage?"

basically, what you need to understand is that franklin oliver munson was conceived on an iron maiden tour bus, which sounds cool in theory, so eddie's going to keep speaking about it in theory.

but the fact of the matter is, mary lee disappeared off the face of the earth after that night. until about three years later, when eddie had settled in indianapolis working a shitty job at a dive bar that catered to the college student crowd. he got a phone call from mary lee (who had saved his forest hills number, who had been redirected to his current number by wayne) telling him that she'd be passing through town and did he want to meet his son?

just. like. that. casual as a breeze. do you wanna meet your son? we could get some chinese food or something.

mary lee, just as breezy, batted eddie's pleading to help out with kid with a single hand. she wore this crazy expression as she watched him, who'd help create this little lump of coal with the crazy big brown eyes that eddie carried like a genetic curse. like she didn't really care one way or the other.

"i don't really care, one way or the other," she, in fact, said. "i just felt like... the universe was giving me purpose with this little guy, you know? and you, like, don't really have to be part of that if you don't want to? and i think maybe you shouldn't?"

eddie stopped cooing at the kid, which she'd coincidentally called franklin (his mom's maiden name, any of you guys looking for extra credit), for a half a second. "why not?"

"well, you're a little square, eddie."

square, according to mary lee, included wanting to try and forge a relationship with his son, even if they did live in different states-- eddie, still in indiana and mary lee and franklin, wherever the next tour bus took them.

apparently, franklin's formative years were spent at an ayahuasca retreat that mary lee's boyfriend ran. eddie had, again, pleaded that she just keep in contact so he could see how this kid grew up. and also, "anything you need, anything at all, i need you to let me know. okay? there's nothing i won't do for this little guy, mary lee, i swear."

a couple of sporadic letters came through over the years. a phonecall or two when franklin finally got to grips with forming full sentences, but he always sounded distant and confused whenever eddie spoke to him--because eddie was a ghost. he would have bet that his own son couldn't pick him out of a lineup. eddie never meant for it to be that way. he kept asking mary lee, and later frankie, "so when are you comin' out my way?"

"we don't know, eddie. midwest's a little... well, midwest."

but he'd have flown to wherever that kid needed him, if he asked. and if he had the cash.

fast forward to the cresting finality of 1999.

eddie munson's planning on a wedding.

or, okay, thinking about it. thinking about proposing to lacy doevski finally, for real this time, as it seems they've finally stopped digging out the shrapnel of their pasts from their tender flesh and all that.

in a dilapidated house by a lake, there's a bang on the door at three in the morning. he hears a hammer cock before he even feels lacy uncurl from around him.

"wait, hol' on-- don't get hasty with that thing."

"that's what it's for."

"could be a raccoon or som'n'..."

"in your dreams..."

eddie leans out their bedroom window to see a mop of curly, dark hair atop a lanky frame. identical dark eyes stare up at him from the front step.

"shit. i'd apologize for the unsociable hour, but you don't seem to know how to answer your fuckin' phone, dad."

#powder room talk #Anonymous #listen this trend of answering every ask with a blurb...... one day the gladness will end but its not this day #WELCOME TO THE FAMILY FRANKIE #f. munson by powder #e. munson by powder #lulal

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kay-elle-cee · 6 months

Text

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 27 || 679 Words || Read on Ao3 —

James and Remus lean on the bar, heads pressed together with Peter in the middle as all three of them stare at the blinking cursor on his phone.

The last received message stares at them: I had a nice time last night!

“Tell her…‘I guarantee you I can outdo it.’ And add the little aubergine.”

“James, no, stop it. Maybe just a simple ‘Me too’,” Remus suggests with a shake of his head. “It’s direct, it leaves the next move up to her…simple.”

“What if I ask her to come with me on that business trip next week?”

The two other men groan.

“It was a first date, Pete. Don’t scare the poor woman off.”

“Stop typing! Stop!”

“Honestly, this is breaking my heart.”

James’ head whips around to find two women—both around the same height, one brunette with blunt fringe and the other with deep red hair swept over her shoulder. The latter has her mouth twisted up into a small smile as she shakes her head.

“Sam, what’s the world coming to when three fit blokes can’t send a proper text to a woman?”

“Dunno, but it’s a good case study for why I’m not on the apps anymore.”

Remus and Peter take a second to blink in confusion while James dives headfirst into the conversation, lured in by the spark dancing in the redhead’s eyes. “Oh, and you think you could do better?”

She laughs, and James feels himself pulled in even more by the surefootedness of her whole demeanor. A brow quirks above those sparkling green eyes, chin jutting up ever-so-slightly in acceptance of his challenge. “I know I can.”

“What do you think, Pete?” James asks, not breaking eye contact with the newcomer.

“I don’t know…”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Remus suggests gently before fixing the women with a cautious stare. “You won’t press send without showing us, will you?”

“Of course not,” the brunette woman—Sam, apparently—reassures them. The other woman holds out her hand expectantly, softening her smile a little as Peter passes his phone to her with apprehension.

“I promise we’re not going to do anything drastic, alright? Just…trust us.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, resting her chin on the redhead’s shoulder as they both look at the screen of the phone and thumbs begin to type. “Lily went to school for communication and it’s not my first time texting a bird. You’re in good hands.”

The boys share a look before resuming watching the women type in silence. James’ toes tap impatiently—not because they’re taking long, but because he wants to talk to them (her, more specifically—Lily), but needs this texting business out of the way first.

Smiling triumphantly, Lily hands the phone over to Peter with an encouraging pat on the back from Sam, and the lads all crowd around to read it.

So did I. I’d love to see you again– maybe we can do something soon if you’re available?

“This looks good,” Remus nods, turning his focus to Peter. “You should send it.”

“I mean it’s alright,” James concedes as he lifts his attention to the women. His eyes lock onto triumphant green and one of his brows raises. “No aubergine?”

It works—she laughs. “Absolutely not,” she says while sipping her drink. “What are we, sixteen?”

“Alright, I sent it,” Peter announces with gusto. He’s got a relieved sort of smile on his face as he looks up from his phone. “Thank you both, these two were getting me nowhere.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Lily says with a low chuckle, and James feels his body heat under the green gaze that flickers over him as she takes another sip of her drink.

Remus clears his throat and when James looks over, he sees his friend’s brows arched high, eyes darting quickly between him and Lily. “Well, regardless, why don’t we order a round of drinks to show our appreciation?”

Sam leaves her friend’s side to make her way over to Remus, and James notices the subtle push that sends Lily a few small steps in his direction. “Now you’re talking!”

#it's (always) you #jilytober2023 #jily #jple #james potter #lily evans #31 prompts

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love-as-simple-as-shaving-soap · 1 year

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Post 5x16 Fic

Los Angeles, February 15th, 2022

Lucy knows it’s only a matter of time before it will come up again. It being the fact that Noah only clocked that Tim was that Bradford after she mentioned him sleeping in her bed. She wasn't sure why she didn’t want Tim to know. Sure, the morning after the incident, she found it equal parts heartbreaking and embarrassing when she thought about it for too long, but there wasn’t any reason to hide anything now. They were together now— an actual full-blown couple. He was blissfully asleep, his face an inch from hers with his arm draped over her middle. The story of him being that Bradford only added to their history.

Sacramento, c. 2021

She and some of her UC classmates had found a dive bar in downtown Sacramento to blow off some steam for the evening. It started off lively with an animated trading of war stories and the jukebox playing one classic rock hit after the other, but within a couple of hours, she felt herself recede into her head. She looked around the table at the laughter, at the chatter and she felt so disconnected. None of it was familiar. And that had made her feel lonelier than she had in awhile.

Lucy couldn't help but let her mind wander to Tim— to missing Tim, to being angry with Tim for telling her to come here, and then to the look she must have dreamt that flashed across his face just before he left her heartbroken in the corridor of her apartment building. She knows it isn’t the “right thing”… the “right thing” would be for her mind to wander to Chris, the guy that is still technically her boyfriend, right? She feels the spiraling begin and makes the genius decision to try and drown it out with another drink. But soon, one more drink turns to two and two turns to five and she finds herself spilling her guts to Noah.

She really didn't mean to spill her guts like this, but the rest of the group moved onto another bar to “keep the party going,” while she and Noah hung back to wallow apparently. He was going on about missing his girlfriend, April, when Lucy chimes in with, “At least she misses you back.”

“You don’t think your boyfriend misses you back?” Noah asks as he takes a swig of his beer.

“He isn’t my boyfriend. He’s— he’s…” she trails off. She could blame her lack of answer on being drunk, but she knows that even stone-cold sober, she wouldn’t know how to define Tim and what he is to her. To call him a superior or even a friend would be factually correct, but severely lacking of all the layers of the something more they have built over the years. After all, what do you call the person who you have the most important relationship of your life with? Especially when that person is not the person you’re dating?

“It’s complicated. Got it. But, it kinda sounds like maybe you should talk to him. You know, lay all your cards out on the table and all that,” Noah offers.

“He just— he doesn’t want me in the same way. I thought he might… for minute there, I thought there was something… but then he told me to move on,” she says as her voice gets slightly choked up and before she knows it, tears begin brimming her eyes. She glances to her surroundings and the crowded bar and she begins to feel crushed by the over-stimulation of it all. “I need to leave. I need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, of course, lemme close out the tab and we can grab you a cab.” Noah quickly springs up from his chair and sets off through the crowd.

Lucy pulls out her phone and begins to scroll through the few photos she has of Tim. One with him and Kojo. One with him from Angela’s courthouse wedding. And two of him from the day he got his award. One was with just him and one was with both him and Jackson displaying their awards proudly. That’s the one that breaks her. She’s desperate to talk to him. Someone who knows her, someone she felt safe with. But just as she is scrolling through her contacts to call him, her phone’s screen goes black. Dead.

Before she can even talk herself out of it, Lucy’s up from her seat with her purse in hand and heading to the dimly lit corridor that leads to the restrooms. She had noticed on one her earlier trips to relieve herself that there was a payphone mounted to the wall. And all she can think now is that she misses Tim and that she needs to see him or talk to him. She just needs him someway, somehow.

She rummages around in her bag for her wallet to pull out some loose change in the zippered coin compartment. Her vision is blurred by tears and she can barely stop from shaking as she begins to shove whatever coins she can into the slot. With a few steadying breaths, she begins to dial the number and after a few rings, she’s only greeted with his voicemail. But, it doesn't stop the words that the tequila has been forcing her mind and heart to replay from falling out of her mouth in a rush.

“Tim, it’s your me. I mean, it’s your Lucy— I mean it’s just Lucy … I don’t know what I am to you exactly, so sorry for… that… but to be fair, I don't know what you are to me. You’re not TO Officer Bradford. You’re not Sergeant Bradford. You’re not even my bestest bud Bradford. You’re— look, I know you probably don't feel the same way, but fuck it, I’ll just say it… you’re important to me. You’ll always be more than you are. I just miss you. I’m here in UC school like you told me I should be… but I haven't moved on, okay?” she pauses to inhale sharply as she swallows back the acid that begins to rise in her throat. “That night in the hotel room when we were on the op, I shouldn’t have said it was just biology, it wasn’t. That kiss, it felt right. I should have—”

“If you are satisfied with your message, please press one. To rerecord, please press two.”

The automated voice jolts Lucy out of her self-imposed pity party and she punches down on the 2 key and slams the receiver down. She feels her legs about to give out from the adrenaline and nearly considers sliding down to sit with her back against the wall. Just as she begins frantically wiping away at the tears streaking her face, a loud trill comes from the payphone in front of her. And as if there’s some mysterious string that always pulls her and Tim toward one another, she picks up the receiver and places it to her ear and waits for the voice she somehow is expecting to hear.

“Hello?”

It’s him. It’s his voice. She remains quiet, just wanting to recommit the sound to her memory.

“Hello? I can hear music… is anyone there?”

She wants to say something. Anything. She wants to let the words that spilled out earlier in a moment of recklessness to be said clearly in a moment of bravery, but she can’t bring herself to. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So instead of responding, she hangs up one more time. She turns around resolving to finally head home when she sees Noah standing at the end of the corridor.

“How much of that did you hear?” she asks him as she clutches the strap of her purse to channel her nervous energy.

“Honestly? I caught everything after you told him you don't know what he is to you. Bradford, I mean.”

Lucy groans in even further embarrassment at the revelation that he also clocked Tim’s name.

“Don’t worry Hot Pants, I won’t tell a soul. Now, let’s get you in a cab.”

She gives him a small smile in appreciation and follows him out through the bar.

Los Angeles, February 15th, 2022

When Lucy wakes up the next morning, she finds that the left side of her bed is empty. Light clanking comes from her kitchen, so she quickly gets up to investigate. She finds Tim already showered and dressed standing at the counter, mixing bowl in hand and whisking some kind of batter.

“You’re up already! I was expecting to finish up making breakfast before I went to wake you.”

“You could have woken me up so we could cook together.” She rounds the counter to offer him a quick good morning kiss.

“Thought I’d let you sleep in a bit. I mean it’s only fair, I did wear you out last night,” he says with what Lucy can only describe as his signature flirty eye-twinkle.

“Um, for the record, I also wore you out. You’re just being an amazing boyfriend and powering through delicious exhaustion to make me breakfast. It is the cherry on top of a night of make up sex, after all,” she says with a giggle.

“Well since we’ve officially made up and we have some extra time before work, how about you tell me why I’m that Bradford.” She looks back up at Tim to find him smiling teasingly at her.

She grabs the mixing bowl from his hands and places it on the counter before pulling him down into a slow deep kiss.

“I’ll tell you soon. But right now… I think there are other things we could do with our extra time, right?” she says as she pulls away just enough so that she can still feel the heat radiate off of him.

“Agreed,” he breathes out.

As she backs them up towards the bedroom with Tim’s lips firmly attached to hers, all she can think is that while he is indeed that Bradford, he is more importantly her Tim.

#this one got away from me #i only meant to write a drabble #but i got all in my feels about them and what they mean to each other and here we are #the whole idea of him being THAT bradford got to me #i really hope that payphones work like this #i haven't used one in almost 20 years #chenford #chenford fic

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eleonore-songeve · 2 months

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Fleeting Embraces ( Part 4 )

Link to the second chapter for those who haven't read it : https://www.tumblr.com/eleonore-songeve/742596527039692800/fleeting-embraces-part-2?source=share

Link to the third chapter for those who haven't read it : https://www.tumblr.com/eleonore-songeve/742956406629662720/fleeting-embraces-part-3?source=share

Summary : One hundred years after Aveline's disappearance, Mort, Morpheus' sister, visits him in his kingdom, to take him to the Waking World. Among humans, he meets a beggar who strangely resembles Aveline, rekindling complex emotions in him.

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In the year of our Lord 1389, Morpheus' dream realm remained shrouded in the dark atmosphere of his lingering mourning. The repercussions of his pain were revealed in humans' dreams, creating visions of sadness.

However, the Lord of Dreams, immersed in his own turmoil, remained indifferent to the inexorable passage of time. The years seemed to fade into an infinite continuum of pain, and he remained isolated, unaware of the developments in the outside world. One day, all this was disrupted by the irruption of Death, her big sister. His presence brought an unexpected disruption, breaking the monotony of eternal pain as Morpheus sat on his throne. When he noticed her, his cold gaze pierced her, and in an icy tone, he questioned her :

- What are you doing here, sister ?

Death, indifferent to the icy mists emanating from him, replied in a soft but resolute voice :

- I came because I'm worried about you, Dream. Your pain goes beyond these dreams and reaches the very balance of existence. It is time for you to recognize the reality of life, even beyond your realm.

- Reality, my sister, is a fleeting thing for me. I have seen stars born and die, but the loss of Aveline revealed to me a pain that even eternity cannot ease. Morpheus replied, his voice revealing a hint of bitterness.

She slowly approached her little brother, her penetrating gaze diving beyond appearances.

- Dream, you have forgotten the beauty of mortals, the fragile shine of their dreams and their lives. Come with me to the world of humans, rediscover the richness of their existence. I am convinced that this will only do you good.

Morpheus' merciless edicts, the reflection of his pain, were felt by all his subjects. However, when facing Death, the Dream Lord's apparent rigidity showed cracks. A silent pause settled before he finally agreed with a simple nod, reluctantly agreeing to follow his sister into the mortal world.

In the human world, they entered a tavern, where the air was thick with lively conversations and bursts of laughter. The two immortals, almost imperceptible in the middle of the crowd, moved around the room, listening to the conversations of the villagers. He felt strangely disconnected from the excitement of the place. Human laughter and discussion seemed futile to his immortal eyes. His mind wandered back to the previous time, remembering with nostalgia the grace of Aveline. In the midst of the noisy crowd, he felt a void, an absence that contrasted with the fleeting and frenetic life around him.

However, an echo of curiosity pierced Morpheus' stoic indifference when the words of a man passionate about verse and tales reached his ears. Intrigued, the Dream Lord briefly considered engaging in conversation with the man, but a bold statement disrupted his thoughts. A man claimed to have seen death and proclaimed that he was not ready to die, that there were still so many pleasures and adventures to be had.

Morpheus's eyes met those of his sister, and a tacit agreement was established between them. They decided to observe this reckless human being, eager to live forever. He approached her, rolling his eyes, and asked why anyone would want an eternal existence like this.

She looked at him in silence before telling him that Morpheus could simply find out for himself. The look of defiance replaced the melancholy and weariness in his blue eyes. Convinced that the man, Robert Gadling, would soon regret his choice of immortality, he accepted the challenge proposed by his sister with confidence. An enigmatic smile appeared on Death's lips.

He approached Robert to suggest that, to the day, in exactly one hundred years, they should meet again at the "White Horse Tavern". The man, incredulous, accepted the challenge without believing it for a single second.

As he walked away, leaving the tavern with the certainty of victory, his mind swirled again between the past century and the present, between memories of Aveline and the curious experience of rubbing shoulders with mortals again with this bet.

He stood at the port, ready to return to his kingdom, when his gaze was drawn to a scene that brought him abruptly back to the reality of the human world. A woman, exhausted and scarred by the trials of life, held out her hand a few steps from him. Perplexity took hold of him, and he found himself contemplating the harshness of the living conditions faced by mortals.

A feeling of incomprehension invaded him as he meditated on the social disparities that marked human existence. Wealth and poverty seemed so arbitrarily distributed in this fleeting world, and he felt a pang of indignation at this reality.

Ready to return to his kingdom, something stopped him in his tracks. It was the woman who slowly raised her face, revealing features emaciated by the trials of life. Morpheus, usually impassive, felt his heart pause for a moment.

The face, although marked by poverty, strangely resembled that of Aveline, the love he had lost. An echo from the past, a resemblance transcending social differences, seemed to take hold of him.

Unable to resist the magnetic force of this resemblance, he approached slowly, his gaze fixed on the woman's features. The closer he got, the more a strange emotion awoke within him, a connection between the eternal and the fleeting, between divinity and humanity, with a question in his mind : why did this woman share the face of her that he had loved ?

The beggar, accustomed to the shadows of the alleys and the harshness of life, raised her cold gaze towards Morpheus. When she saw a man in front of her, impeccable in his sumptuous clothes, an additional glimmer of suspicion crossed her eyes.

She scrutinized him, analyzing every detail of his appearance. His face contorted into a grimace, an instinctive reaction to a noble. His fierce determination, although hidden behind his facade, remained intact. She didn't look down, but rather, she stared at him with increased intensity.

Subsequently, the woman was captivated by the gleam of the ruby around the man's neck, suddenly finding herself animated by an irrepressible impulse to seize this ethereal jewel. Morpheus, still immersed in his troubled thoughts, did not react when the beggar, driven by her instinct for survival and the temptation to steal, stood up furtively and pushed him to the side, before tearing the necklace from his neck. She immediately darted into the dark alleys, escaping with her unexpected catch. The Dream Lord's apparent inertia, although he did not react physically, was shattered by this daring flight.

It didn't take long for him to break free from his torpor. Taking out his bag filled with sand, he teleported in front of the thief who, looking back to check if she was being pursued, came into contact with something hard, causing her to stop in her tracks. She didn't have time to react before her arm was caught in a firm hug.

Turning around, with a surprised look on her face, she saw the man retrieve the necklace that had been temporarily removed from his hand.

Silence reigned between them for a moment, broken only by the heavy breathing of the beggar woman. Morpheus's eyes, usually impassive, now expressed a distinct gravity.

- This item must not fall into the hands of mortals. He declared in a firm voice.

The woman, disappointed, but also astonished by Morpheus' speed and how he had managed to arrive before her, was momentarily petrified under the weight of his majestic presence. The necklace, placed back around the neck of the Lord of Dreams, seemed to return to its rightful place. He then stared at the beggar woman with an expression mixed with confusion and questioning.

- Why did you accomplish this ? He asked in a calm voice but tinged with sincere curiosity. This is not worthy of you.

The beggar, looking at him as if he came from another planet, let out a cold laugh expressing a mixture of cynicism and bitterness.

- Will you give me your gall ? She replied. Do you see me, nobleman ? I'm not a thief for pleasure. I'm hungry, I want to survive. Are you drifting off into another world, or what ? Your rank as a noble does not allow you to say whether it resembles me or not, you do not have the honor of knowing me.

Morpheus, not allowing himself to be daunted by the beggar's hostility, replied soberly :

- I do not belong to the nobility.

He did not offer the brilliance of his divinity, preferring to let a mysterious veil hover around his person. His gaze lingered, a subtle alchemy of understanding and sadness, as if he could discern the essence beyond material appearances.

However, the woman remained skeptical. His world was shaped by rigid barriers, between the rich and the poor, and the idea that an individual could transcend these categories did not resonate in his reality. Morpheus, disturbed by the resemblance to Aveline, followed her with his eyes. A spontaneous surge of compassion and curiosity pushed him to intervene.

- Wait.

The beggar, clearly surprised that he still deigned to speak to her, stopped suspiciously.

- What is your desire, again ? She said, ready to reject any attempt at interaction.

Morpheus, overcoming his own astonishment, almost instinctively, asked him :

- What is your name ?

The beggar raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

- Do you take me for a fool, venal lord ? She repeated with a biting tone.

- I have no intention of making fun. I just want to know your name.

The beggar, confronted with this unusual insistence, felt a touch of perplexity. She turned to glare at him, ready to insult him, but something in the man's eyes strangely reflected sadness and hope, an emotion that disconcerted her.

- They call me Aveline, in these deprived streets. She finally responded in a less bitter voice, not understanding why she was revealing her name to him.

Surprise crept into Morpheus's eyes. Aveline, her gaze still full of suspicion, asked Morpheus if she could finally leave or if he was going to continue to torment her. Morpheus, however, replied in a calm voice :

- I will make the detour to greet you shortly.

- No exception for you. She said with a cynical laugh. The males, all the same, in these deprived corners.

Morpheus, in silence, let her go without uttering a word, the striking similarities between her and his lost love, Aveline, plunging him into deep confusion. Echoes of the past seemed to resonate in a disconcerting way in this unexpected encounter.

Back in his kingdom, Lucienne, his assistant, was waiting for him. Before she could even articulate the concerns of the creatures who wished to complain, he cut her off by ordering her to bring the book about Aveline's life.

Lucienne, surprised by Morpheus' request, replied in a surprised tone :

- It seemed to me that you read it so much that you could recite it by heart, word by word, with my respect, sir.

Ignoring Lucienne's remark, he silently headed towards the library, closely followed by Lucienne and Jessamy who was hovering in the air. A murmur of light wings accompanied their progress through the corridors of dreams and knowledge.

Arriving in front of the immense shelves, he declared in a calm voice but full of rare emotion for the two beings who followed him :

- No, not the book about my Aveline, but the one I met in the human world.

Lucienne, perplexed, asked for clarification. Morpheus, usually reserved, felt the need to share his experience. He took a deep breath before describing in detail the strange encounter he had just experienced in the human world. His words seemed to carry an unusual emotional charge, a rare intimacy that he shared with his assistant Lucienne. The echoes of the story resonated in the library, imbuing the atmosphere with a singular aura.

- She wore Aveline's face. His gaze, the way he moved, everything evoked my lost love. It was as if time itself had bent to confront me with an incarnation of the past.

Lucienne, usually stoic, began to feel a growing disturbance within her. She had seen Morpheus face many challenges, but this encounter seemed to touch something deeper within him.

- Her name was also Aveline. Morpheus continued, his voice slightly husky. A disturbing coincidence.

- Indeed, but it's not your Aveline, is it ?

- No, it's not her. Aveline is dead... However, although I was aware that it wasn't her, it stirred up feelings that I thought I had left behind a long time ago.

Lucienne, understanding the pain implicit in Morpheus's words, felt silent empathy, respecting her king's moment without uttering unnecessary words.

After a short moment of reflection, Morpheus broke the silence.

- Bring me the book on this Aveline. He ordered in a calm but resolute voice.

Lucienne, always attentive to the needs of her king, hastened to retrieve the book in question, knowing that she would also have to read it later. She handed it to Morpheus, who accepted the volume with a certain gravity. Without a word, he headed towards the throne room, leaving the library behind.

Sitting on the steps leading to his throne, he opened the book, flipping through the pages that revealed the life of the Aveline he encountered in the human world. However, as he read, no trace of magic or mystery revealed itself. The life of this Aveline, although marked by bad luck, did not seem to contain the secrets or the enigmas that he expected.

Closing the book, he let his thoughts intertwine in a maze of unanswered questions, wondering if reincarnation could be at work, or if some greater force had orchestrated this strange resemblance.

Lucienne entered the room, respectful of her king's introspection.

- Have you found anything, sir ? She asked with a hint of concern.

Morpheus, after a moment of silence, shook his head.

- No, nothing mysterious or extraordinary. His life reveals nothing special. Maybe I should ask the Hecates.

- My lord, under my respect, the three in one are not clear. The answers they offer are only riddles. And your family won't be able to help ?

- We don't interfere in other people's affairs.

- Maybe then you should meet her again. Interacting with it might provide you with the answers that books cannot.

At first, he seemed to ignore Lucienne's suggestion, lost in his own thoughts. However, the idea slowly crept into his mind, taking shape as a path to explore. He considered the idea of finding this woman who wore Aveline's face.

Several days later, Aveline found herself alone in a dark alley, her stomach screaming its hunger, a symphony of distress echoing in the oppressive silence of the night. Exhaustion forced her to lean against the wall, her thoughts oscillating between her own misery and the realities others might take for granted.

She let her mind wander to a different world, a world where war and plague had not left behind a landscape of desolation. She imagined the tantalizing smells of a hot meal, the sweet treats that could be savored by those who had survived the tumults of history. Her thoughts wandered among images of a stable home, a place that was nothing more than a distant dream to her.

Suddenly, a presence pulled her from her reveries. A shiver ran down her spine as she turned her head, discovering the silhouette of Morpheus. A raven, mystical and dark, hovered above them before landing on a nearby roof.

Aveline, disappointed by this unexpected encounter, fixed Morpheus with a look of suspicion.

- What are you doing here ? She asked, her voice carrying the fatigue accumulated over the days of survival.

He remained impassive.

- I am standing here to understand, Aveline. Understand the links that unite us, these chance encounters.

She looked at Morpheus with a perplexed look, asking him sarcastically :

- What drink touched you before you set foot here ? Or are you naturally strange ?

He kept his calm, responding seriously :

- I don't like the tasteless drinks of mortals.

The beggar raised an eyebrow, arching a mocking smile.

- Huh huh... Well, strange, so...

An awkward silence settled between them, each seeming unsure of how this impromptu meeting would turn out. She announced that she was about to leave, getting up, but he stopped her with a soft voice :

- Patience, Aveline. I long to discover you.

The beggar, ready to retaliate, opened her mouth to retort, but her stomach gurgled loudly, interrupting her thoughts. She instinctively placed a hand on her stomach, the pain of hunger marking her face.

Morpheus, showing sincere concern, approached her.

- Are you feeling the bite of hunger ? He asked in a softer voice.

Aveline, a mixture of annoyance and pain on her face, replied dryly :

- Well done, quick wit. You were able to guess.

The Lord of Dreams, ignoring the sarcastic tone, proposed :

- Come with me. I can offer you some food.

Aveline, hesitant, stared at him for a moment, then sighed.

- Understood, but no commitment on my part. I have no debt to you either.

He nodded and tried to delicately place his hand on the young woman's hip to help her in her approach, but she pushed him away with a gesture, telling him not to even think about it.

After a few minutes, the two entered the tavern, each carrying their own burden of discomfort. Aveline, hungry, let her gaze wander among the culinary options, while Morpheus, bending to the necessity of the moment, wondered how to navigate this human environment.

They sat at a table, the atmosphere of the place vibrating with an energy that contrasted with Aveline's usual solitude and Morpheus' ethereal aura. The Lord of Dreams made a delicate gesture, indicating to Aveline that she could order whatever she wanted.

Aveline, accustomed to modest meals and a difficult existence, looked eagerly at other people's dishes. Her stomach cried out in distress, and she decided not to hold back. She waved at the waiter, ordering a variety of dishes that she never imagined she could enjoy in her daily life.

During this time, he observed her with particular attention. He didn't need to eat, but he was there to share this moment with her, to be by her side. Aveline, for her part, was uncomfortable, due to the contrast between the modest clothes she wore and the majestic aura of Morpheus, which escaped no one, provoking small remarks in the form of whispers.

When she received her order, she threw herself at it, devouring the food in front of her. Morpheus, although physically present, seemed lost in the twists and turns of his thoughts. His gaze carried a melancholic glow. Intrigued by this sudden distraction, Aveline, with her mouth full, noticed the change in Morpheus's gaze.

- Hey, are you in alliance with me or too lost in your daydreams ? She asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

He seemed to come to, turning his gaze away from the distant horizon.

- Forgive me. I was just stuck in thoughts of yesteryear.

Aveline, curious, narrowed her eyes.

- Memories of yesteryear ? What torments assail the mind of one like you ?

Morpheus, hesitating for a moment, decided to share a piece of his truth.

- There is no worry that should overwhelm you, Aveline. I'm standing here for you. If my steps guided me through these alleys, it was only with the intention of discovering you.

Aveline, surprised by this response, arched an eyebrow.

- For me ? Why would you think of this act ?

Morpheus, his eyes staring into hers, revealed in a voice imbued with sincerity :

- Because you hold precious value in my eyes.

The beggar, unsure of this statement, looked away, beginning to feel tired of this man and the persistent impression that he saw someone else in her.

- Listen, we are not linked by knowledge. I don't know what you're saying, but I don't need your hand. I'm doing well alone.

A heavy silence settled between them, the murmur of the tavern serving as background music. Morpheus, although understanding of Aveline's distrust, seemed determined to unravel the mysteries that surrounded their improbable meeting.

He stared at Aveline, a mixture of understanding and resolution in his eyes.

- I do not claim to understand everything about the circumstances that bind us together, but a force encourages me to stay by your side. Perhaps it is the whim of fate, perhaps it is the design, I remain ignorant of it.

- Really, I don't understand your quests, but I'm not a mystery to decipher. I have enough of my troubles already.

Morpheus, still focused on her, replied calmly :

- I don't strive to unravel a mystery, Aveline. My wish is simply to be at your side, to understand the meaning of this bond that unites us.

She shrugged, letting out a sigh of exasperation.

- If you want to waste your time with a beggar, that's up to you. But don't wait for any wonder in my life, you won't have any.

- However, I would like to know more about you.

The beggar, immersed in thought, placed her mug filled with alcohol on the table. After a moment of thought, she looked up at him and nodded in agreement.

- Of course, if it pleases you, I'll tell you about my life.

She then launched into a story about her past, a story shaped by imaginary events and fictional characters. It evoked grandiose adventures, non-existent triumphs and embellished failures. She painted a picture of her life that was far from the sad reality of the lonely beggar.

He listened to her in silence, his penetrating gaze revealing nothing of his inner thoughts. He had read the book about Aveline's life, knowing every detail, every authentic ordeal she had gone through. However, he did not mention that he had access to this information.

Once Aveline had finished her story, he looked at her fixedly and said in a calm voice :

- Thank you for revealing this to me. However, I know you are telling lies.

A shiver ran down Aveline's spine, surprised by Morpheus' revelation. His eyes, full of distrust, met those of Morpheus. She replied with feigned confidence :

- I do you the honor of confiding this with you, and you tell me that I am lying ? This is my life and my words are the pure truth.

Morpheus, however, didn't blink. His gaze persisted, unwavering, and he continued in a firm voice :

- Aveline, don't deceive me. I discern that you have concocted this fable.

An uneasy feeling settled in the air, causing anxiety to rise within her. Faced with Morpheus' insistence, she let out a resigned sigh.

- Why does this confuse you so much ? It's my existence, not yours. You don't have to know everything.

Morpheus, without losing his calm, replied :

- No matter what turn of events you try to adopt, do not use dissimulation towards me. You've never done this before, don't start now.

Faced with Morpheus' insistence, she felt a shiver of apprehension run through her. Finally, she sighed and admitted :

- Understand, I counterfeited. But that's just a joke, do you understand ? Why are you even here ? Stop talking like we know each other ! Aveline said with a hint of annoyance, her eyes scanning Morpheus.

- Because I took an oath.

- That's very charitable of you. Replied Aveline in a sarcastic tone. Thanks for the cup. But that does not imply the desire to see a stranger again.

- I am not a foreigner.

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

- Certainly, obviously. How do you want me to know you, I don't even know your name.

- They call me Morpheus.

Aveline, while taking a sip of her drink, shook her head.

- It doesn't alter the fact. You still remain a stranger in my eyes.

He silently watched Aveline take a sip of her drink, his piercing gaze contemplating the similarities and differences between this woman with the familiar face and the Aveline he had once known.

The features of the beggar's face evoked strange echoes of his past, a disturbing reminiscence of the loved one he had lost. However, he could not ignore the disparities, the marks of the difficult life that this contemporary Aveline carried. The similarities, while striking, seemed like reflections distorted through the prism of time and existence.

Feeling the uncomfortable weight of the crowd around her and unaccustomed to prolonged conversations, and having finished filling her stomach, she rose abruptly from her chair. Morpheus, following her with his gaze, asked her in a calm voice :

- Where are you heading ?

She turned around, her hard gaze meeting Morpheus's.

- It's none of your business. She replied dryly. I'm heading off, and I dare to hope that we won't cross paths again.

The Dream Lord remained seated, silently watching Aveline leave the tavern. The murmurs of the villagers and the noise of the activity around seemed to fade as she moved away, disappearing into the alleys of the town.

Morpheus, alone at his table, remained immersed in his thoughts. This encounter, although disturbing, left behind a feeling of unfinished business.

The future of their interaction remained uncertain in the complex web of destiny.

But all he knew for sure was that he had to see her again.

To understand and beyond.

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

I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter and the twists and turns it brought to the story. See you soon for chapter 5, where new adventures and revelations await you ! ^^

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featciren · 3 months

Text

Seasonal Companion

Ever since the death of Solomon Sallow and the departure of his sister, Sebastian has been spending most of the time alone wherever he goes. Not even the sight of his old friend Ominis is seen by his side anymore.

That is until Professor Weasley caught him on one of the corridors before the winter break.

*Female MC appears for a brief moment and then leaves

As if a protective shield is casted to separate the premise from the rest of the world, the rush hubbub alongside the wave of people right after crossing the bridge are so subtle and overwhelming. Every store is playing their own music outside the doors, contributing to the chaotic sound experience. Such an environment is undoubtedly the biggest nightmare for some.

Nonetheless, the smell of butter and cinnamon still lures more and more people to go deeper into the village like a vortex. Everyone is flooding into the streets for their seasonal shopping needs. Some villagers mutter under their breath about having trouble stepping out of their own doors while some other villagers are more than happy to enchant decorations and signs in the mid air to attract any potential customer to their stores.

Garreth tiptoes in the middle of the crowd and yells to the back. No signs. The sea of people is blocking his view and his voice is not loud enough. He decides to raise and wave one arm in the air for his companion to see. This time a brunette jumps up from the crowd for a mere second and gets flooded by the many other heads again.

Hurried to the spot, Garreth finally manages to retrieve the brunette by grabbing his hand.

“This is nuts!” Sebastian shouts, holding onto the hand tightly while pushing their way forward together with Garreth leading at the front. “Didn’t you hear me, Weasley?”

“Hear what? I can barely hear myself.” He turns his face slightly towards Sebastian in case his voice fails to reach his ears. “Let’s go this way!”

To be honest, Sebastian doesn’t even bother to ask where they’re heading now. He just hopes Garreth is not leading them to an even more crowded spot to suffocate themselves to death. If their hands disconnect and lose each other again, he might just apparate back to Hogwarts and call it a day.

The two finally squeeze out of the crowd and stop at the end of an alley. Some people are also navigating the village through these passages, but feelings are relative. Compared to the chaos at High Street they’ve just escaped from, this stinky filthy alley is literally a diving bell in the deep sea. Both boys sigh in relief.

“Phew! That was quite an experience.” The ginger head puts his hands on his waist. Big smile on his face showing how proud he feels to have made their way out alive.

Sebastian is not that amused on the contrary with his knotted eyebrows and balled fists. “Whose idea is it to go shopping in the week before Christmas? Am I the only one who thinks it’s common sense to not visit Hogsmeade right before the holiday?”

Garreth is a bit uneasy to see an upset Sebastian, but he’s also aware that his friend’s accusation isn’t pointing at him. “Well, you already knew so I don’t feel the need to explain further…”

The brunette sighs. Of course he knows. That’s why he didn’t turn down the request when the Professor approached him.

He’d always known the Weasley family is big, but he didn’t know they also have relatives living in Manchester. Unfortunately, Garreth’s father - the organiser of the party only came up with the idea of also inviting their relatives to join two days ago, making the quest outrageously urgent. With their house-elves being all busy running around to decorate the venue, Garreth is the one being assigned to shop for extra beverages and presents, and Sebastian is the outsourced helper and advisor considering the amount of supplies on the list.

As a reward, one day of pending detention will be wiped off on Sebastian’s side in return. It’s definitely a tempting offer, as he doesn’t want to be cleaning the boys’ lavatory or serving as a temporary night-shift nurse in St. Mungo’s anymore.

“…Let’s get this over with as soon as possible. I’m tired already.”

“That’s the spirit! I’d say we should start with what’s clearly specified on the list first.” He fishes out a folded parchment from his pocket at the back of his pants and opens it.

Two bottles of Firewhisky, three Mulled Meade and a carton of punch…

The Three Broomsticks is just sitting adjacent to the spot where they’re standing at the moment, parted by the High Street, but it’s unwise to be carrying that much liquor all the way through their whole trip. They’re going to be heavy and it would be tragic to try to squeeze them through the crowd of people.

Sebastian suggests making a reservation at the pub first and doing the same to the rest of the groceries before Sirona finishes packing them. This way they can retrieve them on their way back in a beeline without waiting. Garreth disagrees, expressing his concern that it is only going to be even more crowded when evening comes, and they may not be able to return to the same stores even with empty hands.

“Trust me. Things are gonna be resolved by then. I have an idea and it’s much more efficient this way.” The Slytherin said dismissively but also convincingly while looking right into the Gryffindor's eyes.

For a moment, Garreth almost believes these words mean sincerity. Now is one of the occasions when his usually trusting nature is questioned by the small voice of his instinct.

Sebastian had always looked friendly and open. The soft fluffy hair and the innocent face had helped him befriend almost everyone he met. That is until troubles were caused which reveals his mischievous nature. The Sorting Hat didn’t just throw everyone in the houses randomly.

However, speaking of troubles, Garreth didn’t cause less in the past years so he can’t really judge the Slytherin by the number of detentions, and the hidden goal of this trip as specified by his aunt cannot be threatened by differing opinions on such small things. Garreth stops himself from being sceptical and calls it a misperception quietly.

He agrees to the proposal. The shopping trip goes smoothly. Store after store they have been crossing out the items on the list gradually. They carry the smaller ones in their arms before moving to the next stop as long as they don’t occupy much space.

When the sun starts to set and they’ve finally finished shopping for the specified items, Hogsmeade is still flooded with people. Fortunately, tea time has certainly kept some of them seated in cafés and bars, allowing some fresh air on the streets.

The two use this opportunity to catch a breath outside a café with a cranachan in Garreth’s hand. Securing the paper bags between their legs, they start digging inside the small cup simultaneously. It would have been much better if they didn't have to share. Garreth is only given the necessary amount of money for the shopping list and Sebastian claims to be uninterested in sweets especially when the prices have skyrocketed during the season to a robbery level. Garreth took two teaspoons anyway.

The brunette’s gaze follows a couple of gentlemen who are passing by with some big wooden boxes and props in their hands, “Hmph. Looks like there’s going to be an event tonight.”

“That’s not good. Wonder if we can make it out of the village before it starts?”

“I heard someone mentioning six o’clock in the café. Not sure if it’s what they’re talking about though.” Another scoop of cream from the bottom of the cup. Sebastian’s eyes are fixed on the dessert all the way when he talks.

Looking at the top of the brunette’s head and his hand holding onto the cup, Garreth can’t hold back a big grin on his face in silence. Someone has a sweet tooth. “Maybe we should ask the locals. Wait for me with the groceries. Here. Take the cup and finish it.”

“Gladly.” Sebastian pretends to be nonchalant but he couldn’t hide the faint smile and the delightfulness in his tone. He sweeps the bags to the roadside with his legs.

Once the door closes behind the ginger head, he finally reveals his true cravings towards the cup, savouring the sweetness and fluffy texture of the cream fully with pure enjoyment. Merlin - he almost drooled all over the floor when they arrived at the front of the display cases earlier. He’d always loved the desserts from Hogsmeade, but the budget is simply too tight for him to buy confectioneries considering there are still school lunches to pay for next month.

When Anne was still around, he used to buy some from time to time to share with her and Ominis in the Undercroft. His uncle didn’t give them much pocket money back then. He was raising two kids with only two hands after all. And with the new patrons - he’s been receiving even less now.

He’d always been aware of how important money is so he doesn’t feel right every time someone shares something with him. It’s like owing someone a favour and he’s expected to pay them back soon or later. The world has been working around him like that since he was small and works well if he follows the rules.

With Weasley though, well - his family is big with Matilda being the headmistress of the school. Surely they have some fortune, right? In this case, he feels more rightful and comfortable to accept anything Garreth gives.

“Bad news. A parade is going to start at six and crowd control will be at four.” Garreth pushes the door open with another hand pointing towards the way he comes from.

The brunette lets out a surprised “Oh”, “Not entirely. At least we can get out of this chaos sooner.”

“And with literally only half an hour left to shop for the rest!” He frowns with worries written all over his face. He doesn’t like to be rushed as he tends to make wrong decisions under such circumstances. He already starts to panic imagining his cousins’ disappointed faces when they open the presents.

“You haven’t come up with one single idea of what to buy yet, have you?” Sebastian narrows his eyes with a smirk. It’s fun to see the Gryffindor freaks out at such small problems. Just like a big puppy, mature on the outside but simple on the inside.

“I was in detention yesterday. You knew that. Didn’t even have the time to do my Herbology homework.” He sighs, sounds defeated, but his mood is suddenly lit up with an idea sparkling in his head. “Wait. Isn’t that a good opportunity to test and promote my new concoctions? There are dozens of them still waiting for more data from different subjects…”

Sebastian blinks, watching the ginger head stroking his own chin with one hand, legs pacing back and forth while enthusiastically considering the viability of this idea.

Finally comprehending what he’d just heard, a chilling streak of fear suddenly spikes up along his spine. The massive tragedy of the Gryffindor common room being flooded with rainbow vomit on the floor caused by his newly “improved” version of Wiggenweld Potion last week is still on the top surface of his memories. He could imagine the nauseating smell even though he was not physically there, and watching Natsai retching for the whole week with tears in her eyes whenever she tried to eat had definitely made him feel sorry for her.

He bears no grudge towards the Weasley family - even though he doesn’t know every single one of them in person, but no one deserves such cruelty on Christmas. This shit is no joke.

His gaze follows the pacing Weasley who is about to commit an act of unintentional domestic violence towards his own family. “- Are you sure, Garreth? You don’t get to meet your relatives a lot during the year. I reckon they will be more happy to receive something that lasts longer and not consumable - at least not with only one sip.”

“Ohhh they’re certainly not getting only one sip. I’m going to use a bigger cauldron and brew at least one carton for each of them.” The young Weasley beams with stars in his eyes, so excited that he stretches out his arms lively to illustrate the size of the cauldron.“This is even better. The error value can be minimised with the repetitive sampling of results.”

Sebastian is about to open his mouth to interrupt his thoughts, but the ginger head is quicker by sprinting to his footside and picks up the paper bags.

“Weasley - “

“We need to hurry. J. Pippin’s is on the other side of the village. I must go grab the ingredients before he runs out of supplies!” The determined Gryffindor is like an unstoppable hound now. Energy surges through his whole body, making him restless and excited. He shoves one of the paper bags in the Slytherin’s chest and yanks him to the crowd by the wrist.

“Blast - Wait!“ The deafening noise of the crowd surrounds them so he has to literally shout. The sudden raise of volume gets the ginger head’s attention who stops on his track and turns his head around, dumbfounded as he has no clue why the usually untroubled Slytherin suddenly looks genuinely concerned. “Uhm - As you said, J. Pippin’s is too far away. That’s a huge detour. Let’s stick to our original route for now.” He tries to shift his focus from his precious inventions bit by bit. This potion maniac’s mind cannot be changed swiftly with just a few words.

“But what if - “

“Pippin had restocked more this year. Very reliable source. It’s gonna be fine.” Lie. “No need to rush. Don’t you think it will be best to escape the busy area by making J. Pippin’s the final stop? The parade is going to start around that time anyway.” He purposely adds a luring tone in his words with a confident smile to fake his intention.

Garreth thinks for a while when the crowd keeps pushing the boys to different directions. Sebastian lets him think, but he decides to act earlier. He spots a shop and improvises by snaking his arm around the Gryffindor's so that he can avoid being pulled away by the boy. He hates himself for being a juvenile when the sea of well-built adults keep towering over them and pushing them to all directions.

“Oh look! Flutes and Lutes!” Sebastian fixes his eyes on the target and points at it with another hand, successfully guiding Garreth’s attention to look at the same thing. “Let’s get inside. I got something I have wanted to buy for a while now.”

“Uhm, okay?” Although confused, the ginger head agrees after being yanked to the music store.

Sorry, Garreth. I’m not going to help you, but I’m saving your arse.

After buying an enchanted music box (with Garreth’s money) and walking out of the store, they see a thin layer of smoke separating the street into two lanes. Crowd control had slowly started.

The ginger head panics but is soon being pulled to the next store. This time to the Gladrags.

Before he even realises, a bucket is shoved into his hands and the brunette had already started throwing things inside joyfully, suggesting them to be wonderful gifts for his relatives. It almost looks like the brunette is randomly picking up things, but he claims it’s the store that’s packed with people and they need to hurry.

Looking at the Dancing socks that Sebastian is inspecting, Garreth frowns in concern, “Are you sure these are proper for Christmas presents? I mean…I saw people wearing these before and I reckon they are only for pranks…”

Absolutely angelic, compared to your products of creativity.

“Well, that explains why Slytherins are always more fun to hang out with.” The brunette huffs with a smirk, stuffing the socks in the corner of the basket. “Trust me. It’s gonna be the BEST gift they’ve received in their life”

The ginger head chuckles, fires back in an inviting tone. “Are you saying we Gryffindors are boring? I gotta sneak you in our common room next time. Bet you wouldn’t want to go back to Slytherin anymore.”

Sebastian cocks an eyebrow at him, interested. “Is that a challenge? Well I’d be the judge of that.” Speaking of the Gryffindor’s common room, he suddenly feels like it’s the right timing to school this potion maniac a bit. “...but if it’s going to be flooded with vomit then I’d rather stay away. Still want to eat what I paid the school for, you know?”

The mention of last week’s incident catches him a bit off guard. He raises both hands in the air. Surprisingly, not in defence but in excitement. “Oh! About that, I’ve already figured out what went wrong. I just have to change the recipe a little bit and stir it in a slightly different manner…”

The Slytherin is awestruck. How in Merlin’s name can his classmate be so enthusiastic and pure-minded? He expected the sarcasm could at least make him think twice before doing his human experiments. Now the statement only helped fuel his motivation to continue.

“...I really want to see how your family has been raising you, to be honest.” Sebastian feels defeated. He lowers his head to compare the garments in front of him.

“Don’t be like that. I see a lot of things in common between the two of us, you know?” The Gryffindor nudges him, speaking softly by his ear so that no one else can hear.

“Oh? How so?” He looks up at Garreth with narrowed eyes, wondering if it’s an admiration or an insult.

“Well, we both get a lot of detentions and always for only one reason. For you it’s always the library. For me it’s always the potions. And you were daring and brave enough to have borne the blame for Sorcha last year. That’s something most of my Slytherin friends wouldn’t do.”

“Okay…?” Sebastian cringes a little bit, not expecting to hear “compliments” in such a manner, especially for that little event with the new fifth-year. Most of his house members deemed his action stupid (especially for someone who’s from another house) and even started shipping the two teasingly. Thanks to Sorcha’s aggressive attitude towards the rumours, they were stopped rather quickly.

“Not just Sorcha, a bunch of Ravenclaws would DIE to sneak into the restricted section, you know?”

“Speaking of Ravenclaw, don’t you think you can learn something from them when you design the next potion recipe? I’m sure they’d love to recommend some research for you.”

The Gryffindor snorts, “I’d rather not. Too much planning and reading. By the time they finished researching, I'd already created something for trials. If I have the mood, I’d even proofread every single potion book in the library. There is simply too much false information written inside.”

Always act before planning. Typical Gryffindor. Sebastian sighs. He rarely judges his schoolmates’ shortcomings by the stereotypes of the four houses, but as far as he sees, those with such recklessness are usually from the house of lion. “Surely you can try balancing things out a little bit…”

“Talking shites about Ravenclaw, aye?”

Surprised by the female voice, both boys spin around to see the devil they’ve been talking about.

The cornflower-haired girl walks in a lazy posture towards them, one hand holding a paper cup and another throwing a roasted chestnut towards her mouth. Sebastian fishes one for himself from the paper cup when she passes it to his direction.

“Fancy seeing you here. I thought you’re not staying around during the holidays.” The brunette greets her cheerfully.

“That was the plan but I changed my mind.” Speaking in a languid tone, her eyes swim around the store slowly, taking in the fabulous decorations that can’t be usually seen and smiles sheepishly. “This is the first proper Christmas I can enjoy in the wizarding world and just look at that, I don’t miss London anymore.”

Is she high on Euphoria again or simply suffering from insomnia?

“Are you alone? You can join us.” The friendly Gryffindor invites when he doesn’t see anyone around the girl.

She eyes him and considers the offer for a mere moment. “Nah, thanks. I enjoy loneliness - I mean freedom, more precisely.” And then she smiles mysteriously to both of them from left to right. “‘ight. Enjoy your date, pups. Seeing you two may have significantly changed my mind from casting Infringo on this facking crowd here...”

She grits her teeth when she mentions the crowd before floating away. The murderous glare towards the people around her is hidden behind the fancy pink lenses but not entirely invisible.

Unlike Sebastian, she never likes to be in crowded places or interacting with strangers. That reminds him why even after considering her as a close friend, they rarely hang out together. Ominis was similar given his eye condition and his sensitive hearing. Anne had always been the only one who was more than happy to go to fairs with him.

He wonders what they are going to do on Christmas? Does Ominis have to go back to the Gaunt house? And Anne, he doesn’t even know her whereabouts…

“Interesting lady, isn’t she?” The ginger head smiles, eyes following the back of the Raveclaw’s head. “I heard a lot about her dealing with the Ranrok royalists and trolls last school year, and she’s always ready to help me to do the ‘difficult’ parts for my inventions. Her bravery would fit into Gryffindor as well.”

Surprised that his companion is still on this topic, the Slytherin laughs, “I doubt if you’d still think the same once you found out the true intention behind those actions.”

“Are you bragging about the intimacy between you two? Okay. I’m curious now.”

“Nothing to tell. If you want to earn the privilege, consider treating me better from now on.” The snake replies in a cheeky tone, lowering his head to continue comparing the garments in front of him half-mindedly.

“I believe I’ve been doing a good job on this matter?” Garreth scratches his head, puzzled, replaying the interactions between the two in his head.

The questions keep him occupied all the way to the cashier, so when the brunette turns to him with a bright smile after Mr. Hills tells them the sum of money, he fishes out his wallet naturally.

Too easy. Weasley is too easy to manipulate.

The Slytherin smirks, proud of himself when he walks towards the exit. With so little galleons left in Garreth’s pocket, he won’t be able to buy much for his lovely potions at the end of the day.

Just when they set their foot outside the attire shop, a big firework explodes right in front of the door step, shining blue and orange light on their faces. They are caught in surprise and fringe at the sudden blow of light. An arm catches Sebastian’s shoulders.

“Sorry about that. Are you alright, young men?” A man comes close to check on the two with a big smile on his face, asking both of them but eyes fixed on the brunette at the end. They swiftly turn to look at him, and then they see a woman smiling apologetically at them behind the man in a distance while bending down to grab the little tube in a child’s hand. That’s where the fireworks came from.

Sebastian blinks. “- Yeah, I’m good. No worries. You good, Weasley?” He throws the same question to the boy who is still holding his shoulders, for some reason looking quite serious on the face.

“Are you sure? You don’t look like it.” There is concern written on the man’s face.

Before understanding where the doubt comes from, Sebastian gets pulled away from the doorstep to the closest alley. Garreth’s grip is tight but gentle. It’s the strange gesture that makes him a bit uneasy.

“What? What is it?” The brunette pushes his arm away when they slow down on their path.

“You should see your face. You look terrified!” The Gryffindor looks a bit anxious but keeps his voice low, as if a normal voice would startle his friend to jump. “It’s okay to be scared. You don’t have to pretend to be tough.”

“I’m not pretending to be tough, and I’m not scared of a blasted firework. At least not now.” Now he feels a bit offended. Why are they even talking about this right now?

Out of all the possible futures, he can never foresee his face being cupped by the ginger boy. The initial thought is that Weasley’s got really warm hands, but the sudden physical contact still makes him stunned and cringed.

Weasley takes a deep breath before looking at him firmly in the eyes. Voice lower than usual. “If you say so. Just remember we can leave the place anytime if you don’t feel right. Okay?”

“Without a doubt.” He hesitantly removes the boy’s hands from his face slowly. Garreth’s gaze is so intense that it forces him to break eye contact. He knows this annoying conversation will only continue to no end if he keeps denying so he stops. Garreth retreats his hands then.

Still no idea what the fuss is about.

“But damn, your face is freezing. Shall we get inside?”

Sebastian shrugs. Well, that’s what he was going to suggest anyway.

Zonko’s would be the perfect destination for exploiting the very last bit of what’s left in Garreth’s pocket.

He had memorised the prices for each item faintly as it’s one of his favourite stores in the village. He seldom buys from the store though. Usually just browsing. There are times when the shopkeeper suspects him to be stealing as he always leaves empty-handed. Sebastian feels lucky to not be spotted by the shopkeeper when they open the door as he’s busy running around between customers.

The new products showcasing in the mid-air are stunning. No wonder why so many people keep flushing into the store. The owner is well-prepared for the season.

Sebastian squeezes through the crowd, searching for one specific item according to his memory. On his path, a giant mirror is placed behind a little orb that emits light beams to form a pattern of a milky way, making the light show seem boundless. He looks into the mirror and is shocked by what he sees - his face is paler than usual. Red rims under the eyes like they’re about to cry. And the eyebrows - angling down that makes his face look scared. He frowns at the scene and tries to readjust the muscles on his face to no avail.

“Hey, look what I’ve found!” The cheerful Weasley comes back with a box of something that breaks the thought of the young Slytherin. His excitement is soon replaced by a look of concern when he sees the boy’s face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Finally understanding the cause of the sudden change of attitude on the Gryffindor’s side, the snake feels kind of irritated and embarrassed. His face is nowhere reflecting his current state of mind - at least not the kind of emotion he wants to show. He doesn’t like to be seen as fragile because it means weakness.

“I assure you I’m -“

He cuts himself off when he spots something in the distance and hurries himself to pick it up. Unfortunately, someone picks it up slightly quicker than he does.

He looks up to see a young adult who's probably in his twenties, not much older than him. A child is sticking close to his robe who’s probably his son. They’re now looking at each other in the eyes awkwardly and the gentleman looks like he’d fallen into a dilemma for an instant when he sees those puppy eyes.

Garreth follows him to the spot and inspects what’s in their hands, “Is this what you want? A mini mannequin?”

“- Yeah. It does some tricks but also works like a normal mannequin…”

“Be careful. That is the last one.” The shopkeeper happens to be passing by with a tower of boxes and hears what they said.

Damn it. Gotta change my target then.

Just when Sebastian thinks of giving up, the gentleman says with an empathetic smile, “It’s alright. Please, take it.”

Seeing the mannequin being pushed into the brunette’s chest, the little child urges his father to take it back in a crying tone. The man just crouches down and picks the child up in his arms and soothes him by telling him to pick something else instead. He bids his goodbye to the two boys with an apologetic smile.

What the…fuck?

He thinks of one possibility and starts checking the mannequin. Garreth sighs with a gentle smile, “I don’t think it’s about the mannequin. It’s about you.”

“What does that even mean?” Sebastian frowns, frustrated that there are now even more questions to be answered. Garreth just takes the mannequin from his hands and heads directly to the cashier and pays. “Wait, what are you -“

Sebastian doesn’t get to receive the answer and they are already out of the store.

“This is for you, Sebastian.” The young Weasley turns around and smiles at him. “Merry Christmas.”

Sebastian widens his eyes and feels his face heated in embarrassment right away. Why in Merlin’s name would he be buying him a Christmas present? Could it be that he’s teasing him with his secret plan?

“I was to suggest you buy this for the party.” Sebastian confesses, secretly panicking and embraces himself for Garreth’s revelation.

“That’s right. So by that logic, you’d better show up at the party.”

Sebastian is totally in shock now, never had he expected himself to be invited to a classmate’s family party - not to mention a Weasley family party.

“I don’t know about your plans for Christmas, but my family would be very excited to see you there.” Garreth continues. The eyes are so caring like he’s not looking at his classmate of the same age, but more like looking at a small stray animal, especially after seeing him being all alone since the new school year and that he’s zoning out more than ever.

He’d heard Ominis and him are not friends anymore and they are not seen talking to each other when they return to the school. The way the usually cheerful and outgoing Slytherin still tries to act like nothing happened just looks…sad (and it’s indeed showing on his face).

Hence when his aunt proposed this shopping trip and the party to him, he almost hugged her for this genius idea.

“What? No! It’s gonna be a family party. I don’t want to be an intruder.” Sebastian rejects without hesitation. Even though he considers it as a thrilling idea especially when it’s gonna be his first lonely Christmas, he just doesn’t think it’s a proper thing to do.

Seeing the brunette deep in his thoughts again, Garreth pushes,“I got to get you to the party. I’m not allowing you to skip our parties after all the help I received from you.”

“Well, you can pay me in other w-“

“Sebastian - please.” Enough of his stubbornness, the ginger head cuts him off and smiles warmly, stretching out one hand to hold onto his shoulder.

Those emerald eyes are full of determination and an equally unwavering stubbornness. Sebastian had suddenly realised they’re always clear like crystals. Never had he once seen them in a muddy colour. Now with the warm street lights casting a hint of orange on them, they simply look magical and yet match Garreth so much. Like fire under the cauldron.

For half a second, he feels sorry to have used lies to manipulate this pure human.

But then, he really feels repulsed by those eyes looking so firmly into his, like penetrating deep into his soul.

“Guess that I have not a choice then.” Speaking in a weak voice, he tries to keep a straight face but breaks eye contact shyly for the second time today. “But I don’t go to parties without blowing things up.”

Garreth is stunned for a moment. Is that a joke? But he realises either answer is not important. If it’s not a joke, then the invitation has become even more important. He laughs, “I’m sure my dad and Aunt Matilda will bring their wands along.”

Sebastian smiles hesitatingly at the answer. They look at each other in awkward silence with Garreth’s face beaming bright, looking like he had achieved something unimaginable. “That’s it, then! You’re coming to the party!”

“Look at you. If I haven’t been in this conversation, I’d think you’ve won a lottery.” The brunette huffs out a laugh, but can’t stop smiling even if he wants to. This little lion’s smile is infectious.

He looks back to the crowd and notices the sun had fully set. Darkness had enveloped the sky but the candles and glowing decorations in the village had lit it up further. The parade should start soon. They must leave.

Luckily enough for them, the paths separating by crowd control happen to be moving towards the same direction to their final stops. The last part of their journey is finished rather smoothly.

Now, to think about how they’re gonna bring all the bags back to the castle.

“You said you have an idea. I’d like to hear that now.” Carrying the packages on his shoulders and arms in Three Broomsticks, the ginger head asked, smirking.

“Don’t you worry. Our solution is on the other side of the bridge.”

Leading the both of them to their starting point of this journey, Sebastian walks straight to a carriage and starts loading the bags on it by the bridge.

Garreth is amused, “You’ve reserved a carriage? That’s incredible!”

“Do you really think I got galleons to book such a luxurious service?” The Slytherin spares him a glance without stopping his hands. He gestures to Garreth to tell him to load the carriage as well.

The Gryffindor blinks, tries to think what it means before asking, but then is shocked by his guess. “YOU’RE STEALING IT!?”

“BORROWING. I’m gonna return it once we’re done. Whoever owns this carriage wouldn’t be getting out of the village soon anyway. They must have come for the parade if they still haven’t returned now.” The Slytherin shrugs, smiling confidently. “Besides, they won’t be able to get out of the village soon. You saw how chaotic it is inside.”

It sounds kind of…reasonable? But something doesn’t feel right. Garreth had stolen things before, yes, but only from Honeydukes and it was something insignificant to the owner. This carriage though. Look at the soft and silky cushions and luxurious carpets inside…Out of all the carriages parked at the same spot, this Slytherin actually walked straight to the most fancy one. (We're so going to be arrested once the owner finds out without a doubt) His original idea is to use the one eye statue secret passage and transport the bags by hand. Might not be very practical thinking about the broken bridges, but they can take the things out one by one anyway (Wingardium Leviosa?). However, the carriage is indeed the most efficient and handy tool to help achieve the same goal.

“Wait wait wait. Give me some time to think. Surely we don’t have to…” Garreth turns away from the carriage and starts massaging his aching glabella. The idea of using such an expensive carriage sounds intriguing, but the possible punishment he’s going to receive from his aunt is also terrifying…

With one leg already stepping on the carriage, Sebastian yells, “There is no better way. Trust me.”

No response. He doesn’t really understand why it takes the ginger head so long to agree with the idea.

Finally, after some anxious pacing, he turns around and sprints towards the carriage with a kind of anxious determination on his face. “Okay, okay. Just make sure we’re going to get things done quickly.”

Sebastian watches him load the carriage at light speed and a strange kind of satisfaction fills his chest. He grins smugly, excited to have coerced the Gryffindor to jump over a hurdle.

Taking the leash in his hands, he leans into the nervous ginger who’s sitting stiffly by his side. “It’s gonna be fine. If anyone asks, just say Sallow forced you on the carriage and you have tried your best to stop him.”

“What? No! I’m not gonna do that.” The young lion frowns in shock. What sort of man does his friend think he is!?

Sebastian just turns back to the front and smiles. This one is helpless, but who is he to say that when his chest got warmer with those silly words?

“Hold tight, Weasley.”

He flaps the leash to send the thestrals dashing in the night sky with the carriage behind them. Being pelted by the December night breeze in the face on a speedy carriage is no fun, but the excitement of flying in the sky with everything they have on their back is worth everything.

When the people on the ground are turned as small as dots of ladybugs and the stars start to glow above their heads, Garreth takes in the fantastic night view in his eyes, appalling at what a wonderful idea it is, but why does he feel something is missing?

“My potions!” He exclaimed, suddenly sitting straight again from the relaxed position. “We forgot to go to J. Pippin’s!”

“Next year, Garreth. You got no more galleons left anyway.” His companion replies calmly.

“Right…” He sighs and falls back to the back of the seat. But how come… Oh.

Feeling someone’s eyes on him, the Slytherin looks back. One trying hard not to break out a laugh while the other one is grinning with a knowing smile.

“Am I still granted the privilege of entering the Gryffindor common room after tricking you and lowering your moral standard?” The snake asks jokingly, showing no signs of regret.

“Well,” The young lion drawls with a mischievous smile. “Not when there is only one subject left for my mere amount of concoctions.”

-end-

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #garreth weasley #comedy #fluff #friendship #protective garreth weasley #depressive sebastian sallow

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sharonisthebettercarter · 7 months

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Hai.

How do you measure your top and bottoms? I will likely greatly regret asking.

oh HIIII @diamonddung~<3<3<3!

why yes. yes you will<3 i never did get that answer on fiona's nick valentine % <3 tho you may need to amend billy's % lmao<3<3<3

as a bonafide too queer to function lunatic and multishipper who *hates* catty supremacist false dichotomy fandom bullshit because of all the unnecessary problems it causes (you know me, lmao, bit of another psa in here i guess given multiship tags and yes, i am still upset about the thing with the artist)? ya know i'm a little out there and not quite with the 'in' crowd of the chunk of cis het women who take party~ in the shipping world~<3 no shade, but it does tend to change one's perspective. i do feel there's lots of shipping discourse that may miss the mark/certain character elements in favor of...

well, normally just plain ol' over-sexualization from some horny ass people lfmao, (homie's scene with doppelhomie is a good example, the trauma presented on his face was ignored in favor of the selfcest fantasy, but in antony starr's words, homie wasn't interested, he was traumatized :((() but also unfortunately... echhh i gotta say it!

hetero-normalizing gay ships and then treating the kink presentation like a goddamn religion... the amount of times i have those 'are the straights okay???' moments are just...

LMAO, all in good fun of course<3 let's not kink shame.

it's fine to have different kinks and discourse, disagreements over how you view characters or what you like, even be enthusiastic with your own views and shout them out to the heavens~! it's *NOT* fine to try and police, dehumanize, or discourage others from enjoying what they like just because it's *different* from you and they exist in a *shared* space.

friendly important reminder to *ship and let ship*, *art and let art* however that may be. even if i don't like the way a ship is presented or voice how *i* personally feel about it, i would *never* try to or even have the gall to tell someone *no, you can't do that, my way or the highway*

It does NOT *exclude* you to *include* others. It costs nothing to be *nice* or simply DNI. This is NOT a dichotomy. Fandoms do NOT need additional toxicity and bullying over something so *trivial* as fictional bullshit. EVER.

"i don't like bullies... i don't care where they're from." ;)

anywho~<3 i love top/bottom exploration because i have a very bad BAD~<3 dominance kink, but switching definitely gets the most downplaying/ignoring with a heavy focus on... mmm, i suppose often, more superficial elements half the time and i'll admit some of mine def are~ lmao nose size. and i don't say that to dissuade any writers, young or old. i say it to *encourage* moar deep diving<3<3<3 and even questioning the way you might think/listening to new perspectives~<3!

we all start somewhere and have times of exploration/learning~<3 learning moar and challenging yourself? that's a *good* thing<3<3<3 but sadly, not always valued (it should be!) :(

but apart from canon dynamices/character depth/personality to the best of my ability/understanding? the long answer is ANAL GAPE~<3

among other things, i'm sure that makes no sense whatsoever<3 because some other factors do get thrown in. intelligence because i'm a morosexual and LOVE big dumb tops<3<3<3, practicality super anuses are a death trap to not be played with however super phalli~, and weirdly... nose size. i'm not kidding!

yeah i know some idiot out there told me nose size is apparently related to phallus size and testosterone levels OH WAIT-- but oddly enough...? i think there may be some kinda instinct there LOL, because it seemed to registered in my brain the same way i registered my top/bottoms for the most part, even *before* learning that...

and i *swear*... i'll come back to this shit cause it's hilarious, but even in fanart, you'll see many artists subconsciously/purposefully give the guy they want to 'top' a bigger nose... even if he has a smaller one. ;)))))))))))))))))

BUTT ANAL GAPE! WHAT IS IT!?

not the nasty version ya nasties~<3

it basically boils down to... how big of an ASSHOLE is this asshole... just wide do those booty cheeks spread with the level a disrespect-- how *badly* does he *need* a good railing and prostate MMPH~<3<3<3! or even spanking~<3 how much of a control freak is he? how stubborn~? how far do those bitchy manipulative little devil vibes go~<3<3<3 what does he *want*? really want. figurative dick energy? is he compensating for something? is he in need of, holdin' out for a hero~<3<3<3? how so? how far from the goal of expressing positive masculinity are we and why? just how toxic we talkin~? i'm slippin' under<3

what is the outward presentation being given vs. the one he gives privately/with those he loves? there's a pretty big difference sometimes and it can say a lot. naturally gentle doms like kal-el or steve rogers i see get mislabeled for that old thing, 'mistaking kindness for weakness', so to speak. but as a general rule, they say that in the bedroom~ people actually tend to give the opposite of what they present in their day to day lives/'those with the most control of their lives are secretly the most submissive' or something along those lines, and it makes sense that things would manifest that way when you think about it. (ironically learned about this *after* learning my kinks)

a good example would be billy butcher, who gives the outward presentation of being rough and ragged and 'in control' wannabe logan, but is extremely soft, caring and submissive with those he loves<3 contrast with homelander who has had ZERO control over his own life from day one and *really* likes it rough when he gets the chance and--

boi lemme tell ya hwat--

it's a number of things, lmao, and the calculations in my head are automatic and will not make sense in numbers. so.

i don't think i need to explain much on anal gape when it comes to scott summers, lex luthor, bruce wayne, tony stark, and especially... *especially* billy butcher.

but lets not forget the added morosexual aspect~ which *can* even override anal gape! so let's go over what every one a my tagged ship bottoms might be saying to their big dumb idiot animal tops being DUMB<3<3<3

scott: *glares violently*

lex: *glares in pure bitch trying to hide the horny*

bucky: steve... what the fuck.

tony: *hard eye rolling and harder cuddling*

bruce: . . .

charles: ERIK!?

billy: *as he takes off his clothes* why... are you a brainless cunt?

pay no mind to homie's indignant huffing with a side of horny in response (somebody find me that goddamn meme lmao<3), and brucie might still be processing clark's stupidity lol<3

it's funny tho, cause i have competency kink too~<3 and i love me a good boi team up/learnin' as we go~<3<3<3

practicality? pretty self explanatory... way back when... dc gave us detail on the urinals of the justice league and pretty much confirmed man of steel, woman of kleenex (my favorite<3). i could not make this shit up-- (thanks btw dd for sending me this shit now i HAVE to share it)

so. given that we know superman's piss stream is strong enough to *dent* reinforced titanium steel when *weakened*--.

do i really have to say much about his sphincter? it makes diamonds, it makes fucking diamonds, do not stick anything up there unless you wanna lose it forever.

from a practical sense, i never like making it *easy* for clark~<3 to bone someone lmao, it's just too fun<3<3<3 (blue k is always an option of course) but also... he can vibrate it (along with his fingers and tongue), he has infinite stamina. and he has no refractory period... ;)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

homelander is much the same, maybe with an added *lack* of control and def a bit moar scary leik, might deliberately murder you scary but STILL--

you could not fucking *PAY* me to miss a goddamn chance for superweiner--

not sure i wanna think about what martian manhunter has... but i'd still let him do whatever to me, honestly<3 he'd be the BEST gentle dom i *swear*. like he'd literally check in and politely ask on you instead of reading your mind and check for any discomfort and be SO SWEET and tender and caring, making sure you're okay the whole time and just genuinely give you an experience you're never gonna forget leik<3<3<3 J'ONN~<3! HHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH~<3<3<3

oops... ignore that--

and as for nose size~<3?

well~<3 OBVIOUSLY i want my bottoms to be getting the best they can<3 i SPOIL the shit out of them! of course we NEED the guy with the bigger dong nose to top, they should be havin' a grand ol' time~!

but back to that artist thing and genuinely, genuinely amazing. it's almost like a guarantee and i don't even know if people are aware of doing it, but it is always so hilarious and adorable to me. *especially* with billy butcher, the star of the anal gape show<3<3<3

"they just can't get my nose right!"

and of course no shade/disrespect to the actor (his nose is so goddamn cute<3<3<3 and i love it<3) or any other actors, or artists, but even *becca* (her nose is also cute and i love it~<3) had a bigger nose than him. seriously. homie's nose is fiiiiine~<3 but also actually bigger and longer. and it's just... ALMOST *guaranteed*. anyone who sees billy as a 'top' while drawing him *automatically* gives him the bigger/longer nose... and it just blows my mind how amazingly consistent that seems to be LOL (apparently like the study done on noses and weiners!)

what does that say about us, i wonder...?? (no seriously, i really wonder<3) adamant denial~<3 maybe? ;))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

billy boo does have the biggest eyes tho~<3<3<3

and apparently, did look it up... but it works inversely with bmi?? which... 100000% explains willem dafoe<3<3<3

it ALSO pretty much... confirms show homelander as their very own willem dafoe/norman osborn... and i never thought i'd have it THIS down bad for osborn but i can't with the things that does to me-- I'VE BEEN CONVERTED!! like the boi *already* is confimed *HUGE* canonically. *by BILLY* in the comic!

but by the gods--

down to the lovely eyes, scary smile, and psychosis. so it is that history repeats... hello mad daddy~<3

god i need to watch dafoe's spooderman again<3

I guess billy boo is now confirmed to be actually *compensating* for SOOOOOO much--

welp. i guess this explains why billy called himself an 'alpha male' unironically which i will never let him live down~<3 he already has the biggest gape i have EVER seen on a character. EVER. like. this boi. has enough gape to fit a goddamn planet up his ass. let's be generous and say that show boi billy is just at moon level. but it is still just. HUGE. which i guess makes homie just the perfect match for him given the willem dafoe vibes--

and honestly... it's beautiful<3

and the best part about billy is just how *self aware* he is of this. he postures to high hell and plays the part his dad would want him to, but he knows it's a goddamn problem, *addiction*, *hates* it, and spends his life looking for *solutions* and *self punishment*...

that's homie baby~<3

billy considered becca his *cure* (if the clear cut submissive role he took with her wasn't enough<3<3<3 SO CUTE<3<3<3) but *homelander* is the *replacement*. his *last resort*. cut my life into pieces--NOOOOO--

goddammit billy boo, i *really* do feel for you, i do... but lemme translate what billy butcher is *actually* saying in both the show and comic in going after homelander. cause lemme tell ya it ain't just revenge...

*destroy me, eviscerate me. because i am afraid of what i will do if you can't stop me. and because you took away the one who could save me, you owe me this and i will take it if need be.*

because there's *one* thing that billy fears, and he's had the ability to say it, even feel it... beaten out of him. but he almost always fully goes into battle *not* intending to come out of it. he *wants* to die and he hates himself a whole lot... and he knows. it's the thing his father gave him, the sickness he passed on that billy never wanted but can't control. but this would also be why he gives no fucks about 'collateral'.

even if by force or violence, billy wants to fail, he wants to be held down, he *wants* to lose, he wants to get knocked back down until he can't get back up anymore. he sure as hell isn't gonna make it easy for anyone, that's not in his nature, but he knows what happens if he can keep going.

billy knows he's a monster, but he is preconditioned to never control it. he sees the kindred monster in homelander, preconditioned to be *under control* but slipping through and vying to get loose... but homelander, despite everything *still* has control... billy wants to see it break, he *needs* it.

ugh~<3<3<3 yes, i know i am redundant with this shit<3 but it's just SO poetic<3<3<3 i CANNOT--

even season 3 evidenced their dynamic and dug in perfectly. scorched urf? the candle's fuckin' lit. herogasm? 3 on 1. ONLY A BRUISE--. billy, bloody smile~ comes back for more? billy gets his ass kicked by the dad on his own and only *maeve* gets anything done to homelander... who doesn't want to kill her, so he holds back even if she won't.

"i respect what you are even if you don't--."

got. damn...

but homie? he's the last lifeline, and he's tied to *both* sides of billy. and a people pleaser<3<3<3! who's also too dumb to get what's going on with billy, not that he'd care if he did... who's at the same time caught and curious by billy's obsession and the mirror between them<3

homie wants and knows how to please people... not just because he's been trained for it or a clear cut service top with dark~<3 elements<3<3<3 or because he wants the feeling he gets from their approval/admiration. very typical of a narcissist lmao, but also because of the added vulnerability that he is easily manipulated/exploited by the women in his life, not realizing he's a victim or being groomed/manipulated.

even the uh... *moment* he had with stillwell, she exploits his trauma and desire for a mother so directly that he just totally loses it and profusely appologizes. he's aware of how to *please* someone if ya get me~<3 ;))))))) (by the apology given at all) but he's *not* aware that she is abusing/exploiting his trauma in this way *because he lacks empathy for himself/has never genuinely had it given without some sort of exploitive exchange*, sort of opposite of billy in this sense too. poor dumb baby~<3!

what's really extra hilarious and ironic is that stormfront is pretty much what a lady billy would be but nowhere near as good as manipulating as him

but all homelander has ever known is the *examples* set before him by vought. and it's... quite obviously not a good one... :(((((((((((((((((( but he's *not* aware. billy is much the same, but he *is* aware. hence the deep buried cravings to be *free* vs. fucking approval ratings in homie, and *controlled* vs. lack of self control in billy... goddammit the fucking POETRY<3<3<3

so? it's just more of the same old same old. and homie loves, LOVES not having to hold back once he gets a taste for it... with *stormfront* no less... but *also* from billy in a different sense and now... beyond. still ADORE how he went flaccid on the nazi rhetoric lmao even this boi has his limits<3--

"let's light this candle--"

it's already fucking lit--

... you know full well how excited i get, lmao<3 and ya DID ask<3<3<3 XD

everyone else (to homelander): don't be what they made you... please for the love of fucking gawd, PLEASE--

billy: be what they fucking made you motherfucker, i wanna fuck FIGHT and see everything destroyed. i'll wait.

stormfront: be what we fucking made you, i wanna fuck and see everything not us destroyed. i won't wait.

but the short answer? i go by % of willem dafoe energy, the *CORRECT* answer is WILLEM DAFOE<3<3<3 (not to be confused with norman osborn... unless willem dafoe<3) DUH~!

WOOO-- goddamn... and i ain't even done yet. i spend WAY too much time obsessing over these fuckers, i SWEAR.

and ALSO the ladies~<3 are tops. all of them. ALL OF THEM. NO EXCEPTIONS-- lmao, KIDDING... maybe<3 (i might do another one going over mah lady~<3 ships<3<3<3 cause this got long... and i did get carried away with butchy and homie... of course i did. but you know how i love them<3<3<3)

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skittlesfics · 2 years

Text

name: secrets (part one) (part two) pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader, slight Billy Hargrove x Reader, slight Steve Harrington x Reader if you squint wordcount: 4192 prompt: After breaking up with Eddie, reader goes to Billy's after party to get her mind off of things content/warnings: hurt/comfort, truth or dare, messy teen drama, smoking, alcohol author’s note: this got longer than expected, but here we go! smut next chapter. - It was rare for you to be entirely conscious that you were making the wrong decision long before you had actually committed to it. This time was different.

This was a dumb fucking idea.

You knew it as you pulled your clothes off, tossing them in the hamper. You knew it as you grabbed a cute underwear set that you had picked out just for Eddie, but hadn't had time to wear for him. You knew it as you slid on fishnets, a leather miniskirt, and a metallica shirt. You knew it as you fixed the makeup you had ruined crying over the fact that Eddie couldn't butch up and tell the guys he was dating their vocalist.

You did it anyway.

The alternative was impossible to face. You refused to spend any longer crying over the fact that your (ex?) boyfriend was apparently too ashamed to tell the world about you. Fuck it. You were going to get wasted and you were going to have fun. Maybe spending time with a different crowd could be good for you.

The street in front of Hargrove's house had mostly cleared by the time you got back. Eddie's van in particular was nowhere to be seen. You heaved a sigh of relief that you hadn't realized you were holding in. The entire band had technically been invited to the afterparty, and you were worried he might have accepted just to spite you.

You circled the block and parked down the street, giving yourself some time to clear your head before diving right back into the party atmosphere. The air was still cool with the last vestiges of winter still clinging on into spring, and it helped you feel like you knew how to breathe again.

You knocked on the front door and waited, shifting awkwardly on your feet. Technically you could still leave. You could turn around, go home, and call Eddie to clear everything up. It wasn't too late. It wasn- Right as you made up your mind to go home, the door swung upon to reveal Billy Hargrove. He was wearing sunglasses inside for some reason, and his shirt was entirely unbuttoned, revealing tanned abs. He grinned as he recognized you, his eyes raking appreciatively across your body.

"I thought you might not make it." He said, taking a step back so that you could walk through the door. You had to brush past him to get in, and you felt his fingers graze the outside of your thigh as you did so.

"Like the wardrobe change." He added. You almost wished you couldn't sense the slime behind the charm.

You flashed him an uneasy smile. Alarm bells were going off in your head, but it was too late now. You were here.

The afterparty was much smaller than the party earlier, but no less rowdy. You recognized Tommy and Carol, and a reluctant looking Steve Harrington playing beer pong with some guy you didn't know. His girlfriend was notably missing. A few cheerleaders were huddled in a corner with some of the basketball players, looking suspiciously like they might be doing something other than drinking.

You started to drift towards the people you at least knew, but Billy was by your side in an instant, handing you a drink and throwing an arm around your waist. He opened it for you this time, smiling as he flipped the cap in his hand.

"We're going to play a game in the basement in a few, if you're down. Might want to catch up first." He said, leaning close so you could hear him over the blasting boombox, "...Or we could skip that and head upstairs?"

"A game?" You asked, taking a sip from the beer despite your apprehension.

"You'll like it. Promise. Let's grab the others and we can make our way down."

You grew increasingly wary as you descended into the basement and saw a group of people sitting in a circle on the floor. You might have backed out if Billy hadn't literally been behind you on the stairs. You were the last two to make it down, having waited for Billy to hand select the rest of the people he wanted to play this game.

The stairs were too narrow to descend with Billy's arm around you the way he had it upstairs, and you used it as your chance to escape. You joined the circle, choosing the open seat next to Steve rather than the one clearly reserved for Billy. He looked displeased, but said nothing of it, dropping easily into his spot. With the group settled, you finally dared to search the room for familiar faces. Carol, Tammy, Chrissy, Jason-- You froze as your eyes landed on Eddie, sitting next to Jason no less.

"Eddie?" You hissed. He gave you an easy grin, leaning back against the wall as if he hung out here all the time. He stretched slightly to really sell it, the bottom of his shirt sliding up to reveal a stretch of pale skin dusted with dark curls. You wished you had something to throw at him.

"Talent was invited to the afterparty, babe. Here I am."

You decided very quickly that you didn't like whatever it was that Eddie was planning, but there wasn't anything you could do about it. Yet. His eyes never left you as Billy laid out the rules for the game.

"We're in for a little Truth or Dare. House rules: You get caught in a lie or you don't do your dare, you lose some clothes." Billy's eyes flicked over to you, lingering on your skirt for a minute before turning his attention back to the crowd. "Anyone wants to pussy out, now's the time."

No one moved, either invested enough or afraid of the social fallout enough to stay put. It wasn't too late. You could still leave. You could admit defeat to Eddie and storm out of here, maybe still have time for a smoke to calm your nerves. You didn't have a good reputation anyway, it's not like these kids would treat you any worse than they already did. Eddie didn't move, though, and so you stayed.

"Good. Jason, truth or dare?" Billy asked, narrowing his eyes at the other boy. There was something challenging in his posture, dangerous. He had already taken down Steve, was he after Jason as well?

"Dare." Jason answered immediately. He crossed his arms over his chest, returning the Challenging look that Billy had given him before. Billy just smiled now, his eyes surveying the group for the secondary target of the dare.

"I dare you to kiss..." Not Chrissy, certainly. That would be too easy, and straight up voyeurism wasn't his style. No, he'd want to stir some shit. The girl tensed and glanced over at her boyfriend, but his eyes were trained on Billy. Billy's eyes passed over you without stopping and you relaxed slightly. "...Her."

The entire group followed the direction of Billy's finger, terminating on Tammy Thompson.

"Tammy?!" Jason's voice was loud, disbelieving. The girl just smiled coquettishly at him, her mind likely racing with thoughts that they would share a romantic kiss and he would forget all about Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy, for her part, looked amused.

"Go get 'er tiger." Billy instructed, his easy grin sliding back into place. Jason hesitated for a short moment as whoops and cheers of encouragement went around the group. Afraid to look like a coward, Jason tentatively walked on his knees across the circle and stopped in front of Tammy. He started to lean in to give her a chaste peck, but she grabbed both sides of his varsity jacket and pulled him in for a wet-sounding kiss.

The group erupted in cheers. Steve whistled next to you, and you clapped at the spectacle, though your thoughts were firmly with the dark-eyed boy across from you. If this was the tone Billy wanted to set for the night, you didn't want to see what Eddie might have to do.

Jason stumbled dumbly back across the circle and Chrissy patted him on the back as he plopped down next to her, wiping his mouth.

"Alright, freak." He said. All eyes turned to Eddie, but Jason was looking at you. "Freak number two, I mean." Billy's gaze grew sharp, but he didn't step in on your behalf. Why would he?

"Yeah?" You answered disinterestedly.

"Truth... or dare?" He asked, leaning towards you for dramatic effect. You rolled your eyes.

"Do I look like a pussy to you, Carver? Dare." There was a quiet oooh from some of the guys, but you didn't look to see which. You intentionally did not look up at Eddie, taking a swig from your beer to steel your nerves.

"I dare you..." Jason looked around the circle, planning the best secondary target, "to sit on Harrington's lap until your next turn." He sat back, satisfied with himself. You scoffed.

"Fine. Make room, Steve." You stood and Steve looked up at you, his eyes following your fishnets up to the leather miniskirt. He swallowed visibly and you nudged his leg with your combat boot. "I said, make room."

Steve scrambled to uncross his legs, leaning against the wall to accommodate your weight. At least he, amongst the group, had had a girl sit in his lap before. You sat carefully, perching sideways on his thighs to avoid any uncomfortable discoveries between the two of you. It took a second of shifting, but you managed to find something that wasn't completely miserable for both of you.

"Comfy?" He asked as you settled in, drawing an annoyed laugh from you.

"Comfy as a sack of twigs can be." Your eyes met Eddie's. He looked somehow annoyed and relieved at the same time. It could have been so much worse. You both knew that. Still, you shouldn't care what he thought. The two of you were done. Over. Caput. Part of you still wanted to give him his dare so you could take risk out of the equation, but that was a cop out. Instead, you turned your gaze on Tommy H.

"Tommy, truth or dare?" You asked. Steve shifted slightly under you and you turned to flash him a dare, getting an apologetic glance back.

"... Dare, duh." Tommy answered, though you noted his moment of hesitation. He had taken the seat right next to Billy that you had turned down, clearly working on sucking up to the new King of Hawkins High. Part of you felt sorry for Steve that his friends were so mercurial, but his squirming was annoying enough that you were losing your capacity for pity.

"I dare you..." You hesitated a moment, sweeping the group for inspiration. "To show Carol the polaroid you have of Nicole in your wallet." Your grin was feral as you watched both Tommy and Nicole shrink back, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and fear. It was a nasty move, but you and Eddie had been trying to formulate a way to tell Carol what you saw after the last basketball game without her turning on you anyway.

"What polaroid?" Carol asked, her tone proving that she had already suspected something. Tommy swallowed thickly and shook his head. You would feel bad if the three of them, together, hadn't been the ones to spread the rumor that you had let the basketball team run a train on you.

"I don't know what she's talking about, babe. Billy, you can't penalize me for the freak making shit up, right? Make her pick something else." He bartered, voice shrill with nervousness. Billie stared at you for a long moment, searching your face for something. He ignored Tommy's pleading looks. He'd started this game for entertainment, and this certainly promised to be entertaining.

"I don't know, Tommy, maybe she's onto something. You could always just show us your wallet to prove your innocence." He said with a casual shrug.

Tommy shakily reached for his wallet, pulling it out of his back pocket as his mind raced for a solution. Billy didn't give him a chance, swiping it from his hands before Tommy could act.

"Hey!" Tommy protested, but it was too late. Billy flipped open the wallet and let loose a low whistle.

"Tommy, you filthy dog." He said with an amused grin, "Nice set, though." He glanced up at Nicole, and the girl shrunk even further away from Carol, who she had been sitting next to. Tommy scrambled to grab the picture, but Billy tossed the wallet back at him and flicked the picture into the middle of the circle with two fingers. It landed face up, clearly visible to the entirety of the circle.

"You fucking whore!" Carol erupted, jumping from her spot on the floor. The rest of the group's eyes went to the picture. It was a polaroid of Nicole, naked and laid out on the back seat of Tommy's car, identifiable thanks to his jacket laying on the floor next to her arm. Carol snatched up the picture and stalked up the stairs, a pleading Tommy trailing shortly on her heels.

"Please, Care, you gotta listen to me, it wasn't like that. We didn't mean anything by it. We were just..." He trailed off as they transitioned into the upstairs and the door slammed behind them, leaving the basement in silence. The murmurs started shortly after.

"Well done." Billy complimented. You didn't know doing the right thing could feel so slimy, but here you were, stirring up drama with more popular kids for fun. Somehow it was the praise from Billy that felt the worst. If it was from Eddie, maybe...

You hazarded a look at the boy, but he was flexing his fingers, watching thoughtfully as his rings flashed in the dim basement lights. You envied his ability to be entirely unbothered when it felt like every little thing was too much for you.

Steve shifted underneath you again and you all but growled when you felt something pressing against your leg.

"Are you fucking serious, Harrington?" You whispered urgently as the rest of the group gossipped about what had just transpired.

"I'm sorry! You're a girl. On my lap. And there were boobies, I don't know what you want!" He replied, throwing his hands up helplessly.

"I want you to sit still." You hissed back.

"Since Tommy fucked our order, I'll start again." Billy announced, relaxing back into his seat. "Chrissy, truth or dare?"

You noticed the way Jason tensed beside her, already possessive without knowing the dare. With all that had happened so far, you almost didn't blame him.

"Dare." Chrissy responded, her easy smile never leaving her lips. Jason hissed something in her ear, crushing her to the side of his body, but she only shrugged him off.

"How about we even things up?" Billy asked, smiling. "I dare you to kiss Munson."

No. Your blood ran cold in an instant. Anyone but Chrissy. You could handle Tina, Tammy, Robin, Carol, Nicole, anyone but her. Your brain reminded you that Eddie was not your boyfriend, but as his eyes snapped to you for a reaction, your body didn't seem to care.

"That's too fucking far, Hargrove. That's my girl you're talking about." Jason protested, once again pulling Chrissy to his side with one possessive arm. You hated finding yourself agreeing with Jason of all people, but even he could be right every now and then. Broken clock and all that...

When you and Eddie were alone, you talked about everything, and that included his former crush on perfect cheerleader Chrissy. Finding that out while still disagreeing on whether or not to bring your relationship public had been no small source of angst for you, and now that you were technically broken up?

Chrissy pushed Jason away gently before Billy could speak the words he was clearly thinking.

"It's just a game, Jason, calm down." She whispered. She moved around Jason, coming to sit directly in front of Eddie. She flashed him a smile that made your heart drop into your stomach. You couldn't even fault her. He tore his eyes away from you, trying to return an encouraging smile.

"It's fine, you really don't have t-" She cut him off, leaning in for a sweet kiss that left the remnants of her gloss smudged across his lips. Tears pooled unwillingly in your eyes and you blinked them back hard. You were going to vomit.

Suddenly, you couldn't find any oxygen in the basement. The air was too hot, too thick, and you needed out.

You tried to tell yourself that he wasn't even your boyfriend, that it didn't matter, but that didn't change the fact that Eddie, your Eddie, was sitting dumbstruck after kissing another girl. Someone had given you another beer at some point and you chugged it now, trying to chase away the ringing in your ears.

"Shit, please stop moving." Steve whimpered beneath you and you stilled, not realizing that you had started tapping your foot. You apologized with a glance and pushed yourself off his lap.

"I'm gonna grab a smoke, it's getting stuffy down here." You lied, already moving towards the stairs. If Billy had anything to say about your exit, you didn't wait to hear it. Your body was on auto-pilot, legs propelling you up the stairs as quickly as you could go.

When you emerged into the living room, Tommy and Carol were engaged in a whisper argument on the couch, though their interlocked fingers told you that they might be patching things up. You didn't dwell on it, throwing yourself to the nearest exit. You were sure you were a sight, running for the front door, but you didn't care.

You ripped the front door open and ran into the cool night air, barely stopping to slam the door behind you.

Out of the stuffy house, you weren't sure what to do. Your thoughts were racing. Now that Eddie had finally kissed his crush, would he even need you? Maybe he had come to the party with the intention of getting you back, but if he could have her instead, wouldn't that be so much better?

You picked a direction and set off down the street, pulling a cigarette from your pocket so that you could focus.

"Need a light?" A familiar voice called and you caught your bottom lip between your teeth. You weren't ready to talk to him, not yet.

When you turned, Eddie was giving you his normal soft smile. He'd wiped the gloss from his lips, and if it weren't for the image replaying over and over in your head, you would have never guessed he'd kissed Chrissy, but he had. You let him light your cigarette before starting to walk again, taking a long drag.

Eddie followed, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

Outside of the Hargrove house, it was a cool and peaceful night. A slight breeze rustled the trees and cooled your burning skin. It did nothing to soothe the burning jealousy in your chest, nor the ache at Eddie's proximity.

"I think that might be the most civil we've been in public in a long time." Eddie joked, the silence growing too long for him. You hated how easy it was for him.

"Yeah?" You took another puff of your cigarette.

"Yeah."

The two of you lapsed into silence again and you caught the outline of Eddie's van in the distance. That would explain why you hadn't seen it. Your car was in the opposite direction, but you weren't ready to walk back towards the house again and risk running into Billy. The game had been a distraction, but you didn't forget how slimy he had been before.

"Please talk to me." Eddie's voice broke and took something fragile in your chest along with it. The hurt in his voice was too much, after everything.

"Why don't you talk to Chrissy?" You snapped. You didn't mean it even as you said it, but it came out anyway. Eddie stopped walking entirely, turning on his heel to face you.

"What?" You weren't sure if he was genuinely confused or playing dumb, but the words were tumbling out of your mouth.

"You've always had a crush on her, Eds. Didn't seem ashamed to kiss her in public."

His face was a painting of hurt, confusion, realization, and finally understanding as he processed what you had said.

"No." He said, stepping towards you, "Oh sweet girl, no."

He opened his arms for you and you went to him without resistance, dropping your cigarette onto the pavement. The tears that had been threatening to spill since you left the basement fell now, staining his Hellfire shirt with runny mascara.

"Is that what all this was today?" He asked, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, "You thought I was ashamed of you?" He said the word like it was choking him, spitting it out through painfully gritted teeth. As if he couldn't believe you would think that. As if the accusation hurt.

Well, it had hurt you plenty.

"What am I supposed to think, Eddie? Six months we dated and you wouldn't even tell our closest friends. Wouldn't let me hold your hand between classes, wouldn't let me wear a Hellfire shirt, even." You were crying openly now, the tears hot and sticky on your face. You wiped them away angrily, but they just kept coming, the months of pent up frustration coming out all at once.

"We've been dating." Eddie corrected. You furrowed your brow, confused. "You said it past tense. We dated. We've been dating. Right? That's the English lesson you were going over with me last time."

Your heart squeezed hard and you buried your face in his chest again, weeping painfully.

"I can't go back to that Eddie. If I'm not good enough for you in public, I'm just not good enough for you."

"Hey, hey, hey, stop that. Who told you you weren't good enough? That's not true." He reassured you. It wasn't enough.

"Didn't have to tell me. You- I- You made me feel that way." A fresh bout of sobs wracked your body and Eddie just held you, squeezing you tight to his chest.

"I'm so fucking sorry, sweet girl. I'm sorry." He murmured into your hair. "I should've talked to you. You never deserved to feel that way, I never meant to make you feel that way. I thought I was protecting you."

"Protecting me?" You asked, pulling back to look up at him through watery eyes. He took your chin between his finger and thumb and used the sleeve of his shirt to gently wipe the tears from your face.

"That's better." He sighed, "At first I was just scared the guys would treat you different. You've always been one of us, I didn't want them to treat you like just... Eddie's girl, you know? You're more than that. Then at school I thought how much harder the cheerleaders would be on you if they knew you were dating the freak. Sure you got shit for being friends, but if they knew you were mine? It just all spiraled. I wanted to keep you safe, secret, something just for me. I was selfish, not embarrassed."

You stared up into his deep brown eyes, looking for any sign of dishonesty. He stared back at you, his eyes wide and pleading. They said everything he wasn't saying out loud. I can't lose you. Take me back.

"I wanted to be treated like Eddie's girl." You said, finally, "That's all I want."

You dropped your gaze to Eddie's chest, where your mascara had thoroughly stained the white of his shirt.

"Want?" Eddie asked, hopeful. "Present tense?"

You nodded and he pulled you into a bruising kiss, his lips smashing against yours with no grace or finesse. You didn't care, it was Eddie, so it was perfect. You tried to pull away, but he wrapped his arms around you and peppered kissing across your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your chin.

"I won't fuck this up this time." He promised, "Especially if fucking up means I have to see Harrington all over you." He ended his statement in a possessive growl and you laughed, finally. The sound was so relieving that all Eddie could do was watch, admiring the curve of your lips, the brightness of your watery eyes, the fact that you were his and only his and suddenly he was hit with the need to remind you what that meant.

"It was a dare, Eddie." You protested, lips curving into a cute pout that had Eddie attacking you with kisses again. "You can't say anything."

"I can say that you're mine." He smiled at that and you would've let him get away with anything to see him light up like that again. You couldn't help but smile with him, letting him lead you to his van. "But maybe you need reminding..."

You certainly weren't going to complain about a refresher.

#Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson Reader Insert #Eddie Munson Imagine #Stranger Things Reader Insert #Stranger Things Imagine #Hurt Comfort #4000 - 4500 #secrets #multipart

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misaverawrites · 2 years

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hey hey!! first wanted to say your writing is amazing and you are so skilled! i come with a cyberpunk/silverhand idea -- after the game ends (specifically The Sun ending) obvi Johnny and V part ways, and V inherits the Afterlife. my idea is that she keeps herself very low profile but also remains friends with Kerry and goes to dives to perform with him when at one gig REAL Johnny shows up after looking everywhere and it's a whole reunion with mutual pining and maybe a little reunion spice?🥵💦

When We Meet Again (Johnny Silverhand x Reader)

summary: You and Johnny find each other again, even after you were separated.

tags: SMUT, reunion, mentions of death, bar bathroom sex, there is actually a plot to this lol, kissing, hugging, bent over a bathroom sink, sexual jokes, Johnny has a body, Reader is called V, use of the word cunt, oral (f. receiving), choking kind of, Johnny makes you watch him fuck you

a/n: bro you just requested this and it sent my ideas going wild bro also thank you so much 😭😭😭 this is literally 2.4k words of my love for Johnny so I hope you all enjoy it!!!

Becoming a Legend sure is a kick in the ass.

It was all you had ever wished for and now you sit in a seedy bar that, thankfully, isn’t The Afterlife. Kerry by your side, the both of you praying that no one would notice you in this shithole. Any semblance of alone time is a blessing for the both of you.

How did Rogue do this? You didn’t even think you’d survive the gig from Mr. Blue Eyes, but, fortune favored the bold apparently. After losing Johnny, somehow surviving surgery, and now being the main proprietor of The Afterlife, you had it all. The only thing strumming through your mind is how much you missed Johnny, spending five months with him changed your life in so many ways and all you could do now is think about him. He drove you crazy and you missed him like hell. Sometimes, you’d get together with Kerry in these shitty little bars and play some SAMURAI songs with Denny and Nancy, for old time’s sake. You sometimes wish he’d just pop in, just once. Of course, that’d also make you think you were going crazy again.

You hear the door open and look up to see Nancy, who alerts the bartender, “So, you guys excited to play again?” Kerry rolls his eyes and pushes his hair back, aloof as always. Must come with superstar territory, you joke to yourself and look to Nancy, giving her a warm smile and nod, “Yeah! Denny gonna be here soon?” Nancy nods as she goes to set up on the stage, “Should be here in a few, she sent me a call on the holo!” She calls over to you as you finish your drink and hop off of the barstool to go help Nancy set up for the show.

“You know,” She says quietly to you, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I haven’t seen Kerry so happy in a long time. He really enjoys doing these.” You scoff a little, “He doesn’t seem…” She shakes her head a bit and gives you a smile as she tunes your guitar, “It’s the fame. I do it too, Night City is cruel, likes to take away things you care about, you’ll figure that out now that you’re in charge of The Afterlife.” If only she knew… You thought to yourself: If only she knew how Night City had already taken away too many people from me: Johnny, Jackie, Rogue… You sigh to yourself as she places a supportive hand on your shoulder, just for a second before taking it away, Denny walks in, sending you a polite smile and a wave which you quickly return to her. Kerry downs his drink quickly before making his way over to you all on the stage, applying his eyeliner as he walks.

“How the hell do you do that?” You ask quizzically and he laughs a bit, “Years of practice, kiddo. You’ll get it one of these days.” He makes his way onto the stage as you all finish setting up, a small crowd has formed, it’s usually pretty low-key at these events but word gets out sometimes. “Hey, guys! Good to see you here tonight!” You call out as the lights dim, and the crowd cheers with support. People had gotten used to you performing as Johnny, and you’d quickly found your way around SAMURAI’s guitar notes and vocals, the DeLuze Orphean still feels preem in your hands, the way the strings burn slightly into your fingers as you begin to play and the crowd’s excitement grows quickly. You had developed a small group of fans as the new “vocalist” of SAMURAI, which was officially, still not a band but more a relic of the first quarter of the 21st-century.

C-Can you feel it?

Can you touch it?

Get ready ‘cause here we go!

The lyrics burn at your throat like a fire that cannot be easily quenched, you watch the crowd, their cheering combining with the noise of the music into a cacophony of passion.

Not backing down!

Never backing down!

Not backing down!

Yeah!

Your smile is wide as you and Kerry turn back to back, singing together and playing guitars side by side, you’re so caught up in the vibrant atmosphere until you see a familiar figure walk in, the red hue of sunglasses catching your eye. You pause, just for a second, to stare.

Johnny fucking Silverhand. It was him, somehow, in your life again. Somehow alive again. Really alive, with a body and everything. You might have cried on stage if you weren’t so dedicated to doing this and letting him see you do this.

Suits run when I come undone!

Can't kill me, I'm zero and one!

Add justice to the people's math!

Blaze your way down the rebel path!

Your eyes are glued to Johnny and he’s grinning, with a wide, child-like smile at you. You’ve never seen him that happy. You really hoped this was him, not some sick fuck trying to make money off of a lie. Your mind raced through any number of reasons why this couldn’t be Johnny, you couldn’t let yourself be vulnerable yet, not after the past seven months of running for your life from a seemingly inevitable, premature death.

C-Can you feel it?!

Can you touch it?!

Get ready cause here we go!

C-Can you feel it?!

Can you touch it?!

Get ready cause here we go!

The song comes to a close quickly, “Thanks for coming guys! We’re gonna take a quick ten-minute break and come back on!” While there’s a collective bit of confusion from the crowd, there is no argument. You liked this crowd more than the mercs at The Afterlife, you’d decided. Less whiny.

You run off the stage, looking at Johnny with your own eyes. “This isn’t real.” You whisper as he shakes his head, “It is, do you finally wanna see my cock?” He asks, chuckling to himself as you gasp, glaring at him. “Okay, I’m gonna ask you something only the real Johnny would know.” He takes off his sunglasses and rolls his eyes, but nods to let you proceed, “Okay before we left for Mikoshi, what did I tell you that I wish I had gotten to do with you.” He chuckles throatily, “Are you sure you want me to answer this around other people, because what I remember you saying is,” He raises his voice about an octave, to mock you a bit, “Oh, Johnny! I just wish I could feel your hot, impressive cock in my cunt, really bending me over this bed, or I really wish that I could ride your cock on a stage.” Your face flushes and tears threaten to fall from your eyes, this is Johnny Silverhand, your former brain parasite. You wrap your arms around his body, and it feels exactly as you thought it would. His hands rub at the small of your back, comforting you as you sob into his chest.

“H-How are you here?” You asked, looking up at him with wide eyes, “I’m not sure,” He says quietly, “I just woke up and I’m in my body. My living former body.” You shake your head in disbelief, if this was a dream, it was fucked up on your part. You pinch yourself hard and gasp at the pain, not a dream in the slightest. You grab onto Johnny’s tank top and bring his lips to yours, he’s alive and you’re not going to waste a minute more.

“Where are you going, V?” Kerry asks you as you drag Johnny into the bathroom, a smirk growing on his lips, “I’m taking twenty, Ker! Play a song where you sing alone!” Kerry looks quizzical at your rushing, you’re normally never like this but he accepts this answer as you shut the bathroom door and lock it.

“I’ve dreamed about this for so long.” You murmur, as Johnny chuckles, “Not as long as I have. I haven’t fucked in fifty years, you’re gonna feel this for a week.” Until now, his hot breath against your neck is something you hadn’t wished for. Your lips on Johnny’s an action that feels right, pulling away for air from this man that you have longed for? It only serves to feel wrong, you’d willingly die with Johnny’s lips on yours. Your hands thread through his hair as he lets out a quiet groan of approval, “I’m going to fuck the hell out of you.” You let out a whine as he chuckles, trapping your body between him and the bathroom sink, his hands trail the length of your body, working you out of your clothes, quickly, and expertly. You’ve technically, never slept together but he knows everything that makes you tick, everything that turns you on. He unbuckles his belt with a pronounced click, and his pants hit the dirty floor of the bar bathroom, he spins you around, “So fuckin’ wet, I’ve barely even touched you. You miss me while I was gone?”

You feel hot at his words and as you feel his fingers dip in between your thighs, lapping up the nectar, which now covers his fingers. He brings his fingers to your lips, “Come on babe, open your mouth so you can taste yourself.” Your lips part, almost on command as you feel his hard cock, growing and pulsing against the small of your back. As you suck on his fingers, his lips come to your neck, kissing it at first, tender, something you’d never believed Johnny would do. His small, tender neck kisses lead to bites, not hard enough to hurt you, but hard enough to make you weak in the knees and grow your arousal. Kerry’s going to have a field day teasing you about this. “Spread your legs for me, come on, V.” You part your legs, and expect his cock to slip in without much fanfare, silly considering this is Johnny. Johnny’s lips quickly come off of your neck and travel down your body, before ending up at your arousal. His lips tease at your clit, surrounding the bundle of nerves, your legs are weak as you hold onto the sink for any kind of leverage, “Fuck you taste so damn good,” You hear his growl as his tongue slips inside of you.

As Johnny tonguefucks your cunt skillfully, you cannot help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world. His hands grip against the flesh of your thighs, and it isn’t until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, flushed skin, the peak of Johnny’s head, practically drowning in your most sensitive parts, it almost brings you to the brink of an orgasm right then and there. “J-Johnny! ‘M gonna-- gonna cum, Johnny!” His name sounds incredible when it falls from your lips, “Not yet, baby.” He croons, sliding his tongue out of you. You whine with a hint of frustration, causing him a small laugh. “I want to feel the way your cunt tightens around my cock when you cum, so you’re just gonna have to wait a little bit longer. His cock throbs against your skin and you feel Johnny bring the head of it to the heat that burns between your legs, the feeling of wetness slicking your thighs as well as Johnny’s face. The head of his cock presses against your pussy, slicking it as he pushes it inside of you with a deep groan.

It’s been fifty years for him, this all on its own is perfect. “So damn tight around me, fuckin’ perfect.” He whispers into your ear as he thrusts his cock inside of you. His hand comes to your neck, not wrapping too tightly, just enough to cause a gasp in surprise as he forces your head to face the mirror, “You’re gonna watch while I,” He hits the most sensitive spot inside of you, causing you to gasp and almost making you lose control, “Fuck you senseless.” You nod, eyes trained on the mirror as Johnny’s hand moves from your throat to your breasts, he squeezes at the flesh, pinching your nipple in between his two fingers. You gasp at the sensation, the soft grip his hands have on you, it’s all too much. “Johnny, I’m-!” Johnny groans again as he nods, “Come on baby, cum all over my cock, all for me.” And with that, you come undone. The only sensation is that of Johnny filling you to the brim with his seed and your cunt, willingly throbbing around his cock. He pulls himself out of you, helping you redress into your clothes. The music outside tells you that Kerry is enjoying some solo time for himself to show off a little, you laugh as you clasp your bra behind you. “I missed you, Johnny… fuck, I can’t believe it’s really you.” He smiles at you, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your cheek. He kisses your lips, softer this time. Despite the fact that this isn’t a dream and this isn’t a joke, you don’t know if you can trust your mind enough to actually believe this.

“I’ve gotta go and finish the concert but… will you stay? Come with me to The Afterlife later?” You ask, almost scared that he’ll leave you again. He smiles a smile that you love more now that it’s really him. “Of course, I’ll stay. I wanna see how cool you look performing my songs.” Definitely is Johnny, you think to yourself, laughing softly. Before you go to unlock the bathroom door, he stops you with one more kiss, “Hey,” He speaks softly, it’s intimate, “I just want you to know, I’m never leaving you again.” You smile and kiss him once more before unlocking the door. Thankful for the confirmation that for the rest of your days, it’ll be you and Johnny.

#johnny silverhand x reader #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand x you #cyberpunk2077 #fanfiction #fanfics #x reader fanfiction #x reader fanfic #johnny silverhand x v

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heyitssmiller · 1 year

Text

As Good a Start as Any

Wrote another part of Rendezvous with Destiny if y’all wanna check it out!! Characters of course belong to @lumosinlove and thank you to Eve and Lauren for being my beta readers!!!

ao3 link

Finn was fine.

Really.

It felt like it had been decades ago, but Finn had once written a letter, his shaking hand transcribing thoughts into trembling lines of ink, promising to take Leo dancing when (if) he made it to New York. Tonight he was keeping that promise. And now, against all odds, Logan was there with them, too - a wonderful, thrilling breath of fresh air. Getting to really know him outside of dire circumstances and too brief interactions, while new and exciting, was also gentle and familiar - like he was someone they’d always known, always had a place for without ever recognizing it. It was smelling an old but well-loved recipe in the oven, it was picking up a book he’d read years and years ago and diving right back into the story. It was homecoming.

Logan was walking between Leo and Finn, eyes bright as Leo told the story of Finn teaching him how to dance and, naturally, over-embellishing the fuck out of it.

“Then he swoops in, my knight in shining armor-”

Finn sighed and bit back a smile. “Leo-”

“And he sweeps me off my feet - not literally, I weigh too much, but - you know,” he waved his hand dramatically, “Metaphorically.”

Logan smiled and, man, Finn didn't think he was being overdramatic when he said he’d do anything to see that smile.

“Leo here’s a klutz. I couldn’t have swept him off his feet even if I tried,” Finn teased, reaching over to playfully shove him. Leo shot him a highly-offended glare.

“For the record, I was tripping all over myself because this very handsome, sweet, funny soldier had his hands all over me and I had no clue what to do with myself,” Leo said with a shrug, completely candid and causing Finn to smile over at him warmly.

“Aww, you sap.”

Leo hummed in agreement. “One look at those big, brown eyes and I was done for.” He looked to Logan, then, and his smile widened. “And then you come along…”

“With your accent,” Finn butted in. Logan ducked his head, a little bashfully.

“And your smile,” Leo continued.

“And your big… heart.”

Leo laughed gleefully and ducked down to kiss Logan on the cheek. “I didn’t know you could blush like that.”

Finn bit back a smug smile. “Oh, I did,” he said, and relished the look on Leo’s face. Priceless. “I think you were at the grocer’s. I would say sorry, but I’m really not.”

He could all but see the gears in Leo’s head start to turn.

Logan watched him, too, clearly not opposed to his train of thought. “Take me dancing first, then you can make me turn red later.”

“Promise?” Leo asked, laughing when Logan shoved his face away and kept walking. He gave Finn a look, one that said I really love him.

Finn gave him one back that said, me too.

They ducked into the club, immediately getting blasted by the seventeen-piece band on stage. It was crowded, people crammed together at the edges of the dance floor and plenty more dancing away in a blur of limbs and flying hair. The bar off to the left was just as busy, with glasses sliding across the wet, sticky countertop and patrons vying for the bartenders’ attention. It was havoc, and Finn wasn’t quite sure if he liked it or not.

“Come on!” Leo shouted to be heard, grabbing Logan by the hand and dragging him off to the dancefloor. Finn lingered, wanting to get used to their environment before getting out there, but he watched as Leo swung Logan into a surprisingly good Lindy Hop. Apparently he’d been telling the truth about Finn making him flustered all those years ago in the barracks.

Finn was smug about it, sue him.

The band picked up the pace, and the dancers followed suit. It was loud. It was crowded. It was chaos. Finn could hear the shouts of couples spinning each other out on the dance floor, the rhythmic boom of the bass drum, mortars shrieking overhead, the canvas of their glider ripping while the metal hull groaned, the smiles around him morphing into grimaces and screams, reaching for Leo, always reaching for Leo, but he was never close enough, watching Logan climb into the back of a truck and disappear -

A hand grabbed his. “Finn. Hey-”

Leo. He grabbed that hand like a lifeline, like he hadn’t been able to in the back of that glider, and held on for dear life.

“Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe, breathe-”

Finn sucked in a stuttering, noisy breath and his fingers clumsily moved up to the pulsepoint in Leo’s wrist, letting muscle memory take over. The thrum of his heartbeat was nothing compared to the boom of the bass drum, though, so he pressed down harder, wanting- needing it to be stronger, louder.

“Outside,” another voice said - Logan. Finn twisted his head to look for him, then stayed locked onto green, green eyes as he was led to the back alley. It didn’t smell great, it was still stuffy and confining, but as the door to the club closed the sounds from inside got muffled and Finn could focus on what he wanted to focus on: a strong, steady pulse, soothing jade eyes, three sets of lungs breathing in and out, in and out. He didn’t really want to be touched, and they knew that, but he didn’t want to be alone either. So they stayed just close enough and let Finn dictate what he needed. He followed their breathing and repeated their mantra in his head, three times, once for each of them:

We’re ok. We’re ok. We’re ok.

“Sorry,” Finn croaked out when he was able to, pulling Logan close and then sandwiching him between Leo and himself. “We didn’t even get to finish the first song.”

Leo let out a quiet hum of dissent and pushed a stray piece of hair back out of Finn’s face, gentle and kind - so, so unlike the men they’d had to become. Finn soaked it in, let the stark sweetness in that simple motion ground him more than anything. “None of that, now. We can take it slow, we’ve got time.”

“It was a bit loud,” Logan agreed, voice muffled by the slightly starched fabric of Finn’s button down. “I like the quiet much better.”

Finn didn’t like the quiet, either - that was the thing. Too quiet set him on edge, too loud sent him into a panic. Leo actually loved the noise, the reminder that he wasn’t alone and forgotten in some abandoned, snowy foxhole.

They all needed such different things, and Finn knew that was normal, but sometimes he worried that the gaps between them would be too far to bridge. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let them go, either.

Maybe that was just the way love worked - stubborn, fierce unwillingness to let your loved ones go, no matter the circumstances. To keep holding on, come hell or high water. They’d all been through worse, after all. They could get through this.

Logan pushed away just enough to see Finn’s face. His eyes gleamed in the scant light of the alley. “You wanna show me what you’ve got? Someone told me you can jive with the best of them.”

Finn laughed brightly and took Logan’s hand. “I’m a bit rusty.”

Logan just smiled that smile of his. “I don’t care.”

And so they danced, all three of them, in a frankly terrible cluster of tangled feet and stray elbows and “how do we spin each other like this?” . The trashcan farther back in the alleyway reeked, and there wasn't enough room to really dance, but they didn’t care.

It was one of those moments where Finn knew he’d remember and cherish this memory for the rest of his life (why did they seem to happen so frequently in alleys, though?). He burned every last detail he could into his memory - the song that was playing (Only Forever), the way the flickering lightbulb in the alley danced along with them, the grimace that turned into a laugh when Logan stepped on Leo’s foot, the way his heart crescendoed with love for the two in his arms.

Months, years, decades down the road, those were the things he’d remember - not what came before, just a muted melody and quickly-amassing bruises and smiles in streetlights.

Finn had been knitting up a storm the past few days. Wherever he went, his yarn and needles went with him - the desk of his bookstore, the living room couch, their bed, one memorable instance of the dinner table (that had quickly been vetoed by Leo). Logan knew he could knit, but he hadn’t busted out the yarn and needles for months and all of a sudden he was an unstoppable knitting machine. Hats, mittens, scarves, socks, one miserable attempt at a sweater (there had been many tears shed and several utterances of “make it make sense” before Finn called it quits). It wasn't all that cold out, and it was still a little early to start making holiday presents, Logan thought as he scratched Hershey behind his shoulder blades and watched Finn’s scrunched up concentration face - crinkled brow, chewed-on lower lip, glasses slipping down his nose. It was endearingly cute.

“What are you making?” he finally asked after the most recent string of curses and a slipped stitch.

Finn looked up, his glare easing. “It’s going to be a sock… I think.” He must’ve recognized the question in Logan’s eyes, because he continued, “They’re for Leo. It gets cold here in the winter and…” He gave a little sigh and shrugged. He didn’t have to say any more; Logan understood. He scooted a little closer to Finn on the couch until their thighs brushed. Hershey jumped down onto the floor, peeved at being jostled, and stalked away.

“Has he ever talked to you about it?” Logan asked quietly, although he was pretty sure of the answer.

Finn shook his head. “Nah. All I know is that it was cold and it was bad. Other than that, he hasn’t said a word about it. Not to me, at least. Not sure I'd be able to help, anyways.”

Logan heard the unspoken.

He covered Finn’s hands with his own and waited until he finally looked up. “You help.” He laced his words with every ounce of conviction in him, and watched them sink in. Finn’s shoulders relaxed, his eyes softened, the lines between his brows eased. Logan wondered just how long he’d been carrying that extra weight. He’d spent so much time here, alone, feeling helpless and scared and discarded, like a damaged tool that no longer had a use.

Logan ached for that man, and the one who sat beside him.

He leaned over to kiss Finn’s cheek. “You help,” he repeated, then kissed his temple. “You matter.” One final, sound kiss was pressed to Finn’s lips. “You are loved.”

When he pulled away slightly, Finn’s eyes were water-rimmed, his cheeks tear-stained. He didn't say anything, he didn’t have to - those big brown eyes did all the talking for him. He leaned forward to press his forehead to Logan’s and stayed there for a while, even though his glasses were pinching uncomfortably. “Love you,” he murmured quietly, hands smoothing up and down Logan’s thighs in a slow, loving manner. Logan kissed him again until he couldn’t breathe and all his senses were overpowered until just Finn remained. When they finally broke apart they didn’t get far, content to just linger for a while, to soak each other in, to see and be seen. Sunlight streaked through copper hair, turning it to gold and all but forcing Logan to play with the strands, twisting them this way and that to watch them shimmer. Finn simply let him, his loving eyes never drifting from Logan’s face. Logan loved it when Finn looked at him like that - like he was everything.

“Now,” Logan finally said, sitting back and tucking his feet under Finn’s thigh. “Teach me.”

Finn blinked. “Huh?”

“Teach me to knit. I want to make Leo a scarf.”

Finn smiled, sweet like honey, and fished another set of knitting needles and some yarn out of his bag.

And later that evening, when Leo came home a little pale and vacant-eyed, Finn and Logan were there to pile on the warmth and chase away the ghosts.

Logan woke up to the roar of thunder like tank treads against Parisian streets, the flashes of lightning like antiaircraft, the wind howling like bombs racing for their targets - all of it too loud, too real, too similar to before. He flinched and hid his face in Leo’s neck, trembling a bit. He hated this. He hated how his fears and his memories clashed into one big, waking nightmare - one he couldn’t escape from.

Leo shifted slightly underneath him, a deep inhale making his chest rise, lifting Logan with him. “Hey, lover,” his honey voice murmured on the gentle breath of an exhale. Logan squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to burn that moment into his memory - maybe the bright warmth could outshine the dark shadows or terror and helplessness, like the sun shining bright and blinding to chase away the storm clouds. It wasn’t that simple - it would never be that simple. But Logan could hope. He could dream.

And in that moment, it was enough.

Thunder rolled again; that was all it took for Leo to understand. Two strong arms snaked around Logan’s waist, cold hands quickly warming up against his skin. “I’m here, I’ve got you,” were the only words Leo uttered, gentle but firm as his lips brushed against the shell of Logan’s ear. No empty words or impossible promises, just the unalterable fact that Leo was there, Leo had him.

Finn climbed out of bed and stretched his arms over his head. Logan hadn't even realized he was awake. He turned back towards the bed to lean down and give Logan a quick kiss to the temple before he started what he liked to call “The Rainy Day Strategy”. The radio was turned on, the curtains closed as tightly as possible, and then Finn left the bedroom to go and make tea for the three of them - two chamomile and one peppermint. He left the bedroom door open, just like always; Logan was never sure whose peace of mind it was for - hell, it was probably for all three of them.

Leo stayed steady beneath him, fingers tracing an invisible pattern onto his back and humming along to the song on the radio. Resting his chin on Leo’s chest, Logan looked up at him - messy bedroom curls, sleepy blue eyes, an imprint of his pillowcase on one cheek. He’d wanted this all the way back in that tiny hotel room in Paris, wishing for so much more than one night and a lonely morning. Now he was here, in that same boy’s arms, having gotten everything he’d wished for and then some.

The thought calmed him a bit. Storms always passed, after all.

Leo caught him staring, the song getting stuck in his throat. “Hey,” he spoke softly, one side of his mouth quirking up into a smile (the side opposite the scars, where there wasn’t any scar tissue to impede movement). Logan gave a weak smile and a “hi” back before pressing a quick kiss over another scar on Leo’s shoulder, noting that the glinting silver of it seemed to fade more and more with each passing day.

Storms always passed, after all.

Finn bustled back into the bedroom, smiling softly at them as they both sat up and got comfortable. His climb back into bed was a bit slower - stiffer and more calculated to accommodate his bad hip - but he finally settled back against the pillows and grabbed the tray of mugs from where he’d placed it on the bedside table as the discomfort vanished from his face.

Storms always passed, after all.

Their mugs of tea were passed out, blankets tucked up as far as they could go, and their burgeoning conversation began to drown out the weather that was quietly raging on outside. Sometimes it was overwhelming, how daunting and uncertain the future was, and how much they still needed to overcome in terms of their past. Years stacked upon years of horror and fear and trauma wouldn’t just go away. It would take work, and patience, and determination to make things better.

The beginnings were always the hardest part.

But at that moment, Finn was at ease. Leo was warm. Logan was calm.

And that was as good a start as any.

#rendezvous with destiny #rendezvous with destiny verse #o'knutzy #my writing #lumosinlove #as good a start as any

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