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pomegranateandblood · 3 months

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The Jacket (part 1/2)

Summary: Alive!reader gets assigned a new locker, finds Wally‘s letterman jacket and decides to keep it

Includes: Wally Clark x reader, smut

A/N: I just love Wally & Rhonda‘s friendship

"This is not what I meant when I asked for a new locker." You said, scrunching your nose in disgust.

„Yeah, it's like they haven't cleaned it in decades" Your friend dusted her hands off.

A comical cloud of dust came out of the locker, when you finally managed to open the jammed metal door. Coughing, you stepped back.

Meanwhile, unbeknown to you, two students were watching. Dead Students to be exact.

„Hey, isn't that your locker, hot stuff?" Rhonda pointed her lollipop towards the situation.

The footballer turned and nearly tripped, running over to you.

„Stop panicking, it's not like you could do anything about it anyway." The brunette rolled her eyes and started following him.

„They promised my my mum they wouldn't give my locker away and now I see some-„ Wally tried to find the right words, holding onto Rhondas arm.

She raised a brow at him „Hot cheerleaders taking over your locker ?"

„I'm serious! All the stuff I have on me is in there, what if they throw it away?" He said, watching you hold up his letterman jacket.

„You're right, they really havent cleaned this in ages." You looked at your friend.

She reached inside, pulling out a blue and white jacket. You took it from her and held it up. „It's cute don't you think? Kinda vintage."

„Oh my god. look." She pointed at the stitching at the right top. ‚Wally' it read in white italic letters. You looked at her. „You think it belonged to the stadium guy?"

„Possible? I mean there's other stuff in there. Maybe he wants it back." Your friend crossed her arms. „We could go to the library at lunch and look into the yearbooks to find out."

The bell rang, interrupting your little locker investigation.

„Sounds like a plan." You said, before walking to class.

—

Wally anticipated lunch break and already waited in the yearbook section, when Rhonda suddenly appeared next to him.

„What are you doing here? Aren't you busy catching gossip in the teachers lounge ?" he asked, cocking a brow at her in question.

She smirked. „I love gossip, but seeing your big star student slash jock ego getting crushed by two human girls is even more entertaining to me"

Wally mocked her smirk and rolled his eyes. He was about to reply when he heard you and your friend entering the aisle.

„1981, 1982- ah here Yearbook of 1983. The trophy cabinet has a table with all, the state champion teams and his name was listed in that year."

Rhonda leaned her head on Wally‘s shoulder, or at least as far as she could with their height difference. „Oh superstar, even state champion? Aww, if I wasn't dead I'd feel sorry."

„Fuck you, Rhonda." Wally scoffed, trying to concentrate on you skipping through the yearbook pages.

„Sorry I'm not into footballers, sweetheart." She sucked on her lollipop again, leaning against the shelf.

Wally took a deep breath. He was a nice guy, really and he liked Rhonda, but sometimes her attitude just got to him.

„Maybe, footballer dick is just what you need to get over your brooding and depressed mood."

Rhonda laughed. „ Ew." She pushed his shoulder.

„Turn to the exceptional students pages." Your friend said and flipped through the book.

There it was, a full double page.

In loving memory of Wally Clark stood under his picture. Fluffy black hair, chocolate brown eyes and charming smile, wearing the exact same jacket you found in your locker today.

„He's dead?" It sounded more like a questioin than a statement coming out of your mouth.

„Sad, he's sexy." You friend stated.

Rhonda nearly choked on her lollipop and Wally swallowed, before a smirk crept upon his lips.

„She did not just say that?" The shorter ghost crossed her arms.

„He is." You agreed before nudging your friend.

„You think he was a fuckboy ?" She laughed and you joined in. Taking the book from you she read the different things written about him.

„Look, this cheerleader wrote ‚He loved eating jelly filled donuts' Oh I'm sure he did" She wiggled her eyebrows.

„Well if I was born back then, I wouldn't mind him tasting my jelly filled donut." you said giggling.

After chattinf some more, the two of you put the book back and left, still giggling about the handsome footballer.

Wally's face burnt bright red and he felt like his cheeks were on fire. He knew that girls had found him cute back when he was alive, but he never heard girls talk about him like that.

„Congratulations stud, now you're a teenage girls' wet dream in two centuries." Rhonda joked and patted his shoulder.

„What do you mean ?" Wally asked nervously.

Of course he had sex before and he did like it rough, but he was in a relationship before he died and even now he only had one partner to relief his teenage hormones. Wally never wanted to use someone for their body, but this ‚trapped in the school as a ghost’ situation didn't really allow any relationships.

„What I mean is, that girls are or were obsessed with you. When you came to this school I couldn't go anywhere without the female students talk about ‚tall and sexy' you are and how hot you look during football practice." She made a disgusted face and Wally looked at her in shock.

„Oh and don't we forgot about your girlfriend back then. She was very descriptive to her friends about your dick and how exactly you used it to bring her to the edge."

Wally now leaned against the shelves, trying not to freak out.

„But that was long ago, most of the ghosts here died after me." He said, trying to make himself feel better.

„I don't know why you're freaking out so much? I should be freaking out. Of disgust." She tried to calm him.

„You're right. I just thought- I can't believe I was so naiive." he said, looking down.

„Hey Wally, you're a nice guy." she said, making him smile. „Still entitled tho."

He laughed and rolled his eyes.

—

A few days later you were able togive Wally's mother the stuff you found in his locker. She seemed like a nice woman and you felt a little emotional at how grateful she was.

Especially because you decided to keep the letterman jacket. You gave it to the dry cleaners and basically lived in it ever since picking it up. It was slightly oversized on you but extremly comfortable.

But there was also something different since you wore it. You felt... watched. Just like today, when you got dressed after swimming club.

After leaving the shower, you put a towel over the bench to sit down. You took little longer than usual and had the changing room to yourself.

Suddenly, it's like something tickled over your back, down to your hips. A pleasant sensation. You shivered, reaching for the jacket to cover yourself.

You called out for someone. But you really were alone. Your friend had joked earlier that Wally Clarks ghost would come for you, because you didn't give back his jacket. Luckily you didn't believe in ghosts and when you sat down on the bench, yet another thought invaded your mind.

You leaned back and opened your legs slightly. Wouldn't be the first time someone touched themselves in the locker rooms. The boys did it all the time after practice.

Your fingers travelled from your navel down to your already wet heat. Exploring your folds, before finding your clit, you closed your eyes. Wally Clark appeared behind your lids. He kneeled between your legs, strong hands holding your hips.

He kissed the creamy skin of your thighs upwards, the dreamiest of chocolate brown bedroom eyes looking up at you. He licked his plump lips before speaking against your folds, the vibration making you hiss out.

„Quite the unusual offer. Letting me eat you out so I'd forgive you for stealing." his tongue lapped up the wetness of your folds and one of his hands found your breasts, kneading them softly before pinching the nipple. One after one.

„Wally, please." You moaned and circled your clit faster. The feeling of being watched heightened your pleasure from the fantasy.

He sucked on your clit and his other hand also left your hip. Two of his fingers pushed inside you, pumping. „Mmmh" he moaned against your sensitive spot. You shivered and moaned his name again and again.

Goosebumps spread over your skin and you were sure his fingers would feel even better than your own. Shifting slightly on the bench, you were sure the towel underneath you was already soaked. The tight coil in your lower abdomen let you know you were close.

„If you weren't already late I'd edge you. Looking so pretty spread out for me on the bench." His fingers curled up and he switched between sucking and licking at your centre.

You came, biting down on your lower lip, so you wouldn't be heard in the nearby hallway. Opening your eyes, you adjusted to reality again and pulled his jacket together in front of your chest. You felt sick, pleasuring yourself to a dead boy. You decided to sit for a bit before redressing and drying your hair.

Wally still kneeled in between your legs. His lips glistened with your juices and he laughed „So much better than a jelly donut"

Licking his fingers clean, he tried to calm his nerves. His hard cock strained against the grey sweatpants, so he sat up and adjusted himself. He really tried holding back, knowing what he did was technically a grey zone of consent, but seeing you spread out on the bench, naked and wearing his jacket, he just couldn't not help you out. Also, you did say you wouldn't mind a few days ago.

He just wished you could see him. It made him dream on his own, about you two. Maybe on the bleachers or in the teachers lounge. Wally really liked the couch in the teachers lounge.

He watched you get dressed and waited for you to leave so he could take care of himself.

—

The thoughts of Wally haunted you throughout the next few weeks. Maybe his ghost did haunt you. So you decided to help the homecoming committee decorate the school with posters and decoration up until the late night to take your mind off it.

You fell asleep in the Gym. Waking up in the middle of the night on the hard floor you sighed. You were about to collect your stuff and leave when you heard a moan. Looking up, your jaw nearly dropped to the Floor.

Wally sat upon a gym mat, the ghost of a cheerleader who died in the 90s after dropping from a pyramid sat in his lap.

There was an obvious tent in his grey sweatpants. Her cheer skirt was tucked into the seam revealing her bare pussy with two of Wally's fingers knuckle deep inside. There was a wet spot on his crotch and the squishy noise of his fingers pumping at a fast pace hollowed in the gym.

Her moans were swallowed by his lips, hungrily devouring her mouth.

You squeezed your thighs together at the sight. Envious of the girl. Wally pushed a third finger inside, keeping the rough pace. The blonde girl reached down to rub her clit, but Wally slapped her hand away.

He pulled away from her, biting her bottom lip.

„You only get to do that when my cock has been inside of you."

Your head fell back against the wall. God, you must be really going crazy. Hallucinating or dreaming, but you couldn't tear your eyes away.

The blonde pouted. „M'sorry Wally."

He helped her climb off his lap before he stood up on the mat. She was already getting on all fours with spread knees. Meanwhile Wally pulled his sweatpants down, revealing his impressive girth. Getting on one knee behind her, he pumped himself with his head thrown back, before guiding himself inside her.

He started with slow thrusts, obviously not doing this for the first time. The blonde under him closed her eyes, mouth agape in pleasure.

Wally picked up the speed while kneading her asscheeks. Your eyes widened when he spread them, letting a string of his spit drip onto her other hole. He massaged it with his thumb and the blonde responded with screaming his name „Please, Wally. Please Please Please." she writhted under his touch as he pressed down with his thumb.

Your -or more his jacket felt too hot all of a sudden and you felt your hardened nipples against the fabric of your bra. Pressing your thighs together you tried to get some relief.

The blonde bit her lip to silence her pleas buz Wally slapped her cheek „No. No. No. Baby. I wanna hear you. Let them hear you." His hand went back to her ass.

„You can pleasure yourself now." he instructed and her fingers immediately found her clit, circling roughly.

After her first orgasm, he pulled out. His dick dripping with her juices, the head angry and red. Wally helped her turn on her back, legs draped over his shoulders, guiding just the tip inside.

She whimpered. „Please come on my tits, Wally. I want to taste you."

You bit your lip at her voice, full of need and desire.

He smirked and started jerking above her chest. Her hand joined him as he put his abover hers, guiding her how he liked it.

He groaned her name as he came. Thick spurts of his glassy cum decorating her rosy nipples, up to her chin, which she greedily licked up.

She started licking him clean. „Thank you, Wally. Mmmh." He pushed her head down further, and looked up.

You stared at him wide eyed as you made eye contact with him. At first his gaze looked dazed from pleasure, but then he thought you could see him.

But that wouldn't be possible would it? Humans can't see ghosts.

Wally tucked himself away and helped his companion fix herself, but when he turned around you were gone.

He was definitely going to seek you out tomorrow.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed, let me know in the comments & leave me some love 💕

#milo manheim #wally clark #milo manheim fanfiction #school spirits #wally clark smut #wally clark x reader #wally clark fanfiction

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polarisbear · 7 days

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didn’t forget to post this, just wanted to give room to teto posting (longer image description under read more)

a drawing of bdoubleo100, impulsesv, joehills, zedaph, and mumbo jumbo. they’re all in their season 10 skins or modified versions.

bdubs is posing with a cheeky smile and a peace sign, the other hand behind his head. he’s in a ripped white shirt, jeans with trip pants detailing, and black shoes. the rips in the shirt and the unzipped knee in the pants shows red cybernetic details on bdubs’ skin. he has red pupils. he also has unnecessary belts on his pants and his red bandana around his head goes down to his hips. above him there’s a doodle of bdubs in a green letterman jacket with fuzzy sleeves labeled “‘Moss’ jacket.”

impulse is standing with his hands in his pocket. he’s in his season 10 cyberpunk skin. he has little horns, pointed ears, and a spade tail. the horns and tail are tipped in the same purple as the cybernetics all over impulse. he has yellow pupils.

the juppet is excitedly waving a hand. she’s wearing a lime green tank top with a white “@“ symbol, a black-and-gray checkered skirt, fishnets, and some blue-lined boots. behind him is joe hills puppeting the juppet, face down on the ground. they’re wearing a lime green shirt and dark gray pants.

zedaph is leaning over joe hills’ unconscious body with glee. he’s a golden sheep furry with an undocked tail and curling horns. he nails are gray like his hooves. he’s wearing a brown cardigan and a chicken-shaped bag with a mini villager charm hanging off it.

mumbo is pushing his index fingers together nervously. he’s a catfish hybrid and his suit has been ripped at the legs. he has whiskers coming from his head and his mustache, his limbs are tipped in brown or gray, and he has extra fins in place of his ears and near his ankles. next to him is a side profile doodle of his tail labeled “tail.”

#hermitcraft #bdoubleo100 #bdubs #impulsesv #joehills #zedaph #mumbo jumbo #art archive #image id in alt text #YEESH alright this is my last set i have literally no desire to draw anymore of these guys #i have a strong desire to draw more unfortunately realistic furries

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mntalbrakdown · 7 months

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thinkin' bout you - H. Callahan

masterlist!

mentons of: smut, MDNI, makeouts, cussing, closeted, cheating, thigh riding, oral (r! receiving) exhibitionism, slight nudes sending idk,,,?

synopsis: you were dating a football player, but also sneaking around with Hazel

wc: 3.7k

gif by @taiturner

friday night lights, a total shit show. the girls on the cheer team didn't know how to follow the choreography of the cheers and they just do whatever they want. almost like everyone else. you on the other hand just gave up and stand there smacking your pom poms together and muttering the chants.

"are you excited about today" Isabel asks you with Josie's arm wrapped around her

"yeah" you say with a weak smile.

your boyfriend, Brody or whatever his name is, you really didnt care about him, was sitting right next to you. he was in football in whatever position, you never kept up with him. you just dated him because Brittany and Isabel wanted you to.

"hey babe want to go to get food before then game" your boyfriend asks twirling a strand of your hair in between his fingers

"i would love to, but um I have plans" you say looking directly at Hazel. she was playing around with the schools pasta, scared of the bad food. she had on her brown sweater with green pants and her red doc martens paired with her silver chain that always made you go feral

in all honesty, you have been secretly hooking up with Hazel, for the past few months. you hated it because you truly did like Hazel. yet you felt that you had to hide that side of yourself. but you decided by the end of this week you would break up with Brody.

—-

when the bell rang signifying lunch was over you got up from the table that contained all your friends or as your boyfriend called them the loser lesbians. you waved at them goodbye and stared long on Hazel. Brody wrapped his arm around your shoulder that was wearing his letterman jacket, with your oversized black pants and a white simple baby tee. as you walked down the halls you met eyes with Hazel, you smiled at her while she rolled her eyes

it was all in slow motion. she looked mad, but she never told you anything or showed any annoyance all week. you were confused, what did you do? you just saw her be happy. now you were worried. who was she walking with? it was a pretty girl who was giggling and all over Hazel, why were you so... so annoyed? you knew you had no place in doing so

"i think im going to walk to class alone" you say looking up to your boyfriend

"what why" he says stopping in the middle of his tracks

"feeling sick, dont want to get you sick when the game is in four hours you say walking away while you put your headphones on. you needed to escape this place and start letting yourself relax

you walked past everyone down the halls, you usually are so chipper and say hi to your mutuals but today you felt like putting on a hoodie and hiding. people could tell something was up, this wasn't like you. even when you get into an argument with Brody you could practically jump off the walls. this time you felt a stream of tears go down your face. you got yourself together from your five-second slump because crying in front of people is so…yuck!

so you walked into Mr. G's class head held high and when you reached your desk next to Hazel you slumped down like usual.

"so how is Brody" Hazel asks nonchalantly to you as everyone waited for the bell to ring

"he's good, were good" you say looking directly at Hazel trying to see if she was playing a game with you

"cool because I might start seeing this girl, she's available and likes me" Hazel could basically hear the breaks and cracks of your teeth by how tense you were

"I'm happy for you haze, hope she treats you right," you say as calmly as possible

"so...you're ok with it" she asks, but lets be honest she cannot take hints nor sarcasm

"yeah" you say nodding and taking out your notebook from your backpack

---

after class ended and you kept passing looks at Hazel with the ends of your mouth turned downwards.you couldn't actually believe it, but you couldn't hold a grudge. you got up quickly packing all your stuff and getting ready to leave school since that was your last class. you had plans on hanging out with Hazel, but those plans quickly crumbled to the ground

you practically ran out of there not wanting to be held up. Josie and Pj snickering about how you've been acting weirder after lunch. you could hear fast footsteps come closer to you until they finally reached you.

"wait up" they pull your arm to meet your face

"hey!" you exclaim, you just wanted to make it to your car

"what's wrong" Hazel says guiding your face to her, her eyebrows knitting togetehr when she sees you look upset

"nothing it's stupid" Hazel quickly shook her head, how could she be so tender when you're such a brat

"is it about me and her” Hazel asks seeing how your demeanor changed in a heartbeat just thinking about the other girl

“no” you say but she knew you were lying by the way you looked down

“was i just supposed to wait for you to break up with your stupid boyfriend” Hazel slightly raises her voice

“no, but i told you i was going to break up with him by the end of the week” you say pressing your lips together in anger

“than do it, i’ve been all over you for the past few months, and it certainly didnt look like you were, i mean the jacket?” Hazel clenches her jaw trying her best not to get her anger to overflow

“can we please leave” you whisper, you could feel people stare and overhear you in the crowded halls

which Hazel obliges and grabs your hand to lead you to her parked car. she had a Tesla, I mean she was rich what did you expect. she claimed her mom passed it down to her when her mom got a Mercedes as if it’s something everyone does.

she opened the door for you to get in the passenger seat. when you were fully seats and deep breathing to calm yourself down you hear Hazel open the driver door and sit down

“i’m sorry, it’s not fair” you say looking at how Hazels pupils dilated to how soft you became

“it’s ok, i just, want you” Hazel says smiling showing her pearly whites

“ok alpha male” you joke causing the tension to rise and disappear

you caught eyes with Hazel when you finally stopped laughing. and whatever energy you once had converted to lust. you stopped moving and slowly leaned into Hazel to kiss. the kiss was deep and passionate. Hazel slowly pulled your hair to get you to moan so she could slip her tongue. the fight for dominance was strong. so much so that when you pulled away to catch your breath a string of saliva stretched from both of your mouths.

“god i missed this” Hazel said cupping your cheek with her left hand, to be frank it was only a week since your last hookup but time it time and you yearned for her

“i missed you” you say going to quickly kiss hazel as she went over the center console to your seat

she made your seat go all the way back and reclined it so you were laying down as she was in between your legs. she was so eager to take your pants off when you try to push her away

“woah, we’re still at school we can’t do this” you say seeing all the kids walk to their car

“relax my windows are tinted, like illegally, you can’t see in” she says as she shimmied your pants off seeing how you easily relaxed

“Haze” you say as she threw your pants to the back seat

“yeah pretty” she asks looking at you with lustful eyes

“yeah? going to make you scream so loud that your voice goes raspy for a few days” Hazel says quickly kissing the top of your forehead as she goes to kneel back down to your core

“nothing, just missed this” you say as she quickly came up to kiss you

she does back down to your thong covered core that was already soaked. “this for me” she says making you lightly slap her face in embarrassment “it’s hot” she praises

she continued to play and tease you. she slightly moved your panties to the side to just take a quick peak. she than quickly slid the thin cloth down your legs and tucked it in her pants

“Haze you can’t keep those” you say reaching down to try to snatch them back

“i’ll give them back when you break up with him” she says with a bitterful mouth

she than goes to lick a strip of your core. making you arch your back from the seat. than she went in a swing time, sucking for longer and playing with your clit with her tongue.

“Fuck Haze just like that” you squirm in your seat

she continued her attack. kissing and sucking your cunt with her mouth. she was practically making out with it. from time to time she would look up from between your legs and see your scrunched up face and hands pulling her hair.

“god you look beautiful like this” she says moving from your core to the inner thigh and lightly biting it

“haze, god you’re so good” you praise her because of how good she’s making you feel

her calloused hands always feel so nice on you. you love the contrast between your soft skin and her rough. partly because you knew she had ragged skin because of the fight club that made you two meet.

Hazel runs her large hands along your thighs as she pulls away from you to kiss the inside of your thighs leaving love marks to mark you as hers.

“You always look so pretty.” She gives you a lopsided smile, giving you a boost of confidence so you could reach your climax

Hazel's big blue eyes glimmer and sparkle in the dim light, showcasing adoration and lust. She always wonders how you’re so fucking perfect. How she found the most beautiful person to walk this planet. She honestly questions how she even managed to pull you, let alone keep you. aside from having to share with Brody. She takes her bottom lip into her teeth, her eyes wondering over your body.

You both share intense eye contact, Hazel staring at you intently as she feels the need to press a kiss to your soft, full lips. You widely smile at her before leaning in, as she does the same. However, you slightly turn your head to the right forcing her to kiss your cheek instead, which makes you giggle at your childish antics.

You pull back only to see a frustrated Hazel, seeing her eyes darken. She shakes her head as she speaks, “you think you’re so fuckin’ funny, huh?” She questions, first Brody, now this?

You nod your head several times, finding it all amusing before bringing your hand up to her face to push a loose strand of dark brunette hair behind her ear.

She pulls you closer to her, her lips barely brushing against yours before she starts dragging them over your cheek, moving towards your ear.

She presses a soft kiss onto your jaw, slowly lining more closer to your chin before she moves to the other side of your face, taking her sweet time with you.

Hazel then removes her hand, cupping your jaw, moving her lips down to your neck. As she presses butterfly kisses onto your skin. She manages to suck on you harder in certain areas causing delicate moans to slip past your lips.

Hazel loves marking you up, she enjoys the thought of everyone knowing you’re hers and only hers. She thrives on the idea of everyone knowing her lips are the ones running along your skin, claiming you and taking you as hers to keep. But for a while you didn't allow her because of the relationship. Something about her just made you melt and not even care.

You can feel your cunt getting damper with the arousal that drips from your pussy the more Hazl sucks into your skin. You just barely grind your hips into hers which ends up getting you a groan of approval from her.

“You like denying my kisses?” She questions, placing one last kiss on you before pulling back, desire and lust looming in her eyes.

This time, you shake your head, “no, ‘m sorry.” You mumble, letting a soft cry out as Hazel fingers dig into one of your hips, surely leaving bruises in their wake.

The one hand that she is using to cup your jaw pulls your chin down towards her, her lips hovering over yours. “Sorry, hm?” Her soft puffs brush along your top lip as she looks into your eyes, tension consuming the entirety of the car.

She guides your face with her large hand seconds later, pulling you in so her plump lips meet yours. The kiss starts off softer, both of your mouths moving in sync as they perfectly mold together. Hazel's tongue quickly swipes over your bottom lip, asking permission for entrance as she always does.

You immediately grant her access as you open your mouth more, her pink muscle easily slipping through to meet yours. The kiss begins to pick up as your tongues swirl together in harmony, Hazel completely dominating the kiss.

Your hands find their way around to the back of her head, your fingers threading her thick hair through them as you slightly tug on it.

Hazel slightly moans into the kiss as she bucks her hips up into you. Her simple action bumps into your open swollen pussy, which sends a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You pull back to speak, “please.” You mutter, before pushing your lips back against Hazel.

The kiss has now done a complete 180, it slowly dwindling, falling apart as it becomes more messy and sloppy. You find it hard to keep up with the movement the more you grind yourself on Hazel.

“What do you want?” Hazel questions, mumbling into this kiss. As she does so, her hands find the inside of your thighs

You whine in desperation, but also annoyance because you know she already knows what you want. She litters multiple kisses along your cheek and jaw as she waits for you to speak.

“Be a big girl and use your words.” She demands, using her hands to tug at the hem of your shirt, asking if she’s allowed to take it off.

You immediately nod, not wasting any time as you help her pull the thin material off of yourself.

As soon as the shirt falls to the ground beside your pants your nipples harden at the cool air brushing past you, sending shivers down your spine. Hazel's eyes find your bare chest, her eyes raking your entire body up and down. Fuck, how she loves your body and everything about it. the freckles and moles that are now exposed and the soon-to-be bruises sprinkled on like salt and pepper.

A small smirk is brought to her lips as she leans forward a bit, “fuckin’ perfect.” Her pupils seem to be further dilated, her beautiful blue eyes casted over by lust.

Her needy hands grab at your tits before she takes one of your nipples in between her lips. She sucks on you softly, emitting a moan from your mouth as you throw your head back in pleasure. She grazes her teeth against you, pulling at you a bit, letting you go with a ‘pop’ before moving to the other.

Her fingers circle her salvia around your nipple, rolling it in between her fingers as she licks and sucks at the other, her hand gently massaging the tit her mouth is focusing on. The need that Hazel has to make you feel good takes over her entire brain, it’s all she can think about day in and day out. The idea of seeing you a breathless and moaning mess due to the reasons of her hands leaves her enthused, hungry for more.

This time she bites into you a bit harsher before pulling back, “answer me.” Her eyes peering up at you through her long, thick eyelashes.

“I want you” You whisper, your cheeks warm as you feel empowered under her burning gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nod eagerly, dragging your fingertips over her shoulders, then next her collarbones.

“I want you to use me, ride my thigh, and cum all over me.” She whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth before she leans back.

You bite into your bottom lip, trying to conceal the smile that threatens to take over your face. You begin to move to be on top of Hazel's clothed thigh, gently rocking your hips on top of her thigh, your clit feeling pressure from Hazel's muscled leg.

She pushes herself further into the chair you both are sitting on, man spreading as she props her elbows up on the sides of the car, watching you intently.

Hazel looks at you as if you’re the best thing to roam these lands, like you were an angel brought down to earth, carved and chiseled from the gods above. She worships the fucking ground you walk on like nobody else. She’s obsessed with you, even more so when she has this pretty little sight in front of her. She's practically drooling over you, and you're still focused on that bonehead who wouldn't even make you moan half the time compared to her.

With her low, hooded eyes staring at you, you feel a bit nervous but you also feel confident and content. You always feel comfortable around Hazel, there’s never a time you haven’t. Not even thinking about the possibility of people seeing you at this instance.

You try to suppress your moans as you slowly pick up your pace, bending over a bit to grab onto Hazel's broad shoulders in order to keep your balance.

Hazel brings one of her hands to your thighs before sliding it closer to your ass. She first gropes at your soft skin, then harshly leaves a slap causing you to yelp out. Feeling the cold metal of her silver-adorned hand.

You both let out a moan, “fuck, angel, you’re soaking.” She states, her eyes watching the way your hot, wet cunt runs so smoothly along her thigh.

“Feels s’good.” You vocalize, your hands moving up to your tits as you play with them in front of her, sensually moving your hips back in forth in a way that makes Hazel go feral.

She shakes her head with a smirk, “my pretty girl putting on a little show for me?” She questions, trying her best to keep her hands to herself, although she’s finding it almost impossible as she continues to yearn for the feeling of your skin under hers.

Hazel's eyes continuously fluctuate in between your own, your tits, and your pussy using her to get off. Her own arousal beginning to dampen her boxers. Just watching you could cause Hazel to completely fall apart.

After a while of her letting you do your thing, allowing yourself to build up an orgasm, that fiery feeling burning deep in the pit of your stomach, just on the brink of falling over, you find yourself losing your pace.

“F-Fuck, Hazel. I’m gonna cum.” You whine, desperately chasing after your orgasm as you use Hazel for your own personal high.

“Yeah, baby? Gonna make a mess all over me?” She tilts her head, running her tongue along her cheek as she watches you begin to experience your orgasm, you simply nodding your head in response. "Fuck I bet Brody doesn't make you scream this loud"

Hazel moves one of her hands, pressing a thumb closer to the top of your clit for more stimulation. You let out a loud moan, searching your brain for words to help you process the pleasure radiating through your body.

“You like that?” She questions, already knowing the answer, cockiness swarming her attitude.

You can only let out a string of whines and whimpers, any words only coming out as a stammer. You slowly fall apart in front of her, your body getting weaker the faster she moves her finger against you.

“Listen to yourself whimper.” Hazel grins, “its fucking pathetic.” The blue eyed girl whispers, although she knows you could do anything to her and she’d melt in your hands.

“P-Please.” You meekly whine, continuing to move your hips back and forth on top of her. slowly leaning your exposed chest to your clothed one.

“C’mon, baby, cum for me.” Her soft voice guides you, finally pushing you over as your orgasm crashes into you.

It takes over every one of your senses and washes over you like a tsunami, crashing into you hard. Your vision turns white as your body spasms on top of Hazel, your cum rolling down her thigh as you make a complete mess on her.

“Fuck, sweet girl.” She groans, finally pulling her hand back as she stares at your arousal coating her thigh.

You let out breath, your body relaxing into hers, a layer of sweat sticking to your skin. You look down yourself, feeling a bit embarrassed as the orgasm fades away.

Hazel can sense that as she lifts your chin, forcing you to look at her, a reassuring look lingering in her eyes. She never wants you to be ashamed, she wants you to feel good. Always.

"that was hot" you say tucking your bottom lip between your top lip. Hazel eagerly grabs your phone to take a picture of the two of you fucked out, your bare shoulders exposed, and your messy tangled hair. quickly sending it to Brody

"Whoops my finger slipped," Hazel says earning a punch and a giggle from you

you quickly get a message from PJ and Josie of a picture of Hazel's car from the outside showing the steamy windows, paired with a message woah hazel gets action?

which made Hazel laugh and take a picture of the car from the inside of you and her kissing accompanied with her action ;p which made the phone actually overheat by the mass amount of messages from both parties. at one point you could hear the screams and jumps from outside the car

---

Hazel Callahan x reader (pretty sure if i don't add that it won't pop up on the tag :c)

taglist: @shaddyluvs @why-cant-we-all-get-along

#mntalbrakdown #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan oneshot #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan #hazel callahan smut #hazel callahan x reader smut #hazel callahan x you #bottoms movie 2023 #ruby cruz #bottoms 2023

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tvgals · 9 months

Text

‘ ALL THESE WANNABE CHUN LI’S ‘

synopsis : with spring approaching eren decides to throw a party at his family’s home with a big ass pool in the backyard. and with a party comes blooming relationships….maybe..

content below contains — stallion reader, munch jean, reader wears jewelry, BLACK !! reader, jean is an absolute fiend, modern! au — ENJOY . a collab with @cafesho 🫶🏾

march 23rd, 2023

is what your phone read when you tapped the screen, your eyes squinted and glossed over with morning tears. you can see all the text messages from the group chat you were in with all your friends. you saw that eren texted you separately so you choose to open it and are somewhat surprised by what the grey box read. ‘i got a friend i think you might like,’ you roll your eyes. eren always tried putting you on with dudes you weren’t interested in, sometimes they were intimidated by your height, feeling personally attacked and often tried to one-up you. other times, you were just as tall as them, but their personality threw everything off. ‘oh??? how tall is he?’ ‘like 6 foot smth’ you were somewhat interested, you couldn’t show it though. so you ended up just responding with a simple ‘okay’. you swipe out of you and eren’s chat and go into the groupchat, seeing messages about eren’s so-called “party” he's throwing today. you couldn’t help but groan. the thing about eren is that he loves his ass a party. whether it be a housewarming party, thanksgiving, hell, even a christmas party, best believe eren will make it his mission to make it a party. you lift yourself up and rub your eyes, your long arms stretching above your head. you roll out of bed and walk into your bathroom.

“i’m so tired.” you mumble to yourself. you pull and poke at your face in the mirror, trying to wake yourself up for the day. after you’ve finished all of your morning routine you pull your bonnet off and grab your brush, brushing through your lace front, holding the front of it to ease the pulling of your head. “damn!” you exclaim, your head jerking to the side due to your brush. you slam it down in frustration. “i’ll just worry about it later..” you grumble to yourself, looking around for an outfit you’d remembered just a few minutes ago. you throw on your brown and white letterman jacket along with your brown leather pants, pushing your feet into your white cement 3’s. you search around for your phone, and one you get ahold of it you call eren.

‘yoooo?’ eren woos.

“mikasa ‘nd them at the house?” you ask, sighing at the chip of your pinkie acrylic nail.

'yea hurry your ass up', you could hear the sound of muffled rap music playing in the background. Only Eren would host a party this early during the day. You roll your eyes and hang up, then you startup your pink car, a random RnB song continues playing where it left off and you pull out of your driveway and start speeding your way to Eren's house.

On the way there you start thinking up possible ways to turn down this mystery guy before he shames your height as you weren't exactly in the mood for that kind of bullshit today.

You pull up to the front of Eren's house and exit your car, the booming sound of some random rap song(u can choose if u like) greeting you and the scent of weed invading your nostrils. You heave a sigh and weave your way through the throngs of bodies littering his front lawn and to his front door. Inside was hot and stuffy. Over in the corner you could instantly spot Eren leaning against a wall with both his friends Armin and Mikasa on either side of him. You make your way towards him, ready to get this little matchmaker thing over with so you could at least make an effort to enjoy the party afterwards. Eren notices your appearance and gives you a side hug as a greeting.

'Alright where is he?'

'what're you so eager about?' he replies jokingly and releases you from the hug.

'I wanna go enjoy the party'

At that exact moment a familiar face makes its way over to where you, Eren and the others are standing.

Jean Kirstein. Campus fuckboy.

you watched as jean dapped up armin and eren and gave mikasa a hug. he stops at you, lips pursed together. you sigh.

jean looks over to eren and points at you. “this her?” he asks, a smirk on his face. your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. he was talking like you weren’t even there! eren nods and jean turns to you again. “wassup, i’m jean.” he says, dappling you up and looking you up and down hungrily. “mhm, i know who you are.” you smile, watching eren, armin, and mikasa walk away, shooting grins your way. jean takes place from where eren was and watches as you scroll on your phone.

“you’re really..” jean starts, you roll your eyes and look at him. “tall? i know.” you say, putting your phone in your pocket as you start to walk away. jean follows after you and grabs your hand. “no, no. you’re really pretty.” jean says, pulling you into his body. you smirk and pat his chest, walking away with a sweet smile and a kiss to his cheek. the party went on like any other, people throwing ass, drinking, smoking weed, the whole thing. the end of the party was especially jean’s favorite.

“y/n!” jean calls out to you. you were saying your goodbyes to everyone and were walking to your car. you turn to jean with a “huh?” jean smiles and hands you his phone — the screen illuminated with his instagram handle. you roll your eyes and grin, pulling out your own phone. you typed it into your search bar and get in your car. “bye, jean.” you smile, revving up your car and driving away before he could say bye back. jean watched in awe as you drove away before him. he felt his phone buzz and he looked down with a notification from instagram.

‘y/nsinterlude started following you.’

TAGLIST ;— @looking4chanel @draculara-vonvamp @therealcees-blog@laylasbunbunny@lovelytayy@d7n3@deadgirlkisses@darkknightpeanutbagel@thecoloredpages @xricly @chinaza444 @baboon-milk333 @marcelineormars @mxspiderman2099 @ts1mp0ne @23victoria @ravereina @stevenknightmarc @laaailuh @diorsbrando @madz-rulez @spiderheartzz @chinieh @asensitivecookie @tourbug @anikaluv @mainvamp @strawberryshortcake143 @spectr3inl0ve @anitatvd @yuckyygutz @janaeby @milesmoralesesposa @lily-pythonz @naijagrl @ninaaaazzzz @sucuretcannelle @captaincyberqueen @cafehyunji

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sweetsweetjellybean · 24 days

Text

Your crush on Eddie was better off a secret and a kiss that should never have happened leads you into a storm.

I wasn't happy with my first version of chapter 4. So I polished it up and added a little more dialog. Feel free to wait for the next chapter but if you'd like to read it, either as a refresher or for the very first time, please let me know what you think. XOXO-Jelly

Masterlist Listen to Fake Plastic Trees Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

A sharp chill nips at your cheeks as gusts of autumn wind blow through the amber-leafed trees surrounding Hawkins High's parking lot. You pick at the splintered wood of the picnic table beneath you, etched with initials and scribbles. The anguished croon of Placebo plays through your headphones, drowning out the sounds of the start of another school day. Shifting the pile of books on your lap, you steal a glance at where Eddie stands with his back to you a few yards away.

Lately, it’s like your best friend has purchased real estate in your brain. Daydreams resulting in hearts doodled in the margins of your notebooks a little too close to where you printed his name. His dark curls spill over the collar of his worn denim vest, shadowing the frayed edges of the Dio patch he had sown on last week. He's deep in conversation with Dan Shelter, a senior in the same class that Eddie would have been in if he hadn’t missed so much time after his mother passed. They both turn and look at you at the same time.

Eddie’s eyes narrow as his brows pull tighter into a frown. You push one of your headphones back, and the noise of everyday chatter and car engines bursts into your reality.

"You know your girlfriend is deeply weird, Munson," the spiky-haired jock says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket, not even trying to hide his distaste.

Girlfriend. You’ve both tried to stamp out that rumor—yet no matter who else you go out with, those sparks never last and pale in comparison to the steady flame you feel around Eddie. Would it really be so bad if it were true? The answer scares you more than you expect.

"She’s not my girl," Eddie retorts with a swift shake of his head, his voice edged with that familiar bite of annoyance. His foot scuffs against the asphalt, the white Reebok stark against the black jeans clinging to his narrow hips. An impatient sigh pulls the fabric of his Hellfire Club t-shirt tighter across his chest, outlining his lean frame. "You in or out?" His fingers snap near Dan's face, the sunlight catching on his silver rings, "I've got other places to be, and you're not my only customer."

"Sure, whatever," Dan grumbles, extending a hand with a few crumpled bills.

Eddie accepts the cash with an easy smirk, teasing the dime bag between thumb and forefinger, letting it sway like a pendulum. Dan’s hand hovers while he glances around for prying eyes, but Eddie lets the bag drop to the ground before he can take it.

"Oops," Eddie’s voice drips with feigned innocence before he pivots on his heel and walks away without a backward glance.

Dan’s face ignites with anger as he stoops for the bag, muttering a curse.

"Always a pleasure," Eddie calls over his shoulder, flashing a dismissive two-fingered salute. A gaggle of pink-cheeked girls from the sophomore class crosses his path, eyes trailing over him like he's their favorite song come to life.

"Ladies." He extends an arm, waving them on, his voice as smooth as a melody. They flutter past with giggles and heated glances. Despite their whispers of 'freak' in the corridors, they all vie for a chance to climb into the back of his van when no one is looking – to be the subject of the rumors they'd later deny.

He never hides his interest when he likes a girl — everybody knows when Eddie Munson is into someone. But he’s never looked at you that way, never given you that smile meant for those he desires. And that’s something that has never bothered you. Now, it stirs something else — a green thorny vine wrapping around your insides. He’s just Eddie – your friend. The same old Eddie, you reaffirm, even as your heart whispers lies of a different tune.

Without missing a beat, he saunters over, the rhythmic clink of his chain wallet punctuating each step. He leaps onto the picnic table, landing beside you with a thud, sending vibrations through the timeworn wood. His eyes linger on the girl's retreating forms.

"You need to be careful, Eddie," you warn, tipping your chin toward where Dan is stalking off in a dark cloud of annoyance.

"Careful is my middle name, doll." He smiles a big, sly grin, dimples deepening, causing a flutter in your chest, an unexplained sensation that's become strangely frequent these days.

He nods at your leg, eyes dropping to your thigh. "What’s this?" His dark lashes make half-moon shadows on his cheek as his thumb brushes over the square field of bright white crosses covering the denim patch on your jeans. A trail of tingles follows, unbidden and unwelcome. You disguise the shiver as a chill from the wind, even as you crave more of his touch.

"It’s called sashiko," you explain, hyper-aware of the warmth of his skin as the ghost of his touch lingers. "The art of visible mending."

"Looks cool." His gaze meets yours, a little too intense and a little too long. Your fingers clutch your notebooks tighter, a shield against whatever this feeling is.

"Are you coming over after school?" Your voice is steadier than you feel.

"I’ll drop you off, but I’ve got to go back to the trailer after," Eddie replies, his eyes still holding yours in a silent conversation you can't quite interpret. "I’ve got stuff to do." Something in his tone suggests layers you're not ready to peel back. "Not your kind of stuff."

The house where Eddie grew up doesn't look the same anymore. Someone else has moved in – keeping the lawn perfect and fixing up all the broken things, erasing any traces of tragedy. The neighborhood has moved on, absolving themselves like they hadn’t just turned their back and let it happen. As if it wasn't their problem. Eddie's staying on the other side of town now with his Uncle Wayne in a tiny one-bedroom trailer. Wayne's heart is in the right place, even if he drinks too much, just like Eddie's dad did. But he's not bad, just... lost when it comes to dealing with an angry teen, and with him working nights, Eddie's on his own to figure out how to deal with it all.

"I can keep you company?” You try to keep the offer casual despite the hump in your pulse.

He shakes his head, a shadow crossing his features. "Nah, I’ve got to stop at Rick's, then a run." There's a hardness in his eyes that wasn't there before.

You frown and look away, hiding your disappointment. "I don’t see what the big deal is," you argue, keeping your voice low, "We smoke together all the time."

"The big deal," he says, reaching out to lift your chin and forcing you to look at him. "Is that this is business, and I don’t want you involved. Alright?" His voice is firm, letting you know he won’t budge. "I’ll pick you up later," he promises. "Movie night. Just us."

The shrill ring of the bell is your cue to retreat, to put distance between you and these feelings threatening to upend everything. You nod at him, shoving your books into your bag. His gaze holds you for a heavy beat before breaking away. There's a shift in the air, a prelude to something you can't name, like the static before a storm. Eddie's last glance sears itself into your thoughts when you part ways at the door.

As you make your way to class, those feelings nag at you like a forgotten lyric. You hug your arms, trying to squeeze out the persistent ache that spreads through your limbs. It's a tangible pain, this longing, like a hand squeezing around your heart, making it hard to breathe.

But you push it all down, guarding it like a secret. To lock it away in the confines of your ribcage, where it can't taint the one thing you value most. The friendship you've built is too important, too rare to risk on a silly crush that might only live in your head and fade with time. It’s a gamble you won’t take. You can't lose him. You won’t watch that light in his eyes dim for you, awkward silences replacing the laughter. Without him, you’d be alone.

Cold gray days give way to dark, inky nights. The stars and moon are veiled behind thick cotton clouds, stealing the light earlier as fall edges closer to winter. Winds gust, sending wet leaves sticking to the glass of your office windows as the bare fingers of the boxwoods planted around the brownstone scratch against the house in protest.

Lowering the lid of your laptop, the light in the room dims as the brightness is trapped between the two halves. Your arms stretch over your head, loosening the tension in your neck as you push away from your desk, drifting towards the sounds of life from the living room. Steve’s long legs are stretched out on the chaise end of the couch, a Bulls game on the TV, but his attention is stuck on the laptop resting on his thighs.

“My eyes are going to fall out my head if I stare at that screen for any longer,” you declare, rounding the corner of the couch.

“Well, then, come stare at this screen instead.” He nods at the TV, extending his arm to make space for you to crawl onto the couch next to him and fit yourself into his side.

“You’re so warm.” You nuzzle into his chest, and his lips touch the top of your head. “Don’t let me fall asleep.”

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time for bed. I still have a few hours of work left,” he sighs, his finger sliding down the trackpad as he scrolls through a document that never seems to end.

“Is that for the launch?” Your eyes squint at the brightness of the screen.

He groans at the ping of another incoming email while toggling between the many windows he has open. “Yeah, we're in the final stretch. The event team is trying to finalize the details. Maroon 5 and Fallout Boy are locked in to perform, but we’re still waiting to hear back from a few other acts and about a million other details that need ironing out.”

“It’s going to be a great night, baby. Everyone will be so impressed,” you assure, the arm you have draped across his stomach tightening, trying to impress your words into him. “Everything is going to go smoothly, you’ll see.”

He scoffs, doubt clouding his voice. “I wish I had your confidence. The server's capacity is still a question mark, and we're racing to fix streaming delays. Fuck!” The heels of his hands press into his eyes. “All I need is this thing to fail at the last minute, especially with Richard and my dad watching.” He imitates his father's stern tone, “Typical. He’s always been a fuck up. Chokes right before the buzzer.” Letting his hands drop, his eyes turn to you. “I should have listened to you and not invited my parents. I actually never thought they would agree to come. Now I’m running around trying to get things ready for them too.”

“Hey,” you take one of his hands between yours, “That’s not going to happen, Steve. If the servers have issues or if there's a lag, it's just a hiccup. You've got a team to handle that. You've put in the work, and you're brilliant at what you do. Your parents will see that. Everyone will.”

He manages a smile, but it’s just a placation.

“What can I do to help?” You ask, “I’ll make sure we have some Pellegrino stocked and that cheese your parents like.”

There's a pause as he weighs his next words. “I’ve already called the housekeeper and told them to put fresh sheets in the guest room in case they decide to stay here, but I still need to make a reservation at the Four Seasons as a backup.”

Your jaw tightens, but you curb your annoyance at how John Harrington has everyone trained to cater to his high-maintenance whims, but this is for Steve’s peace of mind. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow. Consider it done. Anything else?”

He hesitates, a little apologetic. "My suit... the dry cleaner closes early tomorrow. I hate to ask, but I might not make it in time–"

“No problem. I’ll make time.”

His lips lift at the corners, and this time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I love you.” He leans forward, slotting his lip softly between yours. “I’ll put the ticket in your bag. Thanks for helping out, Ace.”

“I just have Eddie's interview tomorrow afternoon. I should have plenty of time." Standing, you tug at his hand. "Now, can we go to bed? Everything will look better after a good night's sleep.”

His mouth sets in a determined line as he shuts down his laptop, yielding to your pull as he rises. His hand finds a place on the small of your back, grounding you both as you climb the stairs together.

Hitching the strap of your messenger bag higher on your shoulder, you kick at a loose stone on the sidewalk in front of the brick building. Car horns blare in the distance as traffic rolls by in the busy neighborhood. The sun casts a glint off the steel CursedSound sign, its metal already weathering with a faint tinge of color. The heavy door is yanked open, its clank and whine making you jump.

"Hi," Eddie greets you with a soft tone from the other side of the threshold.

"Hi," you return, shyness adding a tremble to your voice that shouldn’t be there. His fingers grip the edge of the door, and light flashes off the Rolex peeking out from under the cuff of the plaid flannel he wears over a fitted v-neck and jeans, the fabric snug against his defined shoulders. It’s still a novelty to see how his slim build has filled in over the years. Part of you still expects the boy you knew instead of this man in front of you. He looks you over in the same way, like he’s trying to decide if you’re really there. Maybe it’s the differences he sees in you, too, or does he still see the lonely girl he once knew? You shift your gaze down the street, your toes curling inside your Converse as warmth climbs up your neck. "Are you going to let me in?"

"I don't know." He pretends to ponder, a smile forming, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Where's your hard hat?"

Tilting your head to the side, you purse your lips until he breaks into a chuckle. He swings the door open wider, welcoming you in. You pass him with a shake of your head and continue down the hall.

The lobby is in chaos.

"Sorry for the mess. The maid took the week off," he quips, watching you take in the space.

The brown paper has been removed from the windows, allowing bright light to stream through the streaked and dirty glass. All the furniture has been pushed toward the center of the room, and ladders and paint cans litter the floor space. A large mural wrapping around the windows and front entrance has been outlined but not completed. In the same graffiti style as the one upstairs, this one displays more cityscapes with waves of the lake breaking at the forefront. Winged skulls and guitars blend with colorful swirls of clouds rising toward the ceiling.

"It’s perfect," you tell him as your eyes follow the sweeping, colorful lines around the room. “Really beautiful.”

"Was that a compliment?" He asks, coming up behind you, his breath a warm whisper against your ear. "I thought it was a dump."

"Well, what can I say?” You spin around. “It’s growing on me." Your fingers move to your lips, concealing your smile as his deepens with your praise.

"You look really good." His low voice bounces off the empty walls, "I mean…your, uh, outfit is nice." He waves his hand toward you before wiping it on the front of his jeans.

Your brows raise as you glance down at the jeans and plain Lolla tee you put on this morning. None of the trendy outfits you usually wear for interviews seemed to fit right today.

"Wow, that was smooth," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don’t know why I’m so nervous."

The fluttering in your stomach matches his energy. “Maybe it’s because I’m going to get you to spill all your secrets and print them so the whole world can sit in judgment."

A choked sound comes from his throat as his eyes widen into saucers.

Unable to keep a straight face, you giggle. "Relax, Eddie. I already told you I’m not writing some hit piece. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides," you shrug, "It’s only me."

A sharp breath escapes as his shoulders lower. "Yeah, you’re right." He says, taking a step forward, his gaze locking with yours. "After all these years, it's still you.

"Eddie." His name comes out on a breathless sigh as you look away. The shield of anger between you is heavy and battered, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold it up. He takes another step forward, and you clear your throat. "Why don’t you show me what else you’ve done?"

He rakes a hand through his curls, "Of course." His lips tighten into a flat line as he gestures toward the stairs. "After you."

You lead the way to the second floor, where the smell of fresh paint permeates the air. A ladder leans against a half-painted wall, and orange extension cords crisscross the carpet in the hall, winding into the studios like work has been suddenly halted.

"Where is everyone?" You look around the abandoned space before stepping inside Studio A. It's come a long way since your last visit. The deck that holds the mixing board is ready, and the wiring is underway.

"I didn’t know how long you’d be here, so I told them to take the rest of the day off." His eyes follow the movements of your hand, brushing over knobs and sliders of the soundboard that's still sheathed in a protective layer of plastic.

"You didn’t have to do that," you say, walking back out into the hall.

"I didn’t think we needed the audience," he shrugs, walking along with you to the next room.

"I hope you don’t fall behind schedule." The walls of the small Studio B are covered with walnut slats to create an acoustic barrier while still keeping the room open, while the mixing room kept the original exposed brick.

"I’ve got time."

"Even so," you move to the window. The sun glints off the mirrored surface of the tall building across the street. "I’m sure you're eager to open. Put out that first album with the CursedSound logo in the liner notes."

"Of course I am." He comes to stand beside you, taking in the bustle of the city at midday. "It’s gonna be good to have nothin’ between me and the music. Let the artists be as creative as they want. Their management can deal with the corporate A&R people and leave me out of it."

"You never did like playing by the rules," you smile, catching his eyes in the reflection of the glass.

He turns his head, studying your profile. "Why should I?" he continues, his tone more determined, "The rules sure as hell never helped me. I'm gonna take my chances as I find them, even if I have to play a little dirty. I deserve happiness the same as the next guy."

"Of course you do." The world has done nothing but take from him.

"What about you?" He asks as you return to the hall. "The rules seemed to be treating you well."

You raise your shoulders with a warm smile gracing your lips, one you have no intention of concealing. "I love my job. I like the city, and…I have Steve."

"You ending up with Steve Harrington," his voice curls around the name, a sneer you can almost see, "I gotta admit, I didn't see that one coming."

Stopping, you pivot to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. "He's a good guy, Eddie."

He sighs in a short, almost defeated breath. "I know he is, doll."

The unmarked door at the end of the hall provides a convenient distraction. "Where does this go?" You wonder with your hand closing over the knob.

"My apartment."

"You're living here?" You let it go like it burned you, swallowing the lump that has made a sudden appearance in your throat.

"Sure. Can't beat the commute." He reaches around you, turning the doorknob to reveal another flight of stairs. "Do you want to go up?"

Flashes of that day are more vivid than they should be for memories two years old. The closet carpet is soft under your fingers as wet tears rain down on the glossy pages. Steve's voice gets closer as he calls out your name. A tightness grips your chest as you attempt to step back, momentarily forgetting that Eddie's right behind you. He supports you with a steadying hand on your hip as he faces you, seeking your reaction.

"No, that's okay. I think we're fine down here. I wouldn't want to disturb anyone," you say, attempting to sound confident as you wipe your palms along the sides of your jeans.

Eddie scratches the side of his head as his brow wrinkles. "Who do you think it up there?"

A hot breath passes your lips as you turn away, walking back down the hall toward Studio C. "I don’t know," you call over your shoulder, too chicken to face him. "Skyler Simmons. Rock royalty. Media darling. According to the magazines, your long-time girlfriend. The one you own a house with. Ring any bells? Isn’t she here with you?"

"My what? Skyler Simmons?" The deep belly laugh that follows has you spinning on your heels to face him.

"Wait. You’re serious?" His dimples make an appearance as his smile deepens. "Me and Skyler?" He can barely get her name out without chuckling.

"The one you’re photographed with constantly."

His brows shoot up. "Keeping tabs on me?"

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself," you huff. "It came up in my research. Do you have a relationship with her or not?"

"I know her," he offers, shaking his head, "She’s a friend. We go to the same group."

"What group? The one for annoying assholes."

He pauses, his arms crossing over his chest. "The one for people with addiction in their families. That okay with you?" His voice escalates. The simmering anger in his eyes mirrors the intensity of his tone. "Skyler is gay. Her girlfriend's usually hanging around, too. Does that mean I’m fucking her too? Jesus."

Frigid water clashes with your hot blood as the fight drains away. Glancing at your feet, your voice diminishes to barely more than a whisper. "Why hasn't she come out in the media?"

"Maybe because it’s none of anybody's fucking business." His piercing gaze bores into you as the sharp words land like heavy stones in the sour pit in your stomach. "Hold on," he waves a hand in front of you, "Why do you even care?"

"I don’t," your voice falters as the dishonest answer leaves you without hesitation. Your eyes trace the patterns on the floor. "It just makes for a better story, is all."

His hands run through his hair, fingers tugging on the ends as his tone softens. "Doll," he pauses, taking a deliberate step closer. His warm fingers cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. Those amber swirls, always seeing beyond your surface. "No one else is in my apartment, and no one else is gonna be."

His touch sends a searing heat spreading through your skin as the weight of your engagement ring pulls on your finger. "You’re a grown man, Eddie. Do whatever you want." Stepping back, his hand falls from your face as you turn and enter the studio.

"Fucking stubborn," the low murmur carries under his breath as he follows you inside.

"It looks like this one’s almost finished." You spin around the room, taking in the progress, before letting your bag slide down your shoulder and sinking onto the couch.

Gray triangles of acoustic foam now adorn the live room walls in contrasting patterns, and layers of soft carpeting line the floor. The mixing room's mural stands completed, and the furniture has all been placed.

His eyes move around the room, the pride evident on his face. "Just some wiring and the vocal booth, and I’ll be ready to start setting the levels."

"This one’s your favorite, I can tell," you shift, tucking a leg under you as he joins you on the couch.

"Shhh," he hushes you, raising a finger to his lips. "The others will get jealous."

Rolling your eyes, you pull your phone from your bag, open the recording app, and set it between you both.

"How does this work?" Eddie's eyes are fixed on your phone while he rubs the back of his neck.

"Well, typically," your hand slips back into your bag to retrieve the neatly stapled pages of your notes, "I ask a question, and you provide the answer." You set the pages in your lap, drawing in a steadying breath. He’s sitting in front of you with a key to a locked door – one that might be best left closed and forgotten, but it’s time to hear him out.

"Eddie Munson interview, part one."

"Mr. Munson." You slip into your most professional tone. "Thank you for granting us an interview during this busy time. All of us at Stax are very excited to welcome CursedSound to Chicago."

He leans forward, his voice dropping slightly in timber as a much smoother, older Eddie begins to answer, "Thank you. I always have time for my favorite magazine." He winks.

Your lips press into a line as you tilt your head to the side, taking a quick glance at your packet. "In April 2003, Fever to Tell was released by a relatively new band and a completely unknown sound engineer. It went on to sell over a million copies, putting The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the name Eddie Munson on industry minds. Fever to Tell is still, to date, one of my favorite albums. Were you aware of the significant impact this record would have when you were working on it?"

"At the time, we were really just hopeful, you know? We believed in the music we were creating. Karen and Nick, and Brian flew out from New York with their last dime, and we just got to work. Karen had this kind of raw, untamed energy, and I wanted to capture that, to add an edge to the album. It was this post-punk dance-floor-friendly racket that injected a much-needed dose of authenticity into a musical era that was getting stagnant."

"It's not an exaggeration to say that record helped shape the direction of indie and alternative rock for years to come. But what I want to ask is you before all that. What was the road like moving from Hawkins to having your dreams come true in LA? Was this the path you first set out on, or were there curves in the road?"

"I think 'curves' is a generous term for the absolute shit choices I was making for myself back then," he chuckles. "As you know, I left Hawkins about a year after I graduated. That town had already decided I would never be anything more than a freak– a loser with no future. If I had stayed, that's exactly what would have happened. I was trying to outrun my past without a clue what I wanted for my future. I had my own band back then, and sometimes, we’d open for slightly bigger bands that rolled through town. One of them was about to tour and invited me to go as their one and only roadie, and it felt like a free ticket out."

"Bananafish," you interject, swallowing and glancing down at your notes.

"Yeah, Bananafish. God, they sucked. Did you know they started as a Spin Doctors tribute band?"

"No," you laugh, "And that wasn’t a red flag for you?"

"It should have been. I wasn’t with them for long anyway. I think I lasted for three weeks before they cut me loose for getting in a fight with the drummer." He pauses, shaking his head. "I never knew when to shut my mouth. At that point, they had hooked up with another band called Everly. Slightly better, but not by much. I managed to hold it together for a few months. I was high or drunk most of the time, the only reason they kept me around was because they liked the way I babied their instruments."

"I remember,” you nod. “You’d spend half an hour polishing that Warlock every day after school."

"Got to treat a lady right if you want her to sing for you," he says with a sly rise and fall of his brows, draping an arm over the back of the couch, shrinking the space between you.

"I was surprised that you left it behind."

Eddie's expression turns more solemn. "There were a lot of things I wished I could’ve taken with me. But back then, I couldn’t even take care of myself."

"I don’t believe that," you swallow, the words sticking in your throat, "You could have tried."

"If I had tried, they would’ve ended up broken, and I’d‘ve lost them anyway." His fingers brush your shoulder, and you flinch. The leather creaks as you sit back against the arm of the couch, just out of reach.

"Back to Everly. Why did you part ways?"

"Oh, well, I fucked it up, of course. They had landed a spot at Bonnaroo, and I got so fucked up the night before I missed sound check. When I managed to pick myself up off the floor of the van, they handed me my duffel and a twenty and told me to pound sand." His eyes drift away, fixating on a point across the room. "I had barely been outside of Indiana, and there I was, stuck on some farm in Manchester, Tennessee, with no ride, no money, and no one to call. I was angry at the world and never felt more alone. People always talk about hitting rock bottom, I thought that was it, but now that I look back, it was more of a crossroads. If I had followed that darker path, there would have been no coming back. I was wandering around backstage where they park buses, hungover, maybe still half in the bag, and that’s when I met Max."

"Max Navarro?" You shuffle through the pages of your notes.

"Yeah. You know him?" Eddie’s eyes brighten as his gaze drops to the pages in your lap.

Your head turns from side to side. "You referred to him as a mentor in the Stones interview, but I couldn’t find much on him besides his name being listed as an audio engineer for several tours."

"That’s Max." Eddie breaks into a smile. "He’d tell you he likes flying under the radar. He was hanging out in front of the bus playing guitar with a couple of guys when I walked over like a cocky shit, picked one up, and started playing. He gave me something to smoke, and it wasn’t weed. All I know is that I woke up face-down in the dirt the next morning. I don’t know if he liked me or just felt bad for me, but he dragged me on the bus and had me start assisting him with the sound for Faith No More."

"Faith No More? Are you kidding me?" Your hands fall to your lap, slapping against your thighs, jostling the cushion enough for your phone to slide toward the back of the couch. "You had their poster in your room. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you had a charmed life."

"Well, even the sun shines on a dog's ass some days," he laughs.

"So Max is who taught you about engineering?"

"Max is who taught me about everything." His voice holds a reverence when he says his name. "He kept an eye on me. Showed me how to work the boards. He said he could see shadows following me around, so when we got to LA, he took me out to the desert, fed me some tea, and exercised my demons."

"Did it work?" Max wasn't the only one to see shadows looming. Consequences of decisions made by others. Expectations of a community that turned its back. They clung to him like an impenetrable fog.

"I’m not sure. I felt lighter after, but it could have been the gallon of water I sweat out," he chuckles. "After that, he cashed in a favor and got me an internship with a small studio in Laurel Canyon. I parked cars at night and lived in a room the size of a closet at Max’s house. I worked my ass off. I went to therapy–"

"How very L.A. of you," you chime in.

"Don’t knock it until you try it." He looks at you from under raised brows. "It’s, uh, good to talk about things. Be open, you know?"

"No thanks. I tried that once," you tell him pointedly, the tightness in your chest returning, "It didn’t work out for me."

Your arrow hit the target. Regret flashes in his eyes. "Doll–"

"You decided to stay in L.A. and work at a studio instead of going back out on the road?"

"I like studio sessions. Makes me feel like I’m working towards something. I like completing an album and putting it out in the world. Some people thrive being out on tour, like Max. Not me," he scratches at his chin. "Too many ghosts on those old roads."

Like the ones back in Hawkins that jolt you awake in the dead of night, murmuring past shames of a lovesick and foolish girl. Robin had seen it, and so had the entire town, but you aren’t her any longer. She lies resting beneath the frigid earth, her memory an unmarked grave. You've moved forward, and you’ll never go back, the city drowns out the remains of her cries.

"So you stayed and built your life there," you conclude, flipping through the pages of your notes, ticking off the points from your outline.

Eddie leans back, a contemplative look on his face. "I guess you could say that. I got my own place, made some great friends. Sundays are for Max's family and Chile relleno. The weather is always beautiful. But I really stayed for the music,” he shrugs. “Have you been? I could take you some time. Show you around. Max would love to meet you, the girl I won’t shut up about. I think you’d like it there."

The girl he hasn’t bothered to call in a decade. "To Los Angeles?" Your gaze rises from your notes to meet his nodding response. "I've been a few times. With Steve. Mostly for work."

"Oh yeah. Makes sense." His jaw tightens, and he averts his gaze. "Well, I guess the rest is history. Is that enough for your story?"

"Yeah." You reach for your phone, tapping the red square to stop the recording. "It will be a great opening piece for the series." You pick up your messenger, hauling its weight into your lap, tucking your notes inside. The afternoon is ending on a flat note. A stone sits on your tongue, holding back questions that you lack the courage to ask, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie sits up suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Speaking of history, I want to show you something." He stands up, looking towards the door and back at you, "Um.. wait here, okay? I’ll just be a minute."

"Okay-"

He holds up flat palms. "Don’t go anywhere." His eyes close as he winces, " I mean, you can wander around if you want. Just don’t leave."

"Eddie-"

"I’ll be back." He holds up one finger as he exits the room.

With a sigh, you push up from your thighs, rising to your feet, walking through to the live room where a drum kit stands at the ready. The snare looks a little worn, and the symbols have lost their shine. Your nails tap the high hat, and you smile at the shimmering sound.

"What am I doing?" You whisper, spinning the gold band on your finger.

The sound of the floor creaking echoes through the hall. Eddie enters the room with the large box he's carrying obscuring his upper half. His name written in Wayne's shaky handwriting, peeking out from underneath his fingers.

"What's all this?" You ask as he sets down the box with a heave in the center of the room and sinks to his knees, hovering over the taped flaps.

"I have no idea," he grins mischievously. "Wayne gave it to me when I stopped by last week and told him I would see you. But you know him, he never throws stuff out. It could be anything." His hand smoothes over the top as he raises a brow. "Wanna find out?"

Your hands slide over your jean-covered thighs before your feet carry you forward. "Mrs. Click better not be in there."

His head tips back with laughter. "I make no promises," he jokes while you take a seat on the floor on the side of the box.

His mouth quirks up, watching you get comfortable. With a fluid motion, he leans and grabs a box cutter beside the soundboard. His shirt lifts slightly, offering a glimpse of hair trailing down his belly and the sculpted muscle beside his hips. His tongue lightly grazes his upper lip as he expertly flicks the knife open, his jeans snug on the contours of his strong thighs. Exhaling slowly, you avert your eyes, scanning the room instead as you wait for him to slice the tape.

"Score!" He pulls out the ragged-edged sheet that was folded and tucked into the top of the box. "Corroded Coffin," he reads aloud the words scrawled across it with something resembling shoe polish.

"Oh no," you laugh, your head turning side to side as you rock in your seat.

"Hey. This is rare band memorabilia. It’s probably worth money," he defends, holding it up proudly.

"Yeah, to the guy you have to pay to haul it away," you giggle.

"Alright, Alright," he folds it up, the smile never leaving his face as he reaches into the box. "These are yours." He pulls out a stack of comic books and hands them to you.

"Still in good shape." You thumb through the copies of Tank Girl and Witchblade.

"My campaigns." He pulls out a pile of notebooks and sets them aside before reaching back in. "Some CDs." He comes out with a hand wrapped around a stack of jewel cases, the one on top catching your eye.

"Hey, that’s my Cranberries Cd!" Your fingers dig into the carpet as you tip forward, yanking it from his hand. "I looked for this everywhere. I knew you took it, you thief."

"I don’t know how that got there," he scratches his head, "You must have left in the van."

"Nice try, Munson." your eyes narrow, "I checked there." You lean over the box, poking a finger into his chest, "I knew you had a crush on Dolores."

"You got me. It was the accent," he admits with a grin full of dimples, his hand closing around your finger.

"I’m keeping it." You drop back into your seat and pick up the case to examine the disc.

"Holy shit."

You raise your head to meet his wide chocolate eyes, a look of sheer delight written across his face. "Close your eyes," he instructs, pulling back the flaps of the box, hiding whatever he's found.

"Mrs. Click?" You set the CD on top of the comics.

"Better," he says excitedly, waving a hand toward your face. “Come on. Close your eyes."

"Fine." You leave one eye open, folding your hands in your lap.

"No peeking." He wags a finger.

Your lips purse as you close your other lid, waiting for the big reveal. Plastic clanks against something heavy, followed by the rustle of cardboard.

"Okay. Open."

"Daisy!" Your hands fly to your mouth before you reach out with wiggling fingers.

He winces as he hands over the two-foot garden gnome. "How can you call something so ugly a pretty name like that?"

Taking the heavy lawn ornament in both hands, you gaze down at her droopy hat and too-large ears, which stick straight out beside her bulging eyes and porcine nose. Her rubbery lips are pulled back in a smile, showing off her buck teeth and flowery dress that barely conceals her body.

"She's beautiful." You cradle her in your arms. "Besides, you're the one who stole her."

"You’re the one who dared me to," he scoffs.

Your cheeks already ache with an unrestrained smile as the memories from that night surface. "I didn’t think you were going to wake up the whole neighborhood crashing into the bushes in Mr. Lawson’s yard."

"I was drunk," he defends, his face turning red.

"You tripped over your feet and ripped your pants," you gasp for air, trying to get the words out with your laughter, "You had on those Garfield boxers with the hearts."

"Of course, you remember that." His laughter joins yours, easy and familiar. "You're the one that woke up the neighbors, making the van backfire."

"It was the first time I drove, and I didn’t have a license." You clutch Daisy tightly to your chest as you try to catch your breath. "Mr. Larson came out in his bathrobe, screaming about shooting you in the ass."

Eddie shakes his head as you laugh at his expense. "He almost caught us when you stalled out. All for that hideous thing."

"Shh," you cover her ears with your hands. "You can’t get rid of her."

"Never," he agrees, reaching out for her. "I’ll find her place of honor around here somewhere."

"Put her on your nightstand," you suggest, handing her over.

"Ugh," he says, setting her aside, "I’ll have nightmares."

You burst into laughter once more, and his eyes ignite. He smiles like he’s savoring every sound, like your happiness is a hard-earned treasure he's been longing for.

The shards of the past press against the scar tissue encasing your heart as if struggling to free themselves and reassemble in the present. Your hand finds its way to your chest, pressing gently on the tender center, trying to quell the ache and remain in this moment—with him.

"What else? What else?" You clap your hands, bouncing in your spot.

"Okay, okay," he gives in, happy to indulge you. "Um, a pack of crayons, a monopoly piece." He places them aside. "Thanks, Wayne. Could have done without that. Looks like some clothes. Oh, this is yours." He tosses a ball of red fabric at you, and you catch it with both hands before he continues to search through the box.

"Is this what I think it is?" His voice brims with excitement as he pulls a rectangular tin from the box. He shakes it, and a sharp sound follows. "Yes." His tongue sticks out from the corner of his mouth as he pries off the lid.

His voice fades into the background as your focus turns to what you're holding. The fabric of your Musicland vest unfurls as you hold it out in front of you, the gold name tag still pinned to the front catching the light. A heavy sensation settles in your stomach, tightening and cramping as a sick, painful feeling creeps in and spreads — nausea churns as each inhale becomes battle.

There’s a scrape of metal as the lid pops off. "Polaroids," Eddie declares, his attention lost to the thrill of his find as he flips through the stack of photographs.

Your heart races as the room seems to shrink. "Stop it," you whisper, your voice quivering, your trembling hands twisting the vest as if folding it small enough can make the pain disappear.

"They’re pretty faded, though," he goes on, unaware.

"I said, that's enough!" The balled-up vest flies from your hands, landing back in the box. Adrenaline surges through your veins as you push yourself up on unsteady legs. "I need to leave."

Eddie's laughter dies in his throat as he looks up, the joy in his eyes replaced by confusion. "Wait a minute." He gets to his feet and follows you. The small pile you made topples over, forgotten as you pick up your bag from the couch. "What just happened?" He moves in front of you, blocking your path. "I thought we were having fun."

"Fun?" The word is a shard of ice. Without hesitation, you sling your bag over your shoulder and maneuver past him towards the door.

“Just hold on a minute.” He blocks your path again, hands up, eyes searching yours for answers. “Tell me what's going on.”

"What do you want?" The words slice the air, eyes locked, a bare blade of anger.

"I wanted to-" His eyes flick toward the abandoned box in the center of the room.

"No." Your head shakes, "Why are you here? Now? After all this time? What do you want from me?"

"I just wanted to see you." His arms cross over his chest as his voice turns softer. "I missed my friend."

"Your friend," sarcasm drips from your words as you quirk a brow, "So you show up here with a box of crap and a ‘hey doll’,” your voice lowers to mock him, "And I’m supposed to what? Forget about everything that happened and hand you a clean slate. Drop everything in my life to follow you around like a puppy because you feel like paying me some attention?"

"That’s not…I’m not asking for that." His hand runs through his curls, frustration building in his tone.

"I'm not going to sit here with you wandering down memory lane and watch you pretend like you cared." Your eyes sting, but tears won't fall. You've shed your last one for him long ago. "Like any of it mattered."

"No one's pretending here, doll." He steps closer, his hands falling to his side, fingers rubbing at the seam of his jeans. "Of course, it mattered—all of it."

Your bag falls from your shoulder with a resounding thud, its weight matching your resolve as you push your hand against his chest. "I don't believe that for a second. If it mattered, you never could have done what you did."

"Done what?"

"Left me!" Your hand lands flat across your heart. "Without a goodbye, just some shitty mixtape full of songs that I can't listen to without my heart breaking over and over."

"You're right, okay." His voice rises to match your volume, his fingers closing around your biceps. "I was a fucking coward, and I ran. I couldn't see that look on your face again, the one you had when I told you I was leaving. I should’ve said goodbye, but I knew you'd try to convince me to stay, and that was never going to happen. I'm sorry I hurt you, but I can't be sorry I left."

"Hurt me?" You push his hands away, taking a step back to control the cracking in your voice. "You didn't just hurt me, Eddie. You destroyed me."

He swallows, looking away. "You were better off."

Fresh anger surges, along with the strong desire to escape – to leave this dead and buried, maybe for another decade until the hurt isn’t so strong.

"See, that right there is why I'll never believe you," you snap, pointing an accusatory finger his way as you step around him, your hand closing around the doorknob. But at the last moment, you turn, wanting him to hear it. At least once.

"I didn't quit Musicland. I got fired. I was a mess after you left. I cried for days, but I clung to this pathetic hope that you’d call to explain everything. To say it wasn't the end for us. You wouldn’t just throw me away, right? Not after everything we had been through together. I wouldn't leave my room, not even to eat. I was so afraid that the second I left, the phone would ring."

There's regret in his eyes as he steps forward, getting closer until he can touch you again, one hand gently gliding up your arm.

"But that call never came, did it, Eddie? Not one. And every day that passed, I died a little. But then I wasn't sad anymore. All those tears, they turned to hate," you say coldly, locking your gaze with his. "I hated you. I hated every song that came on the radio, reminding me of you. I hated Hawkins and everyone in it. But most of all, I hated myself for trusting you. For believing that you ever cared about me. That I wasn’t alone. That's what you did to me, Eddie.”

“You made me hate myself."

"I’m so sorry, doll," his words barely crest the silence as his gentle hand cradles your jaw. “There’s so much I want to explain to you.”

His touch is hot, but inside you, a coldness lingers–inside your stone. "You kissed me. And then you left me the next day. You knew how I felt."

"I know. I know. I’m sorry." He steps closer, trying to pull your rigid form into his arms, lips brushing your temple. "You don’t even know how much. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing. Trying to make it up to you. But you’re wrong. It all mattered. I did care. That kiss..it’s the reason…" He pulls back and looks into your eyes, "You knew me, you always did, but there were things I couldn’t tell you. Things I couldn’t admit even to myself. I was scared and angry all the time."

Your head shakes as you swallow hard. "You're not even real!" You shout in his face, your fingers clutching the doorknob behind you. Spinning, you tug hard, but his hand slams against the door above your head, keeping it shut.

"Stop, doll," he pleads. “Let me explain,” but the push-pull intensifies. You're no match for his strength. "Stop it!" he yells. His hand pushes on your shoulder, turning you to face him. Anger flashes in his eyes, and his cheeks flush.

"I made you up.”

“No.”

“The boy I knew could never have done that. He could never have hurt me like that." Your shoulder jerks, breaking his hold as you attempt to turn away again.

His fingers wrap around the side of your neck, keeping you in place. "That boy could never have given you what you wanted. He wouldn’t have had the first clue how to handle you."

"Is that why you’re back?" You ask, still defiant even as his thumb presses into your throat, tipping your head to meet his gaze. "Dragging this all up again, ruining my life? Because you do?"

"Damn right, I do."

His words are a gravelly assertion, barely escaping before his mouth descends toward yours. For a heartbeat, the world pauses until your mouths finally meet — urgent and fierce. You part your lips eagerly, tongues finding their way together in a hungry and unapologetic dance. The firm pressure of his mouth moving in sync with yours is a spark, igniting a fire that seems to spread with each touch. The scent of clove and cedar leaves you lightheaded as the flames lick through your body. The scruff on his cheek is a rasp against your skin, a roughness contrasting with the smoothness of his kiss. He tastes like cinnamon and a hint of coffee. This kiss is filled with years of longing, swelling and crashing like an orchestra's finale.

Minutes slip away, yet your greedy mouths remain desperate. The room falls into a hushed stillness, save for the sharp intakes of breath and the sensuous wet slide of lips. The kisses seem endless, broken only by fleeting gasps for air, compelling you to pull each other closer, savoring every taste. Your fingers tangle in the soft waves at the nape of his neck, evoking a low, guttural groan that mingles with your shared breaths when you tug. His hands trace the curves of your body, touching every inch as they follow a path beyond your hips and ass, seizing the back of your thighs. With a firm grasp, he lifts you, pressing you against the unyielding door. You gasp as he positions you just how he wants — aligning himself hot and hard against your center.

"Fuck," he growls against your lips as his hips roll, igniting fireworks through your body. Your eyes flutter shut, and a kaleidoscope of colors burst in the darkness.

He nips at the plush of your bottom lip, teeth grazing in a tender claim, a muted buzz begins in your bag—a sharp, insistent sting—that yanks you from the haze back into the real world. His eyes remain closed when you pull away. He leans closer, chasing your mouth, but the moment is already shattered.

Your stomach plummets as the harsh reality sets in. His kiss now tastes like the ash of betrayal. The distressed whimper escaping your throat finally has him looking at you, shock written clearly across his features. Slowly, he releases you, your body sliding against his until your feet meet the floor. He takes a step back, hesitating, swallowing, "Doll —"

"No." You shake your head, your hands covering your mouth. The gold band on your fourth finger is a cool scorch against your swollen lips. "I have to go." You spring into motion, rushing to gather your bag.

"Stay, and we can talk about this," he implores, moving one hand to his hip while the other rakes through his hair.

"Please don’t," you plead. "Don’t ask me for anything else." You swing the strap over your shoulder. "I just ch—" But the word stays stuck in your throat, as your eyes swim with tears.

His face falls, "It's not your fault, okay? I kissed you."

"Eddie—"

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was me," he insists, frustration in his voice as you scrub your face with your hands. "I don't want you driving when you're upset."

"I'm sorry," you say with an aching heart, pushing past him and closing the door behind you.

The sidewalk blurs under your feet as you race to your car. Fat raindrops splatter against the concrete like a spray of gunfire, each one a cold, wet slap against your skin. The sky chooses this moment to crack open, unleashing a torrent that feels personal. Your car comes into view, a bright orange ticket flapping under the wiper. Perfect. Just perfect.

With hands slick from the rain, you fumble with your keys before throwing yourself into the driver’s seat. Snatching the ticket from under the wiper as you go and crumpling it into your fist, stuffing it into the glovebox to be dealt with later. The downpour drums on the roof, enclosing you in a watery cocoon as you search through your bag for your phone. A missed call from Steve and a text reminding you about the dry cleaning. You spill the contents of your messenger onto the passenger seat, pens and lip gloss tumbling into the footwell. "Shit!" The word is a half-sob as you clutch the receipt marked with today's hours in unforgiving black ink.

Glancing at the clock on your dash, it hits you with the subtlety of a wrecking ball– six minutes until closing. It might as well be in another time zone, given the snarled rush hour traffic and the river that the streets have become. Your car roars to life, and you pull out onto the roadway, tires hissing on wet asphalt, windshield wipers barely keeping up with the deluge. Your skin still sings with Eddie’s touch, but it's the burgeoning storm of words—cheater, adulterer, betrayer—mixed with the soft hazel of Steve’s disappointed eyes that tattoo themselves across your conscience. This is the unforgivable sin, and you can't undo it, but you'll be damned if you don't at least try.

You're double-parked now, hazards blinking a frantic rhythm. The 'CLOSED' sign on the dry cleaner's door mocks you as you rattle the unrelenting metal handle. "Please, please, please," you whisper, pounding on the uncaring glass, your unheard pleas bouncing off the empty shadows within. A car horn cuts through the rain —"What the fuck, lady?" The other driver yells, uncaring of your predicament.

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" The words are a rain-soaked shout as you slosh back to your car, drenched and defeated.

Another angry horn sounds off as you pull into traffic, carelessly cutting off a Yellow Cab in your haste. Rainwater drips from your hair, soaking your shirt. Even with the heater set to blast, it does little against the chill that has settled deep in your bones. Down the road, a bright blue sign glows like a beacon, and you jerk the steering wheel, the car fishtailing as you skid into the lot.

The pharmacy's fluorescent lights are too bright and too sterile as you grab a small bottle of mouthwash off the shelf in the travel section and wait in line to pay, the store's generic electronic music grating against your already frayed nerves. Outside, you stand on the corner, swishing and spitting the minty liquid onto the sidewalk, repeating the process, trying to cleanse more than just your mouth. A passerby wrinkles their nose at you from under their umbrella. "This is Chicago! You've seen worse!" You snap, arms thrown up in exasperation while the rain and your regrets mingle on the cold pavement.

With pruney fingers, you pull the cardigan you had left at Stax off the back of your office chair. Shrugging it on, the material dampens from your wet t-shirt but offers a little warmth. Your phone buzzes as you settle at your desk — five missed calls from Eddie and four texts. The roar of the heavy rain and being buried deep in your bag had muffled its sound, not that you would have picked up.

Eddie: Answer the phone, doll!

Eddie: Look, I need to know that you’re okay.

Eddie: I swear to Christ if you don’t pick up.

Eddie: Okay, have it your way. I’m driving to your place.

What? No! Your thumb presses the call button, and it rings twice before it connects. There’s no hello, just the slight hum of an engine and the rain pelting glass.

“I’m okay,” you breathe into your phone, “I didn’t go home. I’m at my office.”

Your heart drums in your ears with each second of silence. Your eyes flutter shut, relief flooding you when he finally responds. An exhale loosens the tension in your chest. His voice resonates in a dark rumble through the phone, "We need to talk."

“I….I know,” your voice wavers as you wipe your nose on the back of your hand. “I just need a minute here, Ed. Can you give me some time?”

The rhythmic blink of the turn signal punctuates his heavy sigh. “Yeah. Alright. But doll,” he pauses as the sound of water splashing against his vehicle mingles with the whoosh of passing traffic, “You’re not running away from this. And trust me, the irony of that statement isn’t lost on me. Think about what I said, okay? I meant it all.”

With a tight throat, you whisper, "I have to go," and disconnect the call.

Placing your phone on the desk, you dab the raindrops off your face with a tissue. The quiet of the office wraps around you, its half-dark corners and the soft glow from the monitors creates a place for you to breathe and be still. The raging storm and the ticking wall clock echoing in the solitude do little to distract you from thoughts you’re not ready to face. With a deep breath, you lift the lid of your laptop, seeking refuge in the normalcy of work as you coax the screen back to life.

The song erupts from the speaker on the edge of your desk, a jolt of sound shattering the silence like an accusation. You grab it with fumbling fingers, scrambling to press the off button. Covering your face with your hands, you let out a sound that is equal parts sob and hysterical laughter, wondering how you ended up in this situation. With your elbows pressed against the wooden top, you bury your face in your hands.

“What are you doing here, kid?” The gruff voice cuts through your misery.

"Jesus Christ, Hopper," you gasp, clutching at your chest, "You scared the hell out of me."

"Guess we're even since Mr. Brightside nearly sent me into cardiac arrest." Hopper towers over you, standing beside your desk with his hands buried in his pockets.

“You listen to The Killers?” You ask, surprised while he drags a chair from the next desk, its wheels screeching faintly against the concrete floor.

“You kids really think Jim Croce is the only thing on my playlist?” A chuckle escapes him as he eases into the chair beside you, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

You muster a puzzled look, shaking your head in feigned denial.

“Don’t bullshit me, kid. I don’t have much time. I’m meeting Joyce for dinner at that Italian place on Taylor Street. Have I told you about it? I’ve been dreaming about the breadsticks. Enzo puts some spice on ‘em, I don’t know what it is, but it’s good. You dip it in olive oil,” he groans, “Forget about it. Those things knock your socks off, and I’m wavering on the main course between—”

“I need you to take me off the studio opening,” you interrupt, folding your arms across your chest.

“We’ve been over this. Unless you have some good reason–”

“Eddie kissed me,” the confession slips out, eyes widening in shock at your admission, hands flying to cover your mouth.

His brows rocket upwards, then draw together, his gaze sharpening, voice dipping into a low, protective timbre, “What do you mean he kissed you?”

“No,” you clarify, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing an elbow against the desk, massaging your temple to soothe the forming headache. “I kissed him. We kissed. It was mutual.”

Hopper reclines, the chair creaking under his weight, his gaze level and unreadable. “I’m disappointed in you, kid. I never thought I’d be having a conversation like this with you.”

“I know. I know. Steve…” you trail off, eyes drifting to the photo of Steve on your desk.

Hopper leans in, his hand cutting through the air. “I don’t give a fuck about Harrington,” each word gains in volume, “This is about you and everything you’ve worked for. It’s 2012. That kind of nonsense ends careers. Do you know what can happen if he complains?”

Your eyes roll. “He’s not going to complain, Hop.”

“You don’t know that,” he counters, his head shaking off your naivety. “These things like this have a way of coming out. That was an amateur move. Where is your professionalism? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, lowering your eyes. “We have more of a history than I let on.”

“Well, stop the presses. I couldn’t have figured that one out.” His voice lowers in resignment, “Maybe this is my fault–”

“No–”

Your protest is swift, but he plows right over you, “I’ve babied you. Maybe it’s because you’re my favorite or because you were just a kid when you started. I let you get away with too much over the years because you’re a damn good writer. But that stops now, I’m going to treat you like all the rest of the idiots in this place.” His hand waves around the room before pointing right at you. “You’re going back to that studio, and you’re going to keep your dick in your pants and get those interviews done. If you want to play kissy face, you do it on your own time. You got me?”

Your mouth drops open, disbelief palpable. “You're still going to make me finish?”

“Damm, right I am,” Hopper affirms, not missing a beat. "If I hand your work off, it raises questions. Big, messy questions. What do I tell downtown when they ask why the piece was reassigned? Unless you’re ready to come clean to Harrington?”

Your lip goes between your teeth as your head shakes.

“I thought so.” Hopper leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "This could be both our necks," he mutters, concern filling his voice.

Your head shakes, but your determination is clear. "It won't."

“It better not. I don’t want to hear another word about it until that last story is on my desk. Are we clear?”

Your jaw clenches, the reality of the situation hitting hard. "Crystal."

Hopper's gaze remains fixed on you, ensuring his point has been made. "Good," he says, his voice softening, "Now go on, get out of here. Deal with whatever mess you've got going on. Just make sure it's sorted by Monday."

Your key slides into the lock and you turn it slowly, the tumblers falling into place with a series of soft clicks. You pause, leaning your forehead against the chill of the metal door, grappling with a rising queasiness that sours your stomach.

A wave of home's warmth engulfs you, mingled with the earthy aroma of herbs and roasting potatoes. The vibrant strains of Queen accompany Steve's honeyed tones floating down the hall from the kitchen.

"Welcome home, ace. I was beginning to wonder where you were," his voice, laced with a touch of concern, greets you, “Busy day? Did you write me a Pulitzer?”

Your messenger bag slides from your shoulder, giving into gravity with a loud smack against the hardwood.

His voice grows nearer, warmer as he moves down the hall, the floor lightly creaking with each footfall. “I swung by the Athenian Room, grabbed us Chicken Kalamata, and I have a bottle of Chardonnay breathing.”

Your favorite. Your heart sinks further, receding behind your ribcage, unworthy of his care or devotion.

He stops short when he rounds the corner into the foyer, taking you in, his eyes reflecting your disheveled state.

"I didn’t get the dry cleaning," you admit, struggling to keep your voice steady. "I was... too late."

For a heartbeat, he's silent, but his eyes remain tender. “Hey, that's alright, ace. I'll just skip the gym in the morning and swing by the cleaners before work. Are you okay?”

Traces of the day find a path down your cheeks as you sniffle and draw the cardigan tighter around yourself. "I got caught in the storm."

“Did you forget your coat?” He draws closer as you give a small nod. His hands slide up your biceps, continuing on to wrap around you. “You're frozen.” He uses his thumb to lift your chin. “How about a hot shower, yeah? I'll keep dinner warm. You'll feel better after you eat.” His mouth begins to near yours, but you turn your face away.

"I think I'm coming down with something," you manage, your lies teetering atop your mounting guilt. "My throat is sore."

Concern etches his features, his brows knitting together as he adjusts, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You don't feel hot.”

Pulling away, you bury your face into his shoulder. "I think I'll just shower and go to bed."

“If that's what you want,” he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, though his tone is threaded with disappointment. “Go on up. I'll bring you some water and a couple of Tylenol.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you step away with a weight in your chest. “I'm really sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.” He waves off your apology, his smile faint but sincere. His arms fold over his chest as he turns back toward the kitchen.

As you climb the stairs, the music snaps off, replaced with the distant roar of a sports game, the announcers' voices carrying up the stairwell.

The embrace of the hot shower strips away the cold clinging to your skin, but it cannot wash away the regret. Sliding down the tiles, you draw your knees close while your tears fall, mixing with the stream of water spiraling towards the drain.

Your life is a song made up of the choices you've made, each one a different note that sounded so sure at the time, but now the harmony seems slightly off-key. The steam rises around you like a specter. It's the quiet between the chords. And you're there, just listening, trying to figure out if there's a note you'd change or if every single one was necessary. As you nestle into bed, sleep tugging like an insistent tide amidst the drift into dreams, one truth resonates clear– the music plays on.

Song 5 coming this week! Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Thanks for indulging me with this new version. I wanted to get it right. This next chapter is going to be Steve's launch party and will explore the fallout from that kiss. I love each and every one of you and I hope Torn!Eddie makes an appearance in your sweetest of dreams. -Jelly

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series

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ferie-anon · 1 year

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🧃Astro observations🧃

May not resonate to everyone, just take wut resonates and relates

🍓Gemini + 6th house stellium, I see people with 6th house and gemini stellium in their chart like to incorporate tasks or routine into their interests, activities, and daily life.

My gemini friend has a gemini stellium and 6th house stellium and gurl literally sets multiple playlists of different moods, one for her relaxing and falling to sleep, one for walking to school like badass music, one for when shes sad and listening to sad music. It’s the gemini + 6th house = interests and fandoms + daily life. Also she’s in multiple fandoms and makes edits of her fav characters etc.

🍓Gemini venuses 🤝 friendship to lover trope or having crushes on their friends at times

🍓 People with 9th house stelliums travel a lot or have been to a lot of places I feel, they’re more open to opportunities to visit other places

🍓Libra risings 🤝 known for their aesthetic or style online or in person. My friends who are complimented for their outfit or styles had libra rising. As libra is a cardinal sign, having it in rising makes their styles and sense of style expressed outwardly, their styles are pleasing with nice color combo and eye catching.

Eg. One of my friend dresses in darker colors but in a chic casual manner with half zipped jacket, tank top, sweatpants. Another dresses in letterman jackets over tank top and loose jeans in a y2k look.

🍓 Virgo risings styles seem to blend in the background but when u focus its quite well put together. They consider comfortable clothing to occasional experimental chic styles. No matter what tho, virgo risings always look neat somewhat in their outfit look.

As virgo is a mutable sign, having that in the rising makes their styles more interchangeable, but often times virgo risings have earthly colors like brown, black, green, white. Sometimes they also have warm and light colors.

🍓If u have ur sun aspects to someone’s moon or rising, u might easily find some common interest or common ground.

My libra sun aspects my friend’s gemini moon, we would share similar ideas and topics to talk about. My libra sun conjuncts my other friend’s libra rising which is how we easily became friends with each other by chatting and adjusting easily to each others energy.

🍓Leo mercuries humor 🤝 being funny and dramatic

Leo mercuries have a good voice to project, when they’re passionate about something and are joking around they’re going to say the funniest shit ever to rile u up.

🍓Cancer mercuries when someone questions their opinion or disagrees 🤝 gets passionate or defensive

“Okay but thats my opinionn 😕😓 u have urs ✋🏻🐿️”

🍓Virgo moon + libra mercury = their constant questioning of everything and little detail.

With virgo moon’s attention to detail and analyzation + libra mercury’s diplomatic and constant questioning to see both sides = 🔍🧐

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cosmicssubway · 3 months

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some old concepts I made for the idealized unova remake i've been building in my head... I'm not sure if i'll ever return to this concept, I only got as far as redesigning the protags & rivals before losing interest.

[Image description: several drawings of redesigned characters from pokemon: black and white. The first two images show Hilda, who is wearing a pink letterman jacket, a black t shirt, distressed jean shorts over black leggings, and pink hi-top sneakers. These pictures show her with alternating skin and hair colors, and what she would look like without the jacket and tights.

the second image is of Bianca, one with her wearing a white and green summer dress, and one of her wearing the same dress, but with an orange, argyle-patterned cardigan and a white scarf.

The last image is of Cheren, who is wearing an outfit similar to his appearance in pokemon black and white, but without the jacket. This picture shows several alternate color palettes for his outfit. End image description.]

#hilda #hilda pokemon #pokemon trainer hilda #bianca #rival bianca #bianca pokemon #cheren #cheren pokemon #rival cheren #pokemon #pokemon black and white #pokemon black and white 2 #fan art #pokemon fan art #redesign #pokemon redesign #black and white remakes

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luvangelbreak · 3 months

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Deprived | Nine

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: swearing (dont think there's anything else but lmk!) word count: 2.8k a/n: this one is kinda a filler chapter but TRUST it's only gonna get crazier from here.

pov: layla

I didn't want to go to school but I despised being home even more right now. My father and I had gotten in yet another screaming match the night before and I was sure it would continue through the day if I didn't leave the house. I managed to drag myself out of bed, trying to make myself look somewhat presentable today. I usually didn't care what I looked like at school but in order to make myself feel better, I decided it was a good idea to dress a little more presentable.

I entered the school grounds, glad I decided it was a good idea to put it in a high ponytail to avoid my hair being blown in my face by the wind. I hummed along to the music in my headphones, ignoring people's usual stares as I kept my head down to the ground to make sure there was no black ice as I walked quickly.

I felt a pair of hands nip at my hips from behind causing me to yelp, spinning around quickly and taking a headphone out only to see it was Matt with a smirk on his lips.

"Hey pretty girl," he looked down at me and I shoved his chest back, pausing my music and pulling my other headphone out of my ear.

"Hi jackass," I rolled my eyes, pulling my long sleeve white t-shirt down that was under my leather jacket. It was then that I noticed Matt and I had similar outfits on. He with a plain white shirt and a letterman jacket as well as blue jeans and his usual white air forces while I wore my long-sleeved white shirt, leather jacket, black jeans and ratty white Converses.

"Oh come on. Don't be like that," he wrapped his arm around my shoulders as he pulled me towards his car where Allie, Chris, Nate and Nick were standing.

"You guys are here awfully early," I furrowed my eyebrows as we approached them.

"No thanks to Matt," Chris grumbled as he leaned on the hood of his car, laying his head on Allie's shoulder as he looked at me tiredly.

"Do you all go in the same car?" I asked, confusion covering my face and Nate shook his head.

"Usually I drive Allie here but Matt offered to pick us up today," Nate explained and I nodded, chewing on my lip as Allie smiled at me.

"Cute outfit," she beamed and I smiled at her with a shrug, Matt's arm around my shoulders restricting the movement.

"Thanks. I wanted to put in a little effort today," I explained and she nodded, a knowing smile on her lips as he glanced between Matt and I.

"Is Mia coming later?" Nick asked Matt and he sighed, running a hand over his face.

"Yeah she insisted she had to go," Matt said, an unimpressed tone underlying his words and my eyebrows furrowed.

"What's later?" I asked, not wanting to sound too intrusive but I was curious as to what they were talking about.

"Movie night at our house," Nick responded, a smile now on his lips and I nodded, pursing my lips, "You should come."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise when the words fell from his mouth, Nick being the last person I would've expected to invite me but I mumbled, "I don't know if Mia would want me to."

"What would Mia not want?" I heard a voice behind me and everyone turned their heads to look at Mia who looked like she was freezing her ass off in her cheer uniform.

At least Allie had the brains to wear a jacket and tights.

"Layla's coming tonight," Matt deadpanned, voice unwavering and Mia raised her eyebrows. She tried not to let it show on her face that she hated that idea by nodding but I could tell she wasn't impressed.

"Great," she mumbled, moving to stand between Matt and Nate, her eyes glancing at Matt's arm around my shoulders.

"What kinda movies are we talking about here?" I asked, turning my attention back to Nick since he was the one who invited me.

"Horror!" Nate raised his voice and everyone groaned but I shrugged, giving him a downturned smile.

"I could get with that," I smiled at him and he held his hand low for me to give him a low-five which I quickly reciprocated.

"What kind of horror?" Mia asked, eyebrows furrowed in worry and I looked at Nate who shrugged.

"Depends how scared you wanna be," he smiled at me, mischief in his face.

"Have you guys seen Hereditary?" I asked and everyone except Nate shook their heads.

"Perfect! Hereditary it is," he nodded and I pursed my lips to hide my smile as Nate smiled at me. I let out a small chuckle before nodding.

+++

The rest of the day flew by, Matt and Chris once again sitting next to me in English and Allie pairing up with me in gym, earning a glare from Mia. I decided to ditch them at lunch, needing time for myself outside to have a cigarette as I debated whether or not it was a good idea to join them for a movie night.

I decided it wouldn't hurt so once Allie, Mia and I finished gym, we walked straight to Matt's car where the boys stood waiting. From a distance, I could see Chris and Nate were fake fighting each other making me shake my head as we approached them.

"I didn't know you had tattoos," Nick's surprised face met mine as he looked down at my thighs where a few black tattoos were exposed from my gym shorts.

"Yeah I have more on my arms," I shrugged and he smiled, nodding his head with an impressed look.

"Alright, let's go!" Matt announced as he jumped in the driver's seat. Chris jumped in the passenger seat, Nick behind Matt and Nate behind Chris. Mia hopped in next sitting behind Nate and Mia climbed in to sit next to her, the only seat being left was beside Mia and behind Nick.

I was thankful Mia and Allie were both smaller than me and I could fit in the back with them with my long limbs. Matt made sure we were all buckled in before he pulled out of the parking lot, Chris playing his usual trap music on the aux.

"For the record," Allie leaned over to talk to me quietly, "I like when you're on aux more."

I smiled at her with a roll of my eyes, dismissing her statement with a wave of my hand. A few minutes passed as I looked out at the small window of the backseat, noticing we were going into a nicer part of the state.

"Chris, can you put something better on?" Allie groaned and Chris turned around giving her an unimpressed look as he turned the music down.

"And what would you suggest Al?" he asked her, sarcasm in his words and she smiled sweetly at him.

"Harry Styles," she nodded and he groaned, falling back into his seat before I heard the familiar sound of the intro to Fine Line by Harry Styles started to play.

I picked up quickly that Chris had a soft spot for Allie and I can't say I blame him. She looked like she wouldn't hurt a fly even if she won a million dollars for it.

By the time the song came to an end, we pulled up to the two-story house that looked exponentially nicer than my own. Nick and Nate climbed out of the car before I got out, Allie behind me and then Mia. Once we all had our belongings and the doors were closed, Matt locked the car and we made our way inside the house.

I followed behind everyone since they all seemed familiar with the house. I made a mental map in my head of how to get back to the school in case I wanted to leave. We entered the large living area, Nate throwing himself on the three-seater couch and Chris rolled his eyes.

"I'll get the snacks," Chris said before walking out the door to where I could see the kitchen.

"I'll get blankets and pillows," Nick announced before running up the stairs and Nate grabbed the remote beside his head, turning the TV on.

"Nate you're taking up the whole fucking couch," Mia deadpanned and with a groan, Nate sat up. Mia placed herself on one end of the couch as Matt sat down beside her.

"That's where Nick sits so you can sit with me and Chris on the floor," Allie explained, pointing to the armchair that was to Mia's left and I nodded.

She placed herself on the carpet in front of Mia, leaning back onto the couch as Mia crossed her legs. I placed myself beside Allie, Matt sitting behind me. I leaned forward, not sure if he was okay with me leaning on the couch between his legs.

Chris returned with both arms full of snacks, placing them on the floor in front of me before saying, "Drinks?"

"Pepsi!" Allie beamed and he nodded, turning his attention to me,

"Uh, the same is fine," I gave him a half-hearted smile and he once again nodded.

Nate asked for a water, Matt a root beer and Mia also got water. Nick called from the top of the stairs, "Lemonade!"

Chris recounted the drinks in his head before walking back to the kitchen. Suddenly I felt something land on my head and it covered my face, realising it was a blanket.

"Nick!" I heard Matt say in an annoyed tone before the blanket was pulled off of my head. I leaned my head backwards to see Nick standing behind the couch with an apologetic look and Matt shaking his head looking down at me. There were two blankets, one for Nate, Matt and Mia and one for Allie, Chris and I. There was already a small blanket where Nick was going to sit so he didn't bother bringing another down for himself.

"You want the pillow?" Matt asked and I shrugged. He placed the pillow between his feet against the couch before he grabbed my shoulders, pulling me back so my back was resting against the couch between his legs, the pillow resting behind my lower back.

Nick rounded the couch, getting himself situated in his chair as Chris returned with the drinks. He handed them out one by one and I mumbled a small thank you, earning a smile from him. Allie handed some of the snacks to Mia and threw a bag of popcorn to Nick, leaving a bag of popcorn and Skittles for her, Chris and I to share.

"We all good?" Nate asked as Chris sat down next to me, his shoulder barely touching mine as he pulled the blanket towards him a little more. There was a chorus of agreements before Nate clicked play on the movie.

+++

Halfway through the movie and I had both Chris and Allie clinging onto me in fear. I had slid down slightly so my head was tilted back onto the couch and Matt hadn't moved his legs from around me once. I looked over to see Nick hiding behind his blanket and tilted my head back to see Mia clinging to Matt, hiding her face in his shoulder as he looked at the TV in dread.

Nate and I seemed to be the only ones not affected by the movie and I assumed he had also seen it before. I tilted my head back to the screen as Allie flinched against me.

"Why did you suggest this fucking movie?" Chris mumbled as he gripped my forearm with two hands and I giggled to myself.

"Because it's fun to watch everyone's reactions," I whispered back to him and he shook his head before he placed it on my shoulder making me smile to myself.

I felt something pull on my hair and I tilted my head back to see Matt still staring at the screen while his fingers fiddled with the ends of my hair. He glanced down at me before he looked down at his hands, letting go of my hair before giving me an apologetic smile.

"Wait, I need to pee," Mia suddenly announced and Nate paused the movie as Allie leaned forward, letting go of my arm to let Mia out from behind her. Mia quickly got up, jogging down the hallway and zipping into the bathroom. I lifted my arm up that Allie was no longer holding onto, flipping my ponytail back so it was lying on Matt's thigh.

Chris was still leaning against me, his weight fully on me as he let go of my arm with one hand to get his phone that was on the floor beside him. I didn't look at his phone but he pulled it away from his face, extending his arm out making me look at the phone and I realised he had his Snapchat open to take a photo.

I poked my tongue out of the corner of my mouth with my eyebrows raised as Nate held a thumbs up in the air, Allie leaning over and pouting her lips as she placed her head under my chin while Matt smiled toothily. Chris took the photo before saving it and pulled the phone back towards his face.

"Okay!" Mia appeared again as she flopped onto the couch, "We're good."

Nate played the movie again and Allie resumed her position of gripping onto my arm as Chris put his phone down. I once again felt small tugs on the end of my hair and I bit my lip to hide my smile even though I knew no one would notice since it was quite dark in the room, the only light being emitted from the TV.

As the movie continued, I snacked on some Skittles and Matt continued to play with the ends of my hair while Chris and Allie hid their faces in my shoulder at various moments. I heard shrieks of fear emit from Nick and Mia throughout the rest of the movie before the credits played and Allie let out a breath of relief.

"That was the worst movie I've ever watched," Nick stated, his unimpressed tone making me chuckle.

"I take it you guys don't watch horror movies often," I questioned and Chris hummed in agreement, still clinging onto my arm and his head on my shoulder.

"We going for round two?" Mia asked and I sat in silence, waiting for someone to respond as I played with the lint on the blanket cover Allie, Chris and I.

"What time do y'all have to leave?" Matt asked and I tilted my head back to look at him still tangling the ends of my hair in his hands.

"My dad's picking Mia and I up at 6:30," Allie explained and Matt looked at Nate.

"I gotta go in like 30 minutes. My parents want me home for dinner," Nate rolled his eyes and Matt nodded before looking down at me.

"I don't have to be home by a certain time," I shrugged and he smiled.

"Why are you're parents picking us up so early?" Mia whined, throwing her head on Matt's shoulder with a pout. Allie tilted her head back to look at her.

"Because we have to get dinner," Allie explained and Mia groaned, slouching into Matt further. I looked over when Nick chuckled to himself before he pursed his lips, looking back at the TV that had nothing playing.

I looked down at Chris who was doing something on his phone before I asked, "Uh where's the bathroom?"

"I'll show you," Matt quickly leaned forward, Mia falling off of his arm and I nodded. Chris leaned back onto the couch against Nate's legs allowing me to get up before I slid the blanket off of my legs and stood up.

Matt jumped off of the couch as I stood awkardly in the middle of the living room before he started walking down the hallway. He opened a door to the right, turning the light on before motioning me to walk inside.

I sent him a thankful smile before stepping into the bathroom. I spun around to the close the door and locked it behind myself. I quickly sat down on the toilet, feeling my phone vibrate in the pocket of my shorts. I pulled it out seeing a text from my father and a frown covered my features.

Father 5:37pm Dont bither cominh home

I sighed, locking my phone as I placed my head in my hands as I chewed on my lip. I bit down on it anxiously, thinking of where to sleep tonight and how I would get to school in the morning.

tags:

@ilovechrissturniolo1 @leprechaunbirthdaygirl @sturnfix

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sub matt sturniolo #sturniolo x reader

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spacedace · 10 months

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Yooo, got more Ghosts of Gotham snippets for you, this time with All The Danny Angst. All of it. Literally almost 5k words of Danny angst/hurt/comfort. My boy is straight up not having a good time and disassociating to the max to try and not be aware of that fact. Context/notes at the very end :D

For a long time, he wasn’t anywhere.

Wasn't anyone.

When it first happened, Danny was distantly aware of voices screaming-wailing-furious around him. Hands like vices on his arms then jolting and tugging and arms wrapped around him fierce-protective-scared. Something hot falling on his face from above, hitching breath beneath his ear, bodies covering him like a blanket or a barricade.

Mostly there had just been the pain.

So many times he’d been hurt over the years. Battles, fights, wars. He’d been hurt before. He’d known pain. He’d died of pain, once, maybe. Or maybe it hadn’t been the pain. Maybe he just thought that sometimes because the agony had all he’d been able to feel as the portal tore open a hole through his heart and changed him forever as it ripped a doorway between the Realms. Maybe that was happening now. Worse this time. Beyond anything he’d felt before, beyond his ability to even truly comprehend.

A piece of himself - of his very soul - torn out with bare fingers, digging in and ripping him apart. Something so much a part of who he was that he’d never known life without it suddenly yanked out by the root. Like a limb hacking itself away from his body with a knife, like his heart cracking open his ribs from the inside with the intention to maim and kill. A part of what he was that hated him so much it took vicious delight in trying to kill him as it tore itself away.

Hands in his hair. Safe safe safe. Lifted from the ground, from the bodies that cradled him, from the agony of the waking world.

Jazz.

Blood on her face, down her chin, pinking her teeth. Eyes like storms and seas, hair crackling like an inferno. Her fingers on one hand were blackened, some bent at wrong angles. She didn’t flinch as she brushed damp hair from his face with them, expression steady. There were things on the ground behind her, soft and strange and almost shaped like people if all the pieces were put together right.

They didn’t move.

There wasn’t much white left beneath all the red and black. It still made Danny flinch to see them. Jazz pulled him close and started walking. Those from fore, that cradled him and protected him - not part of him, but not hurting him either - followed in silence. Pink shirt splattered in more red. A letterman jacket torn. Blond hair ragged and burned. He knew their names once, before he was torn apart, before the pain. Now they were only distantly familiar. Echoes of a past lost to the pain of the violent unanchoring of his Core.

Jazz carried him, tucked him close as doors opened and the deathly stillness of where they’d been gave way to the chaos of beyond. There was something familiar in the brick of the buildings, the slant of the roads, the sounds of the people. Something that belonged to him, or did once before those pieces of himself turned and tore himself apart. His to protect. But he couldn’t tell if there was a him at all anymore, let alone a part of him able to feel that need to guard and defend.

Amity Park burned around them. More screaming - in fear, in rage, in declaration of war - as figures blurred in a mess of chaos. Running, fighting, falling.

Danny didn’t feel much of anything.

Jazz was safe safe safe as she cradled him close. The world seemed to shift around her to let them through. Bending and warping itself so that the path was always clear. Blood dripped down, fresh against the drying black on her face. From her nose, her eyes. Her heart was stead beneath his ear. Safe. She’d keep him safe.

More followed Jazz. Indistinct shapes with names he couldn’t remember. Faces he almost knew beyond the ash and dust and blood that coated them. Their steps silent in Jazz’s wake, eyes sharp on the world around them, hands shaking on weapons. Maybe he’d never been the protector. Maybe it had always been them.

They walked through chaos untouched, only pausing as they arrived at a familiar, haunted structure. Looming, shadowed, reeking of death and danger. It cast dark shadows even with the sun hazed and dimmed with choking smoke.

Home.

What had been home.

The crowd stayed on the street. Turning to face the flood of white descending upon them on the heels of wailing sirens. A flash of red high above. The cry of a Valkyrie leading the charge. Determined screams echoing her call.

Val.

Jazz thrummed safe into his shattered Core and never once looked back behind her. Brick and chrome. A wall that tracked the height of children that had died so many years ago. Steps down down down. Brick lost to chrome. Green and green and green as she carried him forward towards what had briefly been his death bed, into the swirling, gentle green and into the realm beyond.

Danny closed his eyes.

—-

When he opened them again the world was ice and cold.

Jazz slept beside him. Face pinched and pale. Fingers slightly shiny and pink where they’d been charred before, prints gone with the long healed burns. There was blue creeping through the copper red of her hair. She shivered, and a large hand tugged the fur draped over her like a blanket higher, a damp cloth pressed to her forehead.

Dan, solemn and quiet in the blues and whites of the Yeti healers. He reached a hand to smooth it through Danny’s hair. Low rumble of here where here? It sounded familiar, something echoed in the black that had been all Danny had known while he drifted in Unbeing.

The pain had come back the moment he’d opened his eyes. Now churning with a horrible hollowed-out feeling. Jazz and Dan soothed it, but there was an aching emptiness where others should be. Where others had been before they’d torn themselves away. In his chest his Core felt like shattered glass, grinding over itself in search of what was no longer there.

Hush here rest Dan rumbled, lulling with the assurance of here here here. Jazz shivered in her sleep but reached out. Safe here safe.

Everything hurt.

Danny slipped into Unbeing once more.

—-

Jazz and Dan were gone when he drifted upward once more.

Elle curled against his side instead.

She clung to him with shaking hands, face buried in his chest as her shoulders shook. She did not soothe with Bond Calls of safe and here like their siblings but keened to him with scared hurt betrayed in agonized tones that set his teeth on edge.

She smelled of ash and blood.

He made himself aware of his body, of his arms and hands, even as his mind tried hard to pull back. Turned in slow degrees until he was wrapped around her in a protective hug. Too torn apart to respond with the shushing warble of safe here safe that had been pressed into him for the days-weeks-months he hadn’t Been. He settled for rasping, half-forgotten vocal cords, for a song he could barely remember hummed into her hair.

Elle clung tighter. Burning tears and gasping sobs and shaking so hard that a distant part of him thought it might shatter her Core too, like glass. He wanted to help, to protect. When Unbeing crept upon him, tried to pull him down and out of the overwhelming agony of having two of his Core Bonds viciously yanked out of him, he fought it.

Trembling and sick feeling, the sting of salt in an open wound as he tried to run a hand down his little sister’s small back in reassurance. He felt like he was choking on the rioting emotions that rolled off of her and polluted their Grave Bonds. He wanted to shove her away and curl in on himself. He wanted to hug her tight and comfort her.

He did neither in the end.

Unbeing pulled hard and he was too weak to fight it. Soothing nothingness eclipsed all, dragging him back to obliviousness. No Jazz. No Dan. No Elle.

No Danny.

—-

The bed beneath him was far less comfortable than the last time he Was. A mattress with a pile of worn and musty blankets in the corner of a small room that smelled mold-sweet. A window with a moth-eaten quilt stapled over it, only barely keeping too-bright sunlight at bay. Warped floorboards and water-stained ceiling and a baseball bat with dark red stains leaned against the wall. A battered laptop on a half-broken milk crate, images of space and low volume talk about star nurseries light years away from lonely little Earth.

Dan asleep at Danny’s side, large frame almost taking up the entirety of the small bed. Black hair in a familiar, awful mullet as he lay in human form. The smell of capsaicin and lidocaine and hand sanitizer rubbed into his skin. A forming bruise along his jaw, half hidden by the scruff of his unshaved face.

The documentary continued on. Danny lay in the dark and let himself fall into the wonder of space and the lulling hush of his brother’s breathing. Then he was nothing at all.

—-

There was a dresser in the room the next time he was aware. One leg missing, it was kept balanced with a stack of old Psychology Today magazines. White paint fell like snow on the floor around it where it peeled away. A collection of over-the-counter pain relievers and muscle relaxers gathered like soldiers at one end while half melted candles were settled around objects he couldn’t make out like an altar at the other.

He smelled the sweet smell of oranges and cloves on the muggy, warm air. He blinked passed the images of space on the laptop to see a small dented pot on a hot plate, steam wafting off it as Jazz leaned over to drop a half-wilted sprig of rosemary into the simmer pot. There was still blue in her hair, a long, wide streak stark and bright against the copper, almost glowing in the dim light of the room. Her mouth moved over words spoken too low to understand but soothing in their cadence and Danny felt something painfully heavy at the edges of his muted senses ease. Her magic burned low like a campfire after all the stories had been told, warm and reassuring as it wrapped around him.

He let his eyes close as she finished. Words of power replaced by soft sniffs of pain and the hush of someone crying and trying very hard not to be heard.

—

Elle sat beside him, sallow in the low glow of the laptop when next he slipped out of Unbeing. She wasn’t crying as she had last time he remembered seeing her, but her eyes were tired as she stared longingly at the images on the screen. Not a documentary on space but some overly saccharine hosts of a show about obscure travel destinations talking too brightly over sweeping images of far-off places.

The light that crept past the makeshift blackout curtain of the quilt was street lamp yellow. The laptop clock said it was a little before midnight. He watched Elle watch the travel show, her hands shaking as she picked at her nails til they bled. Her lips were chapped and torn from biting them, hair greasy from running her fingers through the locks over and over again. As the show ended she sat and shook for the seconds it took for the next to begin, looking like she might be sick.

She never was able to feed her Obsession as easily as he could his.

He wondered why she didn’t return to her travels. Why Dan didn’t order her off to go exploring as remedy to her burgeoning Core Sickness. Why she sat curled up in a ball rocking at the foot of the bed staring at images of places that would do her much better to go and see herself rather than watch on a screen in the dark.

—-

The next time he saw her she looked better.

There were still dark circles beneath her eyes and a weariness to the set of her shoulders, but her nails weren’t bleeding and her hands were steady as she fussed with safety pins to make the blazer of the second-hand skirt suit she was wearing fit better on her tiny frame. Not perfect, but better, healthier. A little closer to the bright-eyed girl he’d been watching grow up in quick moments over the years when she came to visit.

It was a different room they were in this time. An open door nearby showed the bedroom he’d come to himself in, mattress stripped bare with the sheets and blankets being shoved into a laundry bag by Jazz. The room he was in was a little bigger, a squat living room with a window leading to a fire escape and a grungy and unfamiliar city street beyond. He sat on a floral couch that smelled of cigarettes and mildew, a plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs in his lap. The laptop was open to space once more, set on a crate acting as a coffee table beside a half-zipped purse and a cup of cold coffee.

The eggs were burnt and left a greasy residue in his mouth. He ate them mechanically as he watched Dan step in to help Elle try and salvage her work with the suit and the safety pins. The hospital scrubs he wore made his too-pale skin look even more washed out, but his hair was neat in the low ponytail he wore it in and his hands deft as he helped Elle force the oversized blazer to fall into something a little more fitting.

Somewhere in the distance there was the sound of people shouting and fighting, sirens wailing in the distance, the laughter of a kid echoing through the thin walls separating them from the apartment next door. Danny ate his eggs. The shattered glass in his chest was a little less sharp, cutting edges finally grinding down little by little.

He was slipped out of Unbeing more often, he was pretty sure. Less time seemed to be passing between his moments of awareness of the world around him, his time as Danny instead of Nothing stretching out longer. The pain was still there, still awful, but it was less. He could feel his other Core Bonds now. The emotions of his Grave not something he instinctively pulled back from and rejected, but something he could recognize and feel and even respond to in kind sometimes.

—-

There was an afternoon where he sat in the living room with Elle and Dan. Nail polish and acetone sharp on his nose as Elle sat on the floor and focused on painting Dan’s nails. Satisfaction curling along the Bond between them as she finished without smudging. Her eyes bright and hopeful as she turned to Danny, asking what color do you want?

The options she flourished at him were limited. The bright blue with the black glitter that adorned Dan’s nails. The black and dark red she’d worked into something like an ombre on her own nails. The last bottle was a deep purple, almost black until the light hit it just right. The color of Sam’s favorite lipstick as she smiled and smudged the color in the shape of a kiss onto his and Tucker’s cheeks at the end of summer break before they all piled into different vehicles to go back to their respective colleges.

Just so you don’t forget me, dorks. A laugh, a wink, a hug so tight that it felt like there was nothing else in the world except the three of them.

“Purple.” He’d said, voice hoarse and unfamiliar even to his own ears.

Dan dropped the medical journal he’d been reading to turn and stare at him. Elle went still, eyes wide and bright with hopeful tears. Her smile watery as she grabbed the bottle from their makeshift coffee table and scooted over to sit at his knee.

He was there the whole time. Feeling the cold polish on his nails, the warmth of Elle’s hands wrapping around his, the low rumbling purr Dan filled the air with. The longest he’d been anywhere for…he wasn’t sure. A long time. Elle’s hair, cut into a short bob the last time he’d seen her before everything…went wrong, had grown out. It fell in curls past her shoulders now. How long did that take? How much time was he losing?

Danny curled between his siblings, staring down at the deep purple of his nails until it was gone and all that was left was the increasing ache of Unbeing.

—-

There was a woman with a baby on the couch next time he came back. He blinked at her, trying to place who she could be as he stood in the crooked doorway between the bedroom and the living room. Dan knelt on the floor with his medical bag open, tending to a gash on the woman’s arm with quick stitches and reassuring words. Jazz bounced the baby in her lap where she sat on the coffee table, talking low about you’ll be safe and won’t find you here and we’ve got you.

The woman and her child are strangers to him, but there was an echo of familiarity to the situation. Someone scared or hurt or hungry, ushered into their tiny apartment for sanctuary. A pair of teens with bruises and wary eyes. An older man and his dog shivering from cold. Men, women, children, outside, and in between. Anyone his Grave met in need of help.

Danny shuffled passed them, following a path he can’t remember taking before but knew all the same to a dimly lit shoebox of a kitchen. The cupboards are thin in their holdings, but well organized. He found mason jars of loose-leaf tea that smell of herbs and Jazz’s intentions, starts the kettle on the stove and stumbled his way through a process he must have done a thousand times before but that he was never truly aware when he did. A bottle for the baby with the tin of powder milk in the fridge. Tea for the mother, honey and lemon for health and taste. A collection of snacks scrounged together for everyone to chew on. Check to make sure all the blinds had been pulled closed on the windows.

The baby was back in the woman’s arms when he came back out. Dan packing up his medical supplies and gathering up the used, bloody gauze. A door Danny has no memory of walking through is open leading to another bedroom unfamiliar to him. Jazz inside makes the bed with clean sheets before she went through and checked the locks on the window and those installed in the door to make sure everything worked. She brought the keys to the woman, so that she might be able to lock the door to the guest room behind her and know she was safe. Kindness did not mean safety in Crime Alley, every little bit of extra assurance that could be given would help settle their occasional guests’ nerves.

“Thank you.” The woman said, voice rasping and strained as she took the baby bottle and acknowledged the tea set out for her on the nearby table, keys slipped into her shirt for safe keeping. There was a ring of bruises around her neck and a little blood that hadn’t quite managed to get wiped away drying on her upper lip from a recently broken nose. There was still fear in her eyes, always darting to the door as if expecting someone to break in at any moment. Jazz had pulled the blood-stained bat from their bedroom, prepared if someone did.

“No problem.” He said, voice rusty from lack of use. The woman didn’t seem surprised by it, he wondered if he was known beyond the vaguely familiar walls of his Grave’s apartment. If he wandered out with one of his siblings sometimes distant and hollow. Becoming a known sight to the neighborhood with his vacant stare and silence as he drifted by oblivious to the world around him. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the woman with her injuries and haunted expression just didn’t have it in her to think it strange that he croaked like a half-dead frog.

Dan dropped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Thankful here? thankful echoing out through their Bond and filling Danny’s chest with warmth and aching melancholy at the same time. He tried to push back here with you here to his brother but only felt the broken glass of his Core grind together. Dan smiled down at him anyway.

He felt himself tipping back into Unbeing as Dan drifted off to scrounge together some spare clothes for their guest. Jazz keeping her sharp eye on the door. They were strong enough to protect themselves and the young family that was hiding with them. His last though as he drifted into Unbeing was that he wished he was strong enough to stay.

—-

There were chips in the purple of his nail polish when he came back next.

It was still there though, still shiny beneath the gold-red slant of the setting sun as he sat in the squeaky folding chair on the roof with Jazz. It hadn’t been that long since his last moment of awareness. Less time in the Unbeing, more time in his Grave.

“I just don’t know what to make of him.” Jazz said, tapping at the can of birch beer she held as she stared out over the narrow slice of Crime Alley they could see from their apartment’s roof. “Sharon says he isn’t mad at me or anything, but I can’t figure out why else he feels like he has to shadow me whenever I’m closing for the night.”

The seat was a familiar kind of uncomfortable beneath him, the street below one he recognized even as he failed to produce any kind of memory of seeing it before. The fact that they lived in Crime Alley - famous the world over as the worst neighborhood in one of the most crime ridden cities in the world - was something else he was only passively aware of. He didn’t remember being told that was where they were or the process of getting them moved there. He just knew.

“Sounds like he likes you.” Danny said to the fretting silence that his sister had fallen into. He couldn’t recall the rest of the conversation - was it a conversation if she was just talking to a wall? If Danny was an empty shell for her to hold up to her ear to try and make out the impression of a response? But he recalled his sister’s anxiety, her fluttering worry, the impression that she was looking at things all wrong.

The tapping on the can stilled, and he could feel hope hope hope filtering in through their Bond before Jazz soothed it into here reassurance safe. Jazz was the best at controlling what came through the Bonds. Always able to make sure that they only felt what she wanted them to, slipping only rarely to allow them unfiltered access to the full range of her emotions. She was able to help them with that too, when they asked. He wasn’t sure if it was her Empathic abilities that gave her that skill, or her position as Grave Stone. Either way, she always worked hard to feel steady and sure to all of them, even in the most chaotic of times.

Danny remembered the press of safe safe safe she’d instilled in him after…After. How it was the only thing he could feel from her even though he knew she’d faced Them. He’d heard screaming - her voice - heard rage and fury and awful, awful wailing. He hadn’t felt any of it though.

Unbeing pulled at him at the painful memories.

Danny pulled back.

He was on a rooftop eating Thai food with his sister, listening to her worry that a guy that clearly liked her actually hated her instead because she was Jazz and always too in her head about those kinds of things. Unbeing kept him from the pain, but it kept him from everything else too. He’d end up back there again, eventually, he knew. The shattered glass of his Core was worn now, like sea glass tumbled smooth beneath the waves. There were still sharp edges though, still pieces where a whole should be.

Jazz bumped his shoulder with hers gently. Her smile was soft and hopeful as she said, “He does not. He barely even speaks to me.”

“Because you never shut up.” He said with a croaking sort of laugh. His voice sounded better. Less rusted and stuck in his throat. He sipped at his own birch beer, cool in his hand. “Whenever you get nervous you just start babbling and don’t stop. Has the guy even had the chance to say anything?”

She shoved him with an affronted squawk and by the end of it his hair was sticky with soda and his clothes dirty with the grime of the roof and the ache in his sides from laughter was greater than the ache in his chest. They climb the fire escape back down to their apartment, Jazz hustling her way through getting ready for work while Danny tried to scrub himself clean in the kitchen sink.

Everything was wrong. In a hundred, thousand different ways. The apartment, the city, the way they were all crowded together. Jazz should be in Princeton, becoming the world’s most effective and terrifying psychologist. Dan in the Far Frozen devoting himself to being one of the Yeti’s finest healers. Elle off darting across the world, never landing in the same place twice unless it was to come visit. Danny in Amity Park’s little community college, struggling his way through a planned path that might one day lead him to NASA and space.

He didn’t know where Tucker, Sam, and Val were. Only knew they were alive because he could barely, barely feel the Bonds connecting them to him. Amity Park was gone. A memory of fire and screaming had had barely been aware for. A collection of nightmares that left Elle shaking and crying often enough to trickle through the bleak distance of Unbeing for him to know it happened.

His Core had been splintered by his parents’ visceral, violent rejection. The Grave Bonds he had with them ripped out of him at the root with the full weight of their hatred and disgust at knowing what he truly was. The pain so excruciating and the fear of following the same dark path Dan had once upon a time so great he fell inward, tucking himself away from reality itself to live in the endless oblivion of Unbeing.

It was all wrong.

Somehow, though, despite all of that, he’d laughed with his sister over her crush on the guy she knew from work. He made dinner out of box mac n’ cheese and frozen chicken nuggets while Elle swore up a storm about how much she hated that fucking evil bald bastard that was her boss. He talked to Dan during his minuscule break at the hospital and listened to him bitch about Officer Grayson showing up during his shift again. He let himself fall into the comfort and steadiness of his Grave, those who were there with him, and Was.

He woke up the next morning as himself after going to sleep without falling into Unbeing. Dan’s hair in his mouth and snoring too loud in his ears. Jazz swearing in the kitchen as she burned breakfast, still half asleep from her long shift at the bar. Elle using all the hot water as she got ready for another day of nine-to-five drudgery working at LexCorp.

Danny stumbled out of bed, present in his own body for the first time fully since before his and his Grave’s lives had crashed and burned. His Core hurt, his body was heavy with grief, but he was Himself enough to feel it and not run. He was able to push back the lulling pull of Unbeing to step out of the bedroom and breath.

It wasn’t going to be easy. He knew from half-remembered moments of Jazz speaking to him. Gentle words about healing not being linear, of good days and bad, of healthy coping mechanisms and grounding techniques and the collection of half-broken dishes she had in a box for days he just wanted to break shit instead. But he knew these things because Jazz had been there for him to say them to him. Jazz and Dan and even Elle who he knew was fighting against her very Obsession to stay there with him to make sure he’d be okay one day.

Reaching out to them through his Bonds, his Core jangled like sea glass in his chest biting and sharp as ever. But the sting had become something he could live with, lessened a little by the warmth of feeling his Grave reach out to him in turn. Everything was wrong, and for such a long time he hadn’t been anywhere at all, had lost days-weeks-months to the numbing nothing of Unbeing. But as he sat on their smelly couch eating Jazz’s terrible food, losing his coffee to a half-asleep Dan as Elle snapped the wet towel she’d used to dry her hair at him, he felt…

He felt.

And that was as good of a start as any.

So this is actually the earliest in the timeline of the snippets I’ve written/posted so far (and honestly I don’t think there will be anything from before this, this is basically The Start, just from the point of view of someone not fully there for it all). It also takes place over the first year and change that the Pham are in Gotham. Danny is in a bad place for that first year so he missed most of it. He doesn’t even know about Dan stealing medical supplies from the big fancy hospital and getting on the radar of one Officer Grayson and that shit started basically their first week in town lol

Jazz does magic, becuase why not? She doesn’t have the cool ghost powers the rest of her family has (she has some from being a Liminal, but nothing like what Danny & co have), she needed something to even the playing feild when fighting ghosts so, magic. She’s also a bartender at a bar in Crime Alley called the Dead Man’s Hand and is already falling for everyone’s favorite friendly incredibly violent neighborhood vigilante.

More of my headcanon bullshit with a group/family of ghosts being called a Grave:

Originally I thought “oh the head of the Grave should be like the Grave Mother/Father/Whatever” and then I wanted to slap myself because Gravestone is right fucking there like, my god. How did I miss that before? The had of a Grave should be the Grave Stone. That just makes sense, seriously how did I miss that? lol

I have a lot of feelings about redeemed Dan, and they can pretty much boil down to: If he gets the help he needs and is in a better place mentally, he’d probably throw himself into doing everything he could to help people while never using his powers to hurt people again. My man is a total pacifist in this (at least as long as no one fucks with his family, promises might get broken then). He was studying under Frostbite to be a healer/doctor when shit went down and is doing the best he can to keep on that medical track with thier new limited resources.

Elle actually starts out working as an interpreter/translator for Lex Luthor. The pay is terrible, she’s constantly trying not to murder her boss (valid) and she has to commute all the way to Metropolis every day. Why does she do it then? How does she end up working for the Justice League instead? Those are for future snippets/scenes to cover haha

tl;dr on the context notes: I have a lot more scenes I’m gonna write and I have a lot of feelings about this AU.

Gonna start posting this on AO3 soon after I clean up what I have written and figure out what order I wanna post things. This is gonna end up being entirely vibes with scenes/chapters being largely out of order and generally none of the connective tissue stuff stories usually have, basically how it’s been so far lol

Side note, I’ve written almost 30k words for this AU. Most of it a mess, but still. This thing has me in a chokehold and is not letting me go lol

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puppiesandnightlock · 5 months

Text

Link to Ao3: A Robin's Song

Summary: Since diapers, Jon and Damian have been best friends. Accidentally encouraging jon to go ask out a girl, damian must now deal with the consequences of pushing his what he thinks are unrequited feelings down. He turns to music to vent, posting under an anonymous online username "Robin".

What he was not expecting, was for the music to blow up, leaving him internet famous, and his feelings out in the open.

and Jon is completely clueless.

A/N: THIS IS A REVERSE ROBINS AU AGES R: Damian is 17 Duke is 16 Tim is 14 Steph is 13 ½ Cass is 12 Jason 10 ¾ Dick is 5 Jon is 18 Kon is 14 Bart is 13 Wally(will be mentioned eventually) is 5 Roy(also will b mentioned eventually) is 11

Based on this post by @jaybirbie

December 3, five weeks before.

“Can’t believe you, Mr. Jonathan-its-under-fifty-degrees-please-wear-a-jacket, didn’t wear the biggest coat you could find today.” Jon snorted, rifling through his closet.

Damian’s bronze skin was dusted with a pretty pink as he scowled, a knitted green sweater and black skinny jeans his only defense against the cold.

“It’s a weekend, Jon, I had no intention to go out, and I let Duke take the big jacket because he was going out with friends.”

Jon hummed sympathetically before pulling out the next sweater he had, his letterman.

“Try this on, Dames.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that warm.” Damian eyed it skeptically. Jon gave him a look, and he scoffed, shrugging it on anyway.

“Looks better on you than me.” Jon cackled, snapping a quick picture.

The sleeves went past his hands, the jacket going down to his mid-thigh. Damian was drowning in a sea of warm fabric, and for a moment he was lost, inhaling deeply and smelling the fabric softener Jon’s mom used, a hint of the cologne he stole from his father, and a smell that was utterly Jon. Just Jon. His best friend, and definitely nothing more. Never…anything more.

“Dami?” Jon croaked nervously, silence taking over the room.

Damian snapped out of his little dream world and flushed red, scrambling to take it off and hand it back. “Way too big.”

“Is it normal for you to smell clothing?” Jon raised an eyebrow, was that a small, miniscule burst of pink on his cheeks?

No, stop messing with your own emotions, Damian.

Damian turned his nose up and scowled. “Yes, when was the last time you washed that thing?”

“Hey! It’s clean, thank you!” Jon shot back indignantly, but not before sniffing it quickly, just to make sure.

His friend snorted, before putting on the light jacket he’d brought over his knitted sweater.

“We can just stay home and watch tv or something,” he offered.

“Should I put on Glee?”

“I’ll grab some cocoa.”

Five weeks after.

“What a sight for sore eyes.” Jon sighed, slumping against his locker. Damian looked up, shutting his as he grabbed his books.

“Your locker?”

Jon let out a breathy chuckle. “No. Her .”

He followed his gaze to a girl walking down the hall, laughing with a group of girls. Some wore a cheerleading outfit, but she wore a skirt with leggings, white shirt, and a low cardigan. Her skirt and sweater were varying shades of blue, and when she opened her eyes, one could see her eyes were as well.

Thick pieces of brown hair fell to her hips, two long layers framing her face, slightly shorter bangs parted in the middle of her forehead.

And with one glance, he could already tell. Jon was utterly enamored with her.

“What’s her name?” Damian asked quietly.

“Haisley. She’s one of the cheerleaders, and god, her voice when she sings. Angels, Damian, I swear to you she’s what angels sound like.”

Every word out of Jon’s mouth was ripping him to shreds and he fought the sudden urge to scream. Instead he swallowed hard, spitting out words like they had done him personal harm.

“You should go talk to her.”

Stop, Damian, don't do this to yourself.

“I’m sure you’ll get on very well, she looks sweet.”

Jon went pale. “Oh, God, she’s coming this way! Damian, what if I screw up?”

“Jon, it's a simple greeting. Say hi, I’m Jon, I’ve seen you around, then blah blah, say something charming. You’re good at that.”

He said it so dismissively, it nearly convinced himself that he didn't actually care. His taller friend inhaled sharply before meeting her halfway. Before he made it to her, she was tripped by something, and dropped her books. Being the good boy he was raised to be, he rushed over to help.

Damian winced as Jon said something to make her laugh, his pale complexion flushing crimson at the sound.

Fighting off the stupid emotions, he kept his head down and sped out of the hallway.

What had he done?

Present day.

Third wheel again.

It was lunch, and instead of the usual eating under the big oak in the courtyard of their high school, Damian was stuck between Haisley and Jon, trying not to scowl as they chattered and flirted.

It was disgusting, frankly, and never failed to make his appetite disappear.

He had long since stopped trying to join their conversations, always drowned out by the “we’re-not-together-yet-Dames” couple.

“I’m just going to throw my tray away.” He called loudly over their talking, the only acknowledgement that he received was a thumbs up from Jon and a sweet smile thrown his way by Haisley.

Never one to waste food, he tucked the remaining packaged snacks and apple in his backpack before returning.

Before he made it to the table, he saw Jon draping his letterman over Haisley. The same one he’d been given on that cold day. Bile rose in his throat as he saw her lean her head tentatively on his shoulder, watching as Jon grew flustered, and just as hesitantly, wrapped an arm around her.

Damian suddenly felt as if he’d stumbled across something private, and hastily turned and walked away.

The walk turned into a run, and suddenly he was in the library, holed up in a corner as he cursed the sniffles he got.

This is hardly something to cry over , he scolded himself. I knew it was never going to happen.

He stayed in the little corner until the bell had rung, sketches of characters that didn't exist pouring over his sketchbook.

*****************

Walking home had always been something held to high regard for Damian these last few weeks since Haisley arrived. The only time he could have Jon to himself like he used to. These moments were treasured now, more than ever.

“Where’d you go at lunch, Dami?” Jon asked, strolling along the sidewalk.

“The library. There was a book I wanted to check out.” He said smoothly.

“Where is it then?”

“Oh, they didn't have it, so I had to put it on hold. I must have gotten distracted looking at the other ones.”

Yes, he had precrafted a story or five to tell.

“Did I miss anything important?”

“No, not really.” Jon let out a whoosh of air. “Just that I may actually be falling in love with Haisley.”

Hurt struck him like glass daggers to his heart, but years over playing games with his brothers had ensured he had an absolutely stellar poker face.

His mask of indifference washed over him as he responded with a tremor to his tone.

“Is that so? What makes you think that?”

“Gosh, she’s so pretty, for one.”

Damian’s stomach twisted, and he spoke. “So, is it just physical? That’s not love, Jon, that’s a crush.”

“Wha-? No, I'm not done. She’s sweet, kind, and funny. She can actually have a snarky side if you hang around her enough. She has a good heart, and I know my parents would approve. Besides, do I gotta mention all the other stuff? The way her eyes get all squinty when she laughs, her smile, all the blue. I look good in blue, don’t I? We could match~”

Jon continued gushing and at the corner, Damian clapped him on the shoulder and declared with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes that he was happy for him.

“You sure, D? You don’t look too excited.” Jon seemed worried.

“Course, J, I only want you to be happy. If you're happy, I'm happy. Just…this won’t come between us, right?”

He would die before he let their friendship burn, even if that meant he had to keep his distance.

“Never. You're my best friend, Damian. We’ll always be like this won’t we? Forever?”

“Yeah. Forever.” Damian swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and breathed a sigh of relief as he hit the row of small houses.

“My stop. See you tomorrow.”

Before he could hear the response, he scurried away and across the street to the little tired house on the corner.

He unlocked the door and shut it behind him, slumping against it. The inside of the house was warm and cozy, the smell of cooking food making it homey.

When he opened his eyes, he could see his oldest younger brother, Duke, in the kitchen, the old yellow apron they had tied around his waist.

“You okay, Dames?” Duke set the pan down and lowered the fire, moving to help him up.

“Peachy.” He responded, letting himself be pulled upwards.

He hung up his coat and backpack and tried a smile, which Duke returned sympathetically.

Marching into his room, he starfished across his small bed and screeched into the pillow.

“✨Anger issues✨” Was hummed from above him.

Grumbling, Damian launched his pillow towards the person, his mood lifted slightly as he heard an “oof-” as the pillow hit his target.

“My dear menace to society.” Damian grinned as the pillow was thrown back and a black haired head popped up from the top bunk of the bunkbeds next to him.

“How was imprisonment for you today?”

“Fine, fine, I won't bore you with details .” The teen waved his hand dismissively, before raising an eyebrow.

“How was your day, is the question we should all be asking if you came in here and tried to summon a demon with those screams.”

“And summon a demon, I did.” Damian gestured upwards to his little brother.

“Asshole.”

“Swear Jar.”

A quarter was thrown at his face.

“I’m serious, I'm fairly certain you and Duke are the ones who pay like half the bills from just the jar.”

“Shut up.” Tim stuck his tongue out, Damian returning the gesture.

“Kon told me Jon got a girlfriend.” His tone softened. “Are you okay?”

The crush was well known between the three oldest brothers and Cass, and it was often used as a teasing device, if not them actually trying to convince Damian to say something.

“Fine. And they’re not together yet, tell Connor to get his facts right.” he waved off his brother’s concerns.

Tim looked at him, seeing directly past the lie, however, knowing better, he kept his mouth shut.

“You should write,” He said instead. ”Healthy venting.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Nonetheless, Damian followed his advice and took out a writing pad, proceeding to stare at the blank page for the next half hour until his youngest siblings and father arrived home, much like the author of this fic.

************

After dinner, everyone lounged around the living room, chattering and doing activities with each other.

Dick bounced onto the couch next to Damian and turned on the biggest puppy eyes he could muster.

“Dami?”

“Dickiebird?”

“Will you play for us?”

Damian inhaled sharply. It had been awhile since he’d touched his guitar, but it still remained one of his younger brothers favorite pastimes.

“I’m a little rusty, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try.”

He went and grabbed it, repositioning himself back on the couch. His siblings paused in their activities to watch.

Hesitantly he tunes and strums, before playing around with some notes. Finding he quite liked the pattern, he continued with the slow melody, switching it up and returning it.

“I’ve never heard this song before.” Steph turned her head to the side, pausing in painting Cass’s nails.

Jason bookmarked the page in his book and tore a page from one of Damian’s sketchbooks, coming to sit in front of Damian.

“Can you play that again? It was really pretty.”

He repeated it, again and again until the tune swirled around the house, bringing everyone into the song.

The kids had made a small circle around the couch, Bruce putting down his newspaper in favor of listening to his eldest.

There was nothing in his heart that spoke of pain and longing, all poured into the melancholy melody surrounding them.

When he came back to the present, the paper Jason had torn was covered in little scribbles.

Music notes.

“Timmy helped, but these were the ones that we got, so that you can play that again sometime.”

“Please play it again!” Dick chirped.

“ Very beautiful.” Cass agreed out loud, trying to sign, but stopped by the wet paint on her nails.

“You should write lyrics!” Duke suggested. “I can help!”

The rest of the evening was spent curled in the living room, Damian writing furiously and Duke helping him make things flow, Tim leaning over occasionally and remarking how similar they sounded to Damian's own predicament.

Damian was subjected to yet another day watching “Jaisley” as Tim and his group of friends, Duke, and if he was honest, he called it that as well, pine after each other.

If he had to hear the words “She’s an angel, D.” in a lovestruck tone one more time, his father would have to pick him up at the local police station for arson and vandalism.

Luckily, his savior came in the form of one Duke Wayne, who magically showed up almost every time Damian was on the brink. Today was his full school day, so he walked with Jon and Damian back home, wincing everytime Jon opened his mouth to gush about Haisley.

“Well, fuck.” Duke muttered as they walked into the house, dropping a quarter into the large jar as they did.

“It’s bad.” Damian sighed. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I can sweep this under the rug, it’ll be fine.”

“Dames-” his brother started, before Tim came barreling through the door.

“Bye guys!” He screamed from the porch, two boys and a girl waving back at him.

Shutting the door, he turned to his older brothers. “We gonna record?”

Damian crossed his arms, staring up at his taller (only by a few inches!) little brother.

“Wonderful idea, Timothy.”

He stalked towards the room, overhearing Tim whisper to Duke. “ He called me Timothy, was it really that bad?”

“Worse, dude. Wayyyy worse.”

*******************

Damian was wearing an oversized black hoodie with yellow lining, a dark green domino mask from an old halloween costume, and had left his hair out in a way rendered mostly unrecognizable to most of his school peers.

Tim screwed around with the beat-up old laptop they’d salvaged awhile back, and a suspiciously high-quality recording mic.

He would ask where it came from later.

The three brothers threw out some song requests for Damian to warm up, and then began recording.

After the third take, they stopped.

“Dami, you sound monotone. Like you’re rehearsing a line and we have you at gunpoint behind the camera.”

“Sorry.” Damian flushed.

Duke spoke up. “This is your song, your story. Try singing it how you feel, like you’re watching them and monologuing internally.”

He chewed his bottom lip, nodding. “Can we try again?”

Tim smiled, counting down.

This time, he shut his eyes, letting the soft strumming of the guitar take him back to the moment when he felt his heart break for the first time.

He floated away into the memories of them on the cold December day, to when they saw Haisley for the first time, to just recently listening to the voice he loved to hear pine for someone else.

The tune flowed around him, lifting him up into the song until he was nearly sobbing with the pain of reliving those painful moments, pouring all he had into the few minutes.

When he hit the final notes, he let the tears building up catch in the mask, a few stubborn ones slipping past the white out eyes and being hastily scrubbed away as Tim stopped recording.

The silence was loud, and nervously, Damian spoke up. “Should we retake?”

“That was perfect, Damian.”

“God, I could have cried. That is how this song was meant to be sung, and I'll be damned if this doesn't blow up by next week.”

“SWEAR JAR!” Tim and Damian chorused.

“I’m giving compliments.” Duke grumbled.

Tim stuck his tongue out and Damian skimmed the top of his guitar with his fingers gently.

“I…I don't think I want it to blow up too much. These are my feelings, and to be honest I wouldn't be surprised if they find out it's me just by the words.”

“I guess.” Tim shrugged, going over the footage in his computer, and tweaking with the picture and turning the sound up over the videos, adding subtitles with the lyrics.

“Your old profile pic is that symbol you drew a few years ago. Do you wanna keep it?”

It was a bubble letter R in dark colors of green and red, a hint of yellow making it pop. Damian studied it before nodding.

“Yes. I'd like to keep it.”

**************

They had played the song after dinner, the family applauding at the end. Tim posted it online with everyone onlooking, and although Damian claimed he didn’t care much about any of it, he sent the link to Kon, and asked him to pass it along to his older brother.

And if he hacked into a few accounts to put the link in their recommendations, who would know but him?

…And the FBI agent that Bernard from across the street told him was watching the computer, despite using a VPN.

It was for a good cause anyways.

****************************

BIG HUGE THANKS TO MY AMAZING BETA READERS FOR THIS CHATPER @robbed-ghost and @redasuree !!!!!!!!!!!

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