#he better have just meant the regular season

[murfpersonalblog]

Carol Cutshall better get an Emmy this year, I ain't playin!

"Cutshall and her team had to embrace a new reality, one initially devoid of the first season’s material pleasures..... Free of their maker, an austere Louis and Claudia flee New Orleans for Europe in search of a coven of vampires to call their own. There they find themselves in the ravaged wasteland of World War II, where sorrow pollutes even the blood they drink."

"It was such a drastic change going into season two. We went from the height of glamour, which we last saw during a Mardi Gras party, to the polar opposite in the premiere. When you look at Louis and Claudia in their shearling coats in Romania and the amount of mud and blood on them, those looks are built for surviving and searching and starting over."

This what I meant when I talked about AMC intensifying the horror for show!Claudia vs book!Claudia. They're starting over, runaway slaves free at last from Massa Lestat's domestic terrorism; following the Drinking Gourd north to the promised land of milk & honey--but their exodus isn't some glorious adventure--it's Hell on Earth!

I adore the juxtaposition Carol makes between the obscene opulence of Mardi Gras NOLA vs the Grimm realities of war-torn Europe. Book!Lou&Claud traveled across Europe in a lavish carriage Claudia picked out, and had the luxury of taking their fancy coffins with them in it.

NGL I was hoping Carol would talk about these outfits in particular:

AMC's Lou & Claud look like they've been sleeping underground/in a battlefield, dressed in animal skins/furs--not the fancy furs PETA jumps folks for, but nasty Caveman Couture rags. And I can't help but think about the furs they wore in the film, looking rich AF, even as Lou complained about how sad he was. 🙄😒

So I am SO IN LOVE with AMC sending Louis & Claudia to WWII Europe. They're in Ploiești/Romania in 1941--in the book they're in 1800s Varna/Germany. Romania was a major ally for the Nazis in WWII, and the LAST place Claud should be--let alone Louis (a gay Black African American man)--let alone because Romania was bombed TF up in the early 1940s.

They're running slow AF like regular humans--no super vamp speed at their disposal to flee from the bombs--cuz they've been STARVING. They're eating the dead like a bunch of ghoulish necrophages (come through, Witcher 3 folklore!).

Like, in the film the big idea was that drinking dead blood could kill a vampire. But in TVL & Blood Communion we know that's not the case when Lestat drinks the corpses Armand gave him, and when Lestat gives the Vampire Court Rhoshamandes' corpse--it's not deadly, but it's not great, either. Drinking blood should be PEAK sensory pleasure; but this just shows what they've been reduced to.

So to see Louis & Claudia tearing into pieces of the dead to suck up what's left is like cannibalism at its rawest, basest & most primitive--straight out of a dystopian zombie apocalypse. There's no transcendent power in the dead like what Maharet & Lestat described. Lou & Claud are scavengers in a battlefield, fighting for scraps just to survive and endure, but not really live.

And I feel so much worse for Claudia, cuz she LITERALLY didn't ask for this mess! Unlike Louis--and unlike book/film!Claudia--she was Born into Darkness w/out her awareness or consent. AMC puts this poor girl through HELL. The things she's seen & experienced made her "built for survival;" but she's also "built like a bird," and just as ignorant about vampires & the Old World as Louis--though they're both bookish intellectuals who THINK they're ready for Europe.

So they have no effing idea, cuz Lestat never told them WHY Europe was such bad news. They're blind and completely in the dark!

And then they FINALLY arrive in Paris--a breath of fresh air after the war.

But glamour returns to their lives as the pair forge ahead in Paris.... Seduced by their habit of living loudly and proudly — at least at night — Louis relaxes into his post-Lestat life, taking up photography and exploring his sexuality in subtle ways. “The look I landed on for him was that of artists and café society, and French workwear with a little bit of a blue-collar look,” Cutshall says. “It’s not the finery that we are used to for Louis, but his fastidiousness in how he wears it — tucked and belted — is still there.” There is a visual hierarchy among these old-world vampires. Louis wears the costume of the common man, placing him below the coven’s creative director, Armand, the so-called love of his life"

The "visual hierarchy" of Louis being "placed BELOW" the Old World vampires had me vibrating in my seat, especially wrt Armand, the biggest baddest boogeyman vs fledgling vampires in the books.

"We want to break away from the disguise he had in season one, because he is the mega predator,” Cutshall says. “He's not threatened by anyone. So, in everything he does and wears, he can be like an animal who is not afraid to lie on their back and bare their belly."

Which is precisely what I said about Lestat in his Mardi Gras dress & his Matador pajamas. Cuz Lou & Claud are constantly put on the exact same level--at the BOTTOM of the food chain & the gendered/social hierarchies of vampire covens in both NOLA & Europe.

But what's interesting's that AMC diversified the Theatre--there's Black & Asian vampires, not the all-white coven from the books.

The Theatre has truly become a microcosm of the entire world, highlighting just how sheltered Lou & Claud were in the New World. The history of America is very black and white--or rather: white versus black. After the Native Americans were wiped out, American racism molded & shaped centuries of slavery & oppression specifically designed to keep Black people at the bottom of barrel, even when they were "freed/emancipated." But in the Old World, power & conquest was continental--Africa & Asia & Europe were ALL major superpowers at one time or another, kicking each other's arses. Race & racism still plays a huge part in European imperialism, OF COURSE, but WWII showed how white folk are just as prone to killing & oppressing each other, let alone anyone else. 😂 Louis & Claudia's problems w/ Lestat are radically different from their problems w/ Armand (now a brown Asian, as Russia & Ukraine are also globalized; dispelling the myth about Russians only ever being white people).

But Santiago's an altogether different beast--but eerily familiar.

"Her thirst for attention is surpassed only by Santiago, the extravagant emcee of the theater troupe. For Santiago’s big onstage entrance in episode two, Cutshall took inspiration from performers like Peter O’Toole and Laurence Olivier. “I started with Fred Astaire, but with a bit of a bondage twist for Santiago’s curtain look,” she says. “Who were the top dogs of the time that he would want to emulate? You can feel him striving for that."

What is fundamentally wrong with Santiago (and Lestat) is that he's a HUGE showboat, desperate for attention & validity, specifically from LOUIS, a vampire older than Santiago, attractive & new & interesting, who's approval he actually wanted & expected. But Louis's too mature/smart for Santiago, and immediately clocked him as a clown and a BUFFOON.

AMC dyed Santiago's hair blonde on purpose, ISTG, cuz the parallels w/ Lestat are hilarious. Armand's the coven master & creative director, but Santiago's the emcee & "show pony," just like Lelio!Lestat was back in the day. Les' pony on meth meme is SO apt!

And just like Lestat pulled the rug under Armand at Les Innocents, taking on a leadership role for the Children of Satan and ushering in their new era as vampires who'd join society via the Theatre, Santiago usurps Armand's position as the ringleader against Claudia & Louis. Even though Armand wanted all that to happen, he's more passive than Les & Santiago, far more active & dominant despite being significantly weaker & younger in the Blood than Armand. Wolf Killer Lestat and "top dog" Santiago are cut from the same cloth, down to the pinstripes--which Carol already said were supposed to symbolize cage/jail bars--"back in your cage, sweetheart."

CAROL! I desire you CARNALLY! ❤️

#interview with the vampire #justice for claudia #louis de pointe du lac #the vampire armand #male fashion #fashion statement #fashion history #read a dang history book #mind blown #must see tv #the hype is real #iwtv tvc metas

[joeyisourranger]

“getting eller probably means landeskog won’t be coming back this year” shut the FUCK up

#i’ll kill you #he better have just meant the regular season

[caeqey]

‎♡‧₊˚࿐ the little things — 엔하이픈 thoughts

or — things my suitor does, that i think en- members would do too

#wc 1k+ pairing ⟢ highschool bf!en- members x gn!reader ⸝⸝ genre : fluffㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ , angst if you squint warnings .ᐟ mentions an argument, food/ed (reader forces themself to not eat)

이희승 : messages you after every round

early in your relationship with heeseung, you quickly caught onto the fact that he loves gaming. you didn't mind it of course, it was nice that he had his own thing. it only became a problem when it started feeling like he cared more about his games than he did you. not wanting to assume the worst, you decided to talked to him about it. heeseung was honestly upset, not because he thought you were being selfish, but because his actions made you feel that way. since then, he loves to text you in between rounds, updating you about the silliest things like —

“baby look! i ranked up 😁” , “I GOT BATTLE ROYALE BABY YIPEE” and often, you'd see notifications like “sorry baby, i was in game. can you play with me next time, please?”

박종성 : brings you food for lunch

jay was aware that you had a bad habit of not eating your food. often times, you'd give your lunch to your friends. it hurt him, seeing you not eat, forcing yourself not to. he took note of your behaviour and then had the bright idea that he should make you your lunch. he never forced you to eat his cooking though, but he did encourage you. as time passed, you grew a healthier relationship with not only food, but with jay as well. the delicious meals he made daily were truly the highlight of your day. every now and then, he also likes to slip in notes that say —

“eat well, you deserve it dear :)” . “i know this is your fav, so i hope i did it justice ( ._. )” , “ sorry if it tastes burnt, making tanghulu is harder than it seems :(“

심재윤 : asks you to go to his games

volleyball season has finally arrived at your school, and that meant only one thing for you. watching your dear boyfriend's games on the daily. being the libero of the senior volleyball team was not a light task, but jake seemed to enjoy it nonetheless. whether it was a regular game or a tournament, he would always ask you to go. you didn't really have much of a choice though, since you are part of the school's photography club. this meant that attending games was mandatory for you. but, mandated or not, you wouldn't dare miss any of his games. it's delightful to see jake in his element, it's as if his aura changes the moment he's on the court. but of course, your boyfriend being the guy he is, jake always reminds you to —

“take pictures of me please !” , “cmonn you're a photographer, you have to take pictures of me” with a pout. however he seems to always say “WOAH THESE LOOK SO GOOD!!! i knew you were amazing sweetheart” in the end.

박성훈 : likes to watch you make art

as one of the school's most prominent artists, you are very well known for the art that you create. sometimes you art would be submitted in national competitions and you'd often get complimented on your skills during your school's art shows. and sunghoon is no different from those who admired your art. in fact, your boyfriend is "your number #1 fan" (as he likes to put it). he loves to go to your house, just sitting there and watching you work with the medium you chose. one day, you asked him why he loves to watch you every time to made art. he thought about what to say for a moment before stating —

“well, i find it odd how you're constantly told that your artwork is stunning, but you're never told that it looks even better as you're working on it. it's like you're an extension of the piece, my darling, you're abeautiful work of art as well.” tearing up at his words, you engulfed him in a tight hug.

김선우 : sends you pictures of the sunset/sunrise

your boyfriend knows how fond you are of the sunset and sunrise. even before you had gotten together, you two would always stay up all night to watch it rise when morning came. ironically, the day (or night ?) you two had gotten together, was when you were once again waiting for dawn. so, whenever sunoo had the chance to, he would always try to send pictures of the lovely sun rising and setting. it became your thing, something only you two did with each other. those pictures would often come with texts like —

“goodmorning honey! isn’t the sunset so pretty?” , “i was out walking and noticed the sun was setting hehe”, “hiii are you uppp? look what i saw :)”

양정원 - loves to build legos with you

both you and jungwon have always been interested in legos, and there was no exception to that.even when you two go to the mall. often entering the lego store to browse for any sets that you liked. so it did not come to you as a surprise when your lovely boyfriend gifted you a set of lego roses for your birthday. he knows how much you’ve wanted to build these types of things with him, it was practically the best gift he could’ve ever thought of! now sitting across from each each other, crossed legged and giggling. things were going as planned until —

“love it’s the other way around!” you exclaimed, “wait, huh ???” despite his experience in lego set building, flowers were not his thing. “the petal, i mean. it’s upside” you chuckled. the night of your birthday went on smoothly as you two continued creating the plastic flower arrangement.

西村 力 — is the miles to your gwen

riki is actually the reason why you had taken an interest in the famous spider hero. he would often talk about the movies and the comics with you, which interested you the more he talked about it. you adored it when he geeked out about his interests, it was the side of him that no one really saw. soon, you were just as addicted as he was. and when the across the spiderverse movie had come out, you two did not miss the opportunity to watch it together. by the time his birthday rolled in, you thought about the perfect birthday present. matching bracelets that were impressed by miles and gwen. you were undeniably anxious though, even spending all night pondering about how he’d feel about the gift. but upon opening your gift he said —

“woah!! it's so cool, thank you!!” riki smiled, genuinely. “wait, hey, are you alright?” he asked, sensing your anxiousness. “i’m glad you like it. and uhm, i know that miles and gwen don't exactly end up on good terms by the end of the movie… but don't worry riks. we're gonna do our own thing”

note ᝰ.ᐟ please tell me someone got the atsv reference in riki's part (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ anyways i hope you guys enjoyed this !! please leave feedback, it would really help me out :)

#caeqey writesᝰ.ᐟ #enhypen #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunoo #enhypen jungwon #enhypen niki #heeseung fluff #jay fluff #jake fluff #sunghoon fluff #sunoo fluff #jungwon fluff #niki fluff #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #niki x reader

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Two Hearts, One Home

series masterlist

main masterlist

summary: ben hears something when he holds you close

pairing: soldier boy x female supe!reader

rating: R for language, sexual themes (?)

word count: 2.4k

warnings: pregnancy, language, spoilers for the office | mentions of/alludes to - vought torturing supe’s, sex, birth control, infertility issues and abortion

timeline: set in an au a few years after season three; this soldier boy has changed a lot personality wise, he’s a much better person then he was in season three.

author’s note: inspired by this clark kent fic by the lovely @burreaux-drys <3

another note: thinking of doing a part two because i really love how this turned out! let me know if you would like another part, cause i definitely left this fic very open ended :) there’s a part two now :)

gif source

The smell of freshly cooked bacon slowly brought Ben out of his peaceful sleep as he rolled over to pull you closer to him. His eyes flew open when he realized you weren’t sleeping next to him, but he calmed down after a moment of assuring himself you’d never just walk out on this relationship. He put on his sweatpants from the day before and left your shared bedroom.

“Is that my t-shirt?” He smiled as he walked into the kitchen.

“I figured if I was making breakfast and bringing it to you, you wouldn’t need this shirt yet,” you replied, smirking. He walked up to you and gave you a quick kiss on the lips before taking a seat at the table a few feet behind you.

“Smells delicious sweetheart,” he yawned. “But isn’t it my turn to make us breakfast? You cooked dinner last night.”

“I woke up before you and couldn’t bring myself to wake you up.” You turned around and watched as he yawned again. “God, you’re exhausted!” You walked over to him and ran your fingers through his hair as he rested his forehead on your abdomen. “Did you not fall asleep when I did?”

“Shh!” he exclaimed suddenly. He put his hands on your waist as he turned his head and pressed his ear against you.

“Ben-”

“Shut your beautiful mouth for just two seconds.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, slightly insulted.

“Sorry,” he replied quickly as he turned his head to look at you. You were met with his trademark puppy-dog-pout that always made your heart melt. “Please shut your beautiful mouth?” You rolled your eyes a little but nodded nonetheless. You knew he meant well.

He put his ear back against your abdomen then straightened up and put his ear to your chest. He went back and forth between the two a couple times without saying anything.

“Okay,” you suddenly said, getting a little freaked out. “Seriously Ben, what the hell?”

“You’re pregnant.” He looked up at you again with a huge smile. “Baby you- you’re pregnant!”

“Uh, no I’m not? And that’s not funny Ben,” you scoffed as you backed away before turning to face the stove.

“I’m not kidding! I can hear our baby’s heartbeat!” he exclaimed as he stood up.

“That’s my heartbeat, Ben,” you replied flatly. “If it sounds weird it’s just because I’m a Supe.”

“Honey, I've listened to your heartbeat every night for almost three years now, I know what it sounds like. Just like I know that right now, there are two hearts beating inside you.”

“You’re adorable.” You shook your head. You reached to take a sip of your coffee but he stopped you.

“Wait…” He narrowed his eyes. “You can’t have caffeine when you’re pregnant.”

“And where the hell did you learn that?” You raised a brow. There was no way this man had read a pregnancy book ever in his life, and you doubted he learned that in school a hundred years ago.

“When Pam was pregnant on The Office, Angela said she shouldn’t even drink out of a cup that used to have regular coffee,” he replied, a smile returning to his face.

“God I love how much you love that show.” You smiled. “But I’m not pregnant, Ben and I’m really tired. Can you please let me drink my coffee?”

He shook his head, “Sorry, you’re carrying my child now. Our child. No caffeine for you, honey.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you grumbled, flipping the pancakes you’d been working on.

“I’ll finish breakfast, you sit down,” he said. He gently pulled you away from the stove before you sat down.

“Ben, this is ridiculous! I can still cook!” He ignored your protests by continuing your work in the kitchen.

The pancakes and bacon were soon finished and Ben put some on a plate for you before doing the same for himself and taking a seat at the table with you. You focused on your food as you tried to ignore Ben just staring at you. Chin resting on his knuckles, a huge smile plastered on his face, as green eyes watched your every move.

“Ben,” you sighed before looking at him. “I’m not pregnant! Would you stop acting like I’m some miracle and just eat your damn food?”

“But this is a miracle!” he protested. “I don’t think you realize how huge this is!”

“Alright, that’s it! After we eat, we’re going to the store and buying a pregnancy test. We need to run some errands anyway, we’re nearly out of food. Not to mention we’re down to next to nothing for alcohol, which is absolutely unacceptable.”

Ben knitted his brows for a moment, as if in thought, before saying, “You can’t have alcohol while you're pregnant either, right?” You jutted your jaw out in annoyance and looked at him. “Also Office; Jim and Pam’s wedding.”

**

You really should’ve opted to go to the store alone, not that Ben would’ve happily agreed, but anything was better than this. He’d been “protecting” you from quite literally everything and it was starting to drive you nuts. He wouldn’t let you drive, he insisted on pushing the cart, and when you went to reach for something that was even slightly above eye level he pulled your hand away and got it for you.

“You shouldn’t be walking down this aisle, sweetheart!” he exclaimed when you turned to enter your favorite section of Walmart. “Does this smell really not affect the baby?”

“Ben, I can be near alcohol without putting ‘the baby’ in any sort of danger,” you replied, using air quotes because you still didn’t believe you were pregnant.

He pulled you to a stop before you could actually enter the aisle. He looked into your eyes with his concern filled ones and kept his gentle grip on your upper arm.

“Promise me right now that this aisle will have no effect on the baby if you are pregnant,” he said.

“Ben, why the hell would closed liquor bottles have any effect on me or the baby?”

“The very intense smell?” he replied.

“Oh, your Supe smell! That makes more sense. Yeah, I can’t smell the alcohol unless it’s actually open, Ben. If I am pregnant, our baby won’t be affected.”

He nodded as he let go before you walked down the aisle, picking out a few drinks you liked and a few Ben liked. He followed you around the store pushing the cart, lightly scolding you every time you reached above your head or for something that looked slightly heavy.

“Oh you two are an adorable couple!” An elderly woman exclaimed, seeing Ben reaching to grab something for you.

“Thank you!” You smiled sweetly.

“How long have you two been together?” she asked. “You remind me so much of my granddaughter and her husband!”

“We’ve been dating for a little over two years now,” you replied. “How old is your granddaughter?”

“She’s pregnant!” Ben informed the woman, who then smiled widely. Before she could congratulate the two of you, Ben exclaimed; “We weren’t even trying or anything, but I got her pregnant! My super sperm just whoosh! Right through the birth control!” Your eyes widened.

“Oh god! I’m sorry!” you called out as the woman hurried away seeming horrified.

You turned to Ben, a shit-eating smile on his face. He was practically glowing with pride.

“What?” he asked, noticing your very unamused look.

“One, why did you feel the need to traumatize that poor lady? And two, I am not pregnant!”

“One, sex is a part of life, she’s not traumatized. And two, stop saying that! How can you be so positive that you aren’t pregnant?”

“Because there’s just no way Ben,” you sighed. He stayed looking at you, a confused look washing over his features. “After all the experiments with Vought, there’s just no way I can be pregnant, Ben.” His smile faded as a sad one found it’s way to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Well…maybe I really do have super sperm?” he suggested, slightly smiling again.

“Ben I’m being serious.” You shook your head a little. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Okay, I won’t,” he lied. He bent down and kissed you sweetly. “Let’s go get you that pregnancy test though, because if you really aren’t pregnant then I’m afraid you might have two hearts.”

“I love you,” you laughed a little.

“I love you too,” he replied.

When you reached the pregnancy test section, unfortunately the most trusted brand was ‘too high up on the shelf’ so, of course, Ben grabbed it.

“Uh, could you grab two?” you asked after he tossed one into the cart. Ben furrowed his brows a little. “These tests aren’t always accurate, if we want to be sure we should get two.”

“Wait, these tests aren’t accurate?”

“Not always,” You shrugged a little.

“Then we need way more than two!” he exclaimed. He proceeded to grab about ten-or-so more, tossing them all into the cart.

“Yeah that’s a little overkill,” you laughed. “We need three at most.”

“We’re both Supes, we need as many positive pregnancy tests as possible!”

“Okay, well now this cart makes us look like we’re boycotting Trojan. Besides, I can't pee ten times today!”

“You can take some today, some tomorrow; just drink lots of water!”

“Or we could just do the normal thing and I could see a doctor?”

“Hun…you know we can’t,” Ben sighed. He walked around the cart so he could hold you, putting his hands on your waist and pulling you to lean on his chest. He rested his head on yours as he continued very quietly, “If you are pregnant you…you’re a Supe pregnant with another Supe’s baby, that’s not something they’ll just let slide. Who knows what those monsters might do if they find out.”

“Right,” you breathed. “Fine, I’ll take a ridiculous amount of pregnancy tests.”

“Thank you!” He grinned.

**

“Alright,” you said as you held up the first unused pregnancy test, about to head into the bathroom, “here goes nothing.”

“Honey, wait.” Ben stopped you. “Do…Do you want to be pregnant?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged a little. You weren’t sure, really. You’d always assumed you couldn’t have kids so you hadn’t given it much thought.

“You don’t have to take the test,” he said, brows knitted with concern. “We- We can just pretend I never heard the heartbeat and maybe it’ll just…go away.”

“Ben-”

“I want to have kids with you. I really, really fucking do! But I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything! If you don’t want this baby, just…just say the word.”

“Ben, I want kids with you too.” You smiled, taking his hand in your empty one. “I really do! There’s just no way anything down there is working like it should! I mean if Vought didn’t fuck me up, being exposed to your radiation for so long definitely did.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, his expression growing even more sad. “But…I’m clean now, I- I mean the radiation’s all gone?”

“I know, and I’m not blaming you for one second Ben, it’s all Vought,” you replied quickly. “However, if by some miracle I am pregnant I’ll be fucking thrilled! I just don’t want you to be disappointed; you seem really excited about this and I’m worried about what’s gonna happen when I walk back out and this test is negative.”

“If it turns out you really aren’t pregnant, nothing’s gonna change between us! I mean, I’ll definitely get my hearing checked out and maybe you should get your heart looked at, but after that we’ll go back to bacon, burgers, and booze!”

You let out a laugh. God, you loved the man standing in front of you.

“Okay.” You smiled.

“I love you,” he said before kissing you. “Now get in there and pee!”

“I love you!” you exclaimed before walking into the bathroom.

**

Three hours and five pregnancy tests later (yes, definitely overkill, but you both wanted to be sure), you stood with Ben in the bathroom and stared at the results sitting on the counter. One negative, four positives. And yet, there was still a part of you that wouldn’t let yourself believe it was true.

You heard Ben laughing a little so you looked at him through the mirror.

“Oh my god!” he exclaimed. “You’re pregnant!” You smiled as you watched tears of joy begin to fall down his face. “You- Fuck! We’re gonna have a baby!?” He took your face in his hands and kissed you before quite literally falling to his knees.

“Ben?” you asked, a little concerned.

“I love you so fucking much!” he looked up at you. He sat up and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your abdomen against his face. “Hello little guy!” He mumbled against you.

“Or girl!” you corrected. “Or non-binary person!”

“I was using ‘guy’ as an umbrella term,” he replied, not moving, your heart swelling with pride. “That’s why I didn’t say ‘boy’.”

“I love you,” you laughed a little.

“Hear that little one? Your mommy loves me!” He still spoke to your stomach.

You couldn’t help the tears streaming down your face at this point, you were so happy to see him this excited. You felt the fear you had about this pregnancy, albeit temporarily, wash away and be replaced with pure joy.

**

Ben was staring at the computer getting more and more frustrated with himself with each passing second.

“God-fuckin’-damnit!” he mumbled, putting his face in his hands.

“Ben? What’s wrong?”

“I thought you were asleep?” He looked up at you, suddenly very worried. “Are you okay? Is it something with the baby?” You let out a soft laugh as you placed a kiss on the crown of his head.

“I’m fine Ben,” you mumbled into his hair. “Why’re you still up? I thought you were coming to bed after your shower?”

“Well, while I was in the shower I realized I know absolutely nothing about how to take care of you or a baby so I figured I should order some books but I can’t navigate this fucking website!”

“Can I help?” you asked, taking a seat on his lap after he nodded. “What books were you thinking? Any specific ones? Or just pregnancy books in general?”

“Just books in general,” he replied. He snaked his arms around you, gently securing your back against his chest.

“You know…I really should see a doctor soon to be sure our baby’s okay,” you said as you searched through Amazon’s selection of books.

“I know,” he sighed. “Is it alright if I ask Hughie to find a trustworthy doctor that won’t rat us out?”

“That’d be perfect, Ben.”

Part 2

#the boys #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy fluff #the boys tv #the boys fanfic #the boys fluff #by jean #by mind empty just fictional people #mind empty’s two hearts one home

[just-a-torn-up-masterpiece]

back in town

part one of home for christmas

natasha romanoff x reader

The hallmark movie inspired Christmas story that nobody asked for.

Natasha Romanoff fell out of love with Christmas, but perhaps a certain someone could help her find the festive magic once again.

Coming home to her small hometown from her life in New York City, the children’s author is reunited with the people of her past; some are happier to see her than others.

But, will rekindled relationships inspire the Christmas story she’s struggling to write? Or will she go home empty handed?

fluff, lots of Christmas, hallmark movie cringe

for the sake of this fic, all characters are the same kind of age; ≈mid 20s

wc: 1.4k | part two

Serving customers their coffee has been an opportunity for a moment of peace lately. Wanda, as well as the remainder of your insufferable friends, had taken it upon themselves to set you up on dates. Somehow, their lack of success so far hasn’t managed to convince them of their matchmaking deficits.

So, during work hours, you’re bombarded with suggestions to which you decline time and time again. Apparently, being the Christmas season and all, it was a matter of extreme importance; the so-called ‘Christmas magic’ had to have a source of focus and, according to them, that was you.

You’d tried; the amount of boring and unsuccessful dates you’ve embarked on is almost embarrassing. You’ve had short lived relationships, fleeting flings, and so many blind dates you can’t even count them with all ten fingers. But none of them were right for you. None of the options were worthy to ‘cuddle up with by the fireplace’ or ‘entwine souls with beside a decorated tree’. Wanda had an optimistic take on your love life - you’d all be lying if you didn’t call her obsessed.

“C’mon, that girl in the bookstore was totally obsessed with you,” she spoke as soon as the customer in front of you had left with a smile and a cup of coffee in their hand.

“Wanda, please,” you groaned, busying yourself with the messed up counter, wiping down the surface hoping it’d will her away.

“She could be the one.”

“You say that about all of them,” you huffed with a laugh. She truly was a hopeless romantic. You hypothosise her obsession with your romantic endeavours is some haphazardly disguised attempt to draw away her own infatuation with a certain bookstore owner. It’s no coincidence you’re both in there so often and it’s definitely not because you have a crush on anybody there.

“Maybe this one’s different.”

“You always say that too,” you laughed. “What about you anyway? How about we get you a date with that woman you ogle, huh?”

“What woman? There isn’t a woman,” she defended, you saw right through her.

“The one that likes to give you discount on all those books you buy and never read. Agatha, is it?”

“Oh, look, you have a customer. I better get more coffee from the back,” she hurried out before rushing away.

Luckily your best friend seemed to have taken the hint for the time being and the next couple of hours passed with you working in your regular harmony.

“That man is always late, I swear,” Wanda spoke with a glance at the clock. Sam was meant to be in for his shift twenty minutes ago, though you find his lack of punctuality to be an endearing trait. And, as though his ears were burning, the man in question burst through the wreath-decorated door with quickened breaths from what you assumed to be a sprint into work.

“You will never guess who I just bumped into,” he shouted to you both as he pulled his coat off to replace it with the coffee shop apron.

“Santa?” Wanda grinned with an excitement an adult likely shouldn’t present herself with at the prospect.

“Better.”

“Nobody’s better than Santa,” she pouted.

“If it wasn’t an old guy in a red hat you’re gonna have a real sad boss to deal with,” you responded with a laugh.

“Well now I don’t wanna say,” he answered with a chuckle of his own.

“You can’t lead with that and not tell us,” Wanda countered with a poke to his arm.

“Natasha Romanoff.”

“You’re kidding.”

The pair of you answered him at the same time, a mirrored disapproval in your tones.

“Nope. She’s here for the holidays.”

“What, New York’s not good enough for her anymore?” you uttered in annoyance, rolling your eyes before plastering on an appeasing smile to the customer that approached.

“I didn’t think the small town Christmas vibe fit her new Scrooge persona,” Wanda added with an equally annoyed voice.

“I dunno, I didn’t talk to her much, I came to tell you two. You know I like the gossip,” Sam answered with a smile, though he wasn’t so pleased with her appearance either.

“You can put your matchmaking shit on hold,” you stated. “All focus is now on ‘operation avoid Romanoff’.”

“Mission accepted as long as you come up with a better title,” Wanda returned. “A Christmas themed one.”

—

“Oh my God, I need to tell you all who I saw in town this afternoon,” Kamala practically squealed as she took her seat in the booth with the rest of the group. A girl’s night out at the local bar was a no brainer after the news.

“Let me guess,” Monica voiced. “Red hair, expensive suit, kinda scary, and a knack for ghosting certain people?” She added, tapping her chin with her face contorted into one of faux musing and a pointed look towards you with her final words.

“Pretty good at breaking poor innocent hearts?” Carol added with a teasing nudge to your shoulder to lighten your mood.

“She didn’t break my heart,” you scoffed.

“Just stomped on it a little,” Kate said with the same joking tone - if there was one thing you adored your friends for it was their way of making even awful situations fell a little less dire.

“Poked at it with her expensive stilettos,” Wanda added.

“Oh, so I’m the last to know,” Kamala sighed. “That’s cool, I guess. Not that I wanted to come in here with big, dramatic news or anything.”

“No, please, go on,” you laughed. “Who was it that you saw?”

“Natasha. Romanoff,” she exclaimed with all the dramatic flare she’d hoped to achieve. And, of course, you all gasped just as you knew she’d enjoy.

“You’re kidding,” you deadpanned.

“I know!”

“I’m gonna get us some more drinks,” Kate spoke as she stood up. “No gossip whilst I’m gone, you know all the drama gets my blood up.”

And so you all talked. And talked. And talked. Every detail of your relationship - or lack thereof - was explored. Her departure and the toll it took on you was examined and you remembered just how grateful you’ve always been for their support, they’re truly the best friendship group you ever could’ve asked for.

“Oh my God.”

The phrase was grumbled out by the three of you positioned in the line of sight of the door, the faces of you, Carol and Wanda all laced with discontent at the sight.

“Alright, look behind you but be subtle,” Carol instructed. “I’m talking to you, Kamala.”

It started off discreetly to begin with, Monica glanced over her shoulder with a scoff at the image behind her. Kate, somehow, was just as discreet but, of course, Kamala being Kamala an obnoxiously loud gasp followed her gawking. It drew the attention of those at the eye of the display you were staring at and two pairs of eyes looked back at you.

“What a surprise,” Yelena grinned as she approached with her sister in tow.

“Yelena, you were literally invited,” you grumbled. “You said you had plans.”

“There’s been a change in plans,” she shrugged, clearly amused at the awkward situation she was dragging you into. “My dear sister and I are joining you.”

“I’ll get more drinks,” Natasha mumbled. The first words you’d heard from her in years and she kept her eyes everywhere but directed towards you; something about the way she still buries her hands in her coat pockets when she’s nervous stirred up a stinging familiarity.

“Lena, what the hell?” Wanda whispered when the blonde smugly took her seat in the already crammed booth.

“What?” she shrugged, feigning obliviousness at her clearly deliberate actions. “It’s Christmas, even the grinch needs a drink.”

Speaking of, the redheaded grinch in question approached with a tray of drinks and an awkward yet fleeting smile gifted to you when she pulled a chair up to the end of the table. To your surprise, she even held your gaze as she slid your glass over to you though you couldn’t muster much more than an almost inaudible thank you.

“So, you’re back,” Carol spoke, leaning forwards with her arms resting on the table.

And that began the awkward evening. There was an obvious tension between the pair of you; Natasha answered any questions she was asked and you pretended not to notice the way she’d steal looks at you over the edge of her glass. You, however, barely spoke.

How do you talk to the woman that left you behind? Especially when she comes back into town looking even more perfect than before; you scold your lustful eyes for tearing your mind apart.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #marvel fanfic #au: home for christmas

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 1

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the story that has had my entire weekend on lock. Like every spare moment was writing this story. I wrote over 6000 words in two days. So yeah. Don’t worry. I’m still working on Boy With a Bat (I just need time to research season 3 so I don’t over step on the show’s timeline {like I did with “Little Runaway”}). And of course I love working on “All My Roads Lead Back to You” and will continue working on it as well. Also these first two parts are long. I don’t know if all the parts will be as long, but as you can see when you read them there isn’t a lot of places to stop (and not make them super short).

Summary: No Monster Modern AU. Eddie and his band, Corroded Coffin, have a steady gig at a bar in Indy where they play every weekend. Eddie's life takes a left turn when his regular tattoo artist, Max Mayfield, moves to New York with her boyfriend Lucas Sinclair, newly traded to the New York Knicks.  Now needing a new tattoo artist, Jeff recommends "Royal Pain", which even Max agrees is a good shop.  On arrival, Eddie is shocked to find Steve is the shop's artist.  They hit it off, and slowly move from the barest of acquaintances to boyfriends.

***

“God damn it!” Eddie growled, throwing his phone at the sofa and snarling when it bounced to the floor.

“One day you’re gonna throw it so hard and it will break,” Gareth grumbled from behind his drum set.

It was Corroded Coffin’s weekly practice. They weren’t big or anything, but they had a steady gig at a local metal bar and it paid good money. They drew large enough crowds that they were able to play their own music.  

Eddie hopped to his feet to retrieve the discarded phone from the floor. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered darkly.

“What’s got your panties in such a twist?” Jeff asked from the same sofa Eddie had tossed the phone at. He was tuning his guitar, ear bent toward the strings.

Eddie scoffed. “Like you have any interest in my panties.”

Jeff lunged and grabbed one of Gareth’s drumsticks from the bucket he kept at his side and threw it at Eddie.

“Hey!” both Gareth and Eddie protested.

“Just answer the damn question!” Brian sneered from his place on the battered old floral armchair. “You usually like bitching, so what’s your deal?”

Eddie flopped gracelessly on the lavender two-seater.  “That was my tattoo artist,” he groused, crossing his arms petulantly. “Her boyfriend got traded to the New York Knicks so they are moving there and if I want to get my dragon finished before she leaves, I better ‘haul ass’ according to her.”

Eddie’s friends winced. They knew finding a tattoo artist you could trust in a style you liked was hard. And for Eddie to lose his? That sucked. Max Mayfield was one of the best in Indy and to lose her to New York? That was even worse. But her boyfriend, Lucas Sinclair, was an NBA raising star and she went where did. Which meant Eddie had to start all over with a new artist.

Suddenly Eddie straightened up. “Hey, Jeffie!” he said. “Did you ever get that tattoo you wanted done?”

Jeff lit up. “Oh yeah!” He set his guitar aside and rolled up his sleeve and showed them his tattoo. It was of a bullet tearing through the flesh. It was fantastically rendered, where you could see the torn muscles and broken bone. It covered the scar there perfectly. “Isn’t it fucking amazing?”

“Holy shit!” Brian cried. “That is so wicked.”

Eddie leaned forward, eyes wide with wonder. “Yeah fuck, man. Where did you get that?”

“It’s this little place called Royal Pain,” Jeff explained. “The artist, Stevie is so fucking good.”

Eddie chewed on his lip, thinking hard. “Hey, can I get the number?”

*

Eddie was standing in front of a shop that he wouldn’t have in a million years would have even suspected was a tattoo parlor. It was a clean and bright storefront. The sign was black with a golden crown was on the R. It was a far cry from any other tattoo parlor he had ever been to. But despite his reservations, both Max and Jeff highly recommended this place and specifically this ‘Stevie’.

Sighing deeply, he yanked open the door and took two steps into the shop. The decor was nice enough, it had a ‘royal’ theme to it, he supposed, but he really didn’t look that much. Because suddenly Eddie knew who Stevie was. The name, the royal decor, and Robin fucking Buckley as receptionist.

He was going to kill Jeff. Or maybe just his next three D&D characters. Because there was no way on this insignificant planet did Jeff Lawrence not recognize King Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. They had all gone to school together. Robin was Steve’s best friend. His soulmate if the rumors were to be believed.

He was about to turn around and walk out, Jeff and Max’s recommendations be damned. Even he wasn’t that masochistic. But he was stopped by the cheerful, “Welcome to Royal Pain! How can I help you?”

Eddie winced and rubbed his eye in frustration, but made his way up to the counter. “Munson, Eddie. I have a two o’clock with Stevie.”

Her smile grew genuine. “Not your first tattoo, I take it.”

Eddie pulled down the collar of his shirt to show of his finished dragon tattoo. “Yeah, no. Some asshole jock absconded to New York with my tattoo artist, so here I am.”

She grinned. “Stevie will be out in a moment.”

Before Eddie could chicken out, the man himself came out of a backroom, wiping off his hands. Eddie gulped. Steve looked very much the same as he did in high school. Same hazel eyes, honey hair, tight jeans and a fucking polo. This guy couldn’t have looked less like a tattoo artist if he tried. Except for one thing.

He could see tattoos on Steve’s arms. He couldn’t get a good look at them without staring but yeah, okay. Steve Harrington, tattoo artist. Who would have thought?

Steve looked up and smiled brightly. “Eddie?” Eddie nodded. “Hey! It’s so good to see you. I had hoped when I saw the name that it was you. How’s it been?”

Robin tilted her head in confusion and made an odd chirping noise.

“Come on, Robs,” Steve teased her. “You can’t tell me you don’t remember Eddie from school.”

She looked Eddie up and down and then cocked her head. “You do look vaguely familiar.”

Steve laughed. “You know, ran the D&D club, had that rock band–”

“Metal,” Eddie corrected. “Not rock, metal.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “That’s right, sorry. Oh! And stood on tables ranting about the man and how schools fail the kids they are supposed to teach.”

“You stepped on my sandwich,” she said deadpan.

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Whoops.”

She grinned and pushed his shoulder. “Just kidding. It was Tammy Thompson’s sandwich.”

“Isn’t she the one that sings like a Muppet?” Eddie asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Steve laughed. “That’s what I said.”

Robin looked between them both and growled, “I hate you both.”

“You’re only saying that because you had a crush on her,” Steve teased.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t know you swung for the other team, Buckley.”

She grinned. “What can I say, I do love a pretty girl.”

Eddie shrugged and cocked his head, nonchalant. “I wouldn’t know.”

Robin wagged her eyebrows at Steve, who rolled his eyes. He turned to Eddie. “So what am I doing for you today?”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Oh!” He pulled out a picture from his back pocket and handed it to Steve.

“This is the Evenstar from Lord of the Rings, right?” Steve asked, tapping the picture. “Arwen’s necklace.”

Eddie lit up. “Yeah. I’m impressed, even uber fans have a hard time remembering that.”

Steve blushed, ducking his head. “I have this friend that hosts huge parties watching the extended versions of the movies every year. Complete with full Hobbit meals. It’s hard not take in something from the films.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, suddenly feeling less like murdering Jeff with each passing moment.

Steve smiled back. “Actually, you might remember him. He was in your club, your final year at school.”

Eddie cocked his head. “Oh?”

“Actually, you had three of Steve’s nuggets in your club,” Robin interjected.

Eddie turned to Steve. “What nuggets would those be?”

Steve blushed again. “I used to quasi-babysit these kids. There were about seven of them, if you count Erica and Elle.”

“Which I absolutely do,” Robin crowed delightedly.

Eddie’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he leaned forward. “You babysat kids?”

Steve shrugged. “They were good kids and their parents worked a lot, so they just kinda imprinted on me. Like ducklings.”

“Wait...Lucas, Mike, and Dustin, huh?” Eddie asked putting two and two together. “Holy fucking shit. I loved running their characters. The ranger, the paladin and the bard.” He couldn’t believe it. He had missed out the chance to run with their friend Will, but he had come back to Hawkins after Eddie finally graduated. “Which one was Dustin?”

Steve smiled and then ran his tongue over his teeth. “Floofy hair, trucker hats, Weird Al shirts, and a huge theater nerd.”

Eddie clapped and pointed, “That’s the one!” He tapped his finger over his lips. “Which means it’s Dustin that hosts the Lord of the Rings fest, isn’t he?”

Steve beamed up at him. “Yeah. Sadly I haven’t been able to go the last couple of years.”

Robin made a sympathetic noise.

“Why not?” Eddie asked, the curiosity getting the better of him.

“Migraines,” Steve said with a wince. “Too long staring at a TV set can trigger them, who knew?”

“That sucks.”

Steve looked back at the picture in his hand. “Did you draw this?”

Eddie grinned. “Sure did, big boy!”

“And would you want me to tattoo it in your style?” Steve asked.

Eddie blinked rapidly. “You can do that?”

Robin folded her arms, looking smug. “Hell yeah, he can!”

“I mean, if you can that would be amazing,” he said breathlessly.

“Where is it going, the tattoo, I mean?” Steve asked.

Eddie tapped his chest. “Sternum.”

Steve chewed his lip thoughtfully. “That would be awesome, but have you thought about putting it on your back. Like a shadow covering your spine?”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up.

Eddie shook his head. “As tempting as that would be sweetheart, I have plans for my back.”

Steve looked a little disappointed. “And what would that be?”

“I want big black bat wings on my shoulder blades,” Eddie said gleefully. “I just haven’t found anyone who’s style I liked well enough to trust doing it.”

Steve hurried around the desk and pulled out a large three-ring binder. “This is all my work, flip through it, see if you like my style enough for me to do it for you. Because I would love to. So take a look and let me know if I could be your man.”

Eddie blinked. “Yeah, sure.”

Steve smiled brightly. “Great! I’ll go set up and I’ll call you back when I’m ready.” He practically skipped to the back room again.

Eddie opened the binder slowly and began to shift the pages. They were all amazing pieces of work that only seemed to get better the further he got into the pictures.

“These are amazing,” he breathed.

Robin leaned on the counter and stage whispered, “If you do not get his number after he does your tattoo, I will murder you and no one will find the body.” She leaned back to look down the hall. What she saw Eddie didn’t know, but she leaned back into whisper to him, low and menacing, “I am not paid enough to listen to his rom-com pining bullshit.”  

Eddie looked behind her and then back at her. “I’m–I mean–what the hell?”

“Eddie!” Steve called.

Eddie slammed the binder shut and stomped to the back. He stopped short when he got to room. Again he was blown away at how opposite it was from other shops he’d been to. It wasn’t sterile white or anything like that but it was brightly lit and nicely decorated. It was a place that most ‘normies’ would feel comfortable getting their first tattoo. And he got the appeal.

Steve looked up at him with a lopsided smile as if he understood why Eddie was brought up short. “Other tattoo artists give me such shit about my set up, but it’s not about the aesthetic of what people think a tattoo shop should look like. It’s about people feeling comfortable about permanently altering their bodies.”

Eddie nodded. “No man, I get it. It’s just a pleasant surprise, you know?”

Steve grinned at him. “Thanks. Come on, have a seat. Take off your shirt. Relax.” He paused for a moment. “But not necessarily in that order.”

Eddie laughed and pulled off his shirt, tossing it on a nearby chair. He got on the lounge chair and laid back. He noticed the way Steve dragged his tongue over his bottom lip and smirked. Maybe Buckley was right.

“You’ve got a lot of great tattoos,” Steve said, wiping down Eddie’s chest with a mild anesthetic to clean the area. “Your old tattoo artist do those?”

Eddie shrugged. “Yeah, I mean most of them. A couple were stick and poke when I was high school.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Shit, really? I wouldn’t have guessed. They’re all really good.”

Eddie blushed. He figured Steve was just being polite because he thought it was fairly obvious which ones were the stick and poke. “Speaking of high school, I would have never in a million years thought that King Steve would become a tattoo artist. You been doing this long?”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, I got voted most likely to run my own business, but I’m pretty sure they thought something closer along the lines of hair care or some such shit.”

“At least yours was nice,” Eddie grumbled. “I got voted most likely to still be high school at the ten year reunion.”

Steve winced. “Was that the first time or the second time they held you back?”

“First.”

“That’s harsh, man,” Steve commiserated. “Yeah, no, I’ve been doing this for the last five years. Three years at my own shop.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Wait really? That’s epic, dude.”

Steve nodded. “I went with a friend of mine to see about apprenticing under Hop. He caught me doodling on myself because I forgot to bring my drawing pad and offered the apprenticeship to us both.”

“I can see why,” Eddie said. “You do some pretty impressive work. Who was the friend? Robin?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, no...I love Robin, and she is a lot of wonderful things, artist just isn’t one of them.”

Eddie laughed, too. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

Steve picked up his gun and sat down on the rolling stool. “Nope, Max Mayfield. One of my nuggets, as Robin called them.”

Eddie blinked. “Shit, dude. She was my old tattoo artist? You two really apprenticed under Hop?”

Steve hummed. “Yup.” He turned on the gun and then shut it off again. “I know you said that you wanted it in your style, but can I add my own flourishes to it?”

Eddie cocked his head. “Yeah, sure. I liked what you did with Jeff’s tattoo, so yeah. Knock yourself out, man.”

Steve grinned. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

***

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 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 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

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#My writing #stranger things #steddie #tattoo artist steve #modern au #ladykailtiha writes

[sunnybunnyy2]

Father Knows Best

Daryl Dixon x platonic!reader

Negan Smith x daughter!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.2k

TIME: season 7

Warnings: imprisonment, swearing, mentions of Daryl’s abuse, mentions of savours, transpires in season seven, spoilers for season seven of the walking dead, possible typos and bad writing

CHAPTER 3 to the Dark Cell Series

Not much Daryl in this one, sadly, but he will be in it much more next chapter!

Series Masterlist Official Masterlist

This one came out way quicker than the second and I’m sorry for that, but I am beginning to get into a regular posting times! So here it is!!

Your eyes were forced open when you heard the loud pounding of a fist consistently colliding against your door.  

You let out a groan as your senses began to kick in, the once blackness that you were seeing behind your eyelids was replaced with the bright light that shined through the window that was meant to be covered by your curtain but you had been growing even more tired since your visits with Daryl. 

It had made sense. Normally you would be asleep before the second night shift, so around 11 pm, but now you couldn't fall asleep until around 3 am, sometimes even 4.

That paired with the times that you had to wake up each morning had given you a maximum of four hours a night. Then you had to work all day and repeat the cycle again and again. 

You couldn't risk falling asleep before you met Daryl, knowing that he would starve that night, and that thought alone kept your mind racing all day. 

You constantly wondered how he was doing at the hands of your father. You wondered if he was being beaten, even if the old bruises on his face had started to fade you knew it wasn't long until they would reappear again. 

You wondered what else Dwight was forcing him to do. You couldn't really put anything past him. 

You used to admire how kind he was to others and how kindly he would treat his wife, Sherry, and her sister, Tina. But ever since Tina had been killed when they had escaped the sanctuary over a month ago and he had faced the wrath of her father, he hadn't been the same.

You knew it was because of his wife. Sherry had offered to become your father's wife to spare Dwight's life. 

You didn't agree with your father having multiple wives especially so soon after your mother's death. It had been just over two years and he was pretending she didn't exist. He was coercing women into being his wife, in hopes of filling the dark that was left after your mother had taken her own life. 

You could see how their presence in his life wasn't providing in the way he had hoped it would. You could see it in his eyes. 

He was miserable. So he was bringing pain onto other people to make himself feel better. You didn't agree with his ways of coping but it's not like you could change his mind. He was a grown man and could certainly make his own choices.

He knew where you stood and what he chose to do with that was up to him, you supposed. He knew you weren't a fan of his 'marital' status so he kept it as far away from you as possible. Making sure that he never showed affection to them around you, making sure they stayed out of your way. But that wasn't the issue. You did like his wives, they were kind to you. Always making sure you were okay. Never talking about your father around you. 

You had felt like his wives were a majority of your closest friends. When you pushed back the fact that they were sleeping with your father.

You tugged the sheets off of your body roughly as you jumped to your feet after realizing that the knocking wasn't getting any quieter.

You pulled your shirt down from where it had been yanked up in your sleep from your turning as you walked towards the door before jerking it open, causing the knocker to stumble slightly as they fell forward, making it clear that they were leaning against the door as they waited for a response. 

"Jesus," she spoke your name as she caught herself from falling to the hard ground. "Your dad wants you. Said you had something you wanted to talk to him about." Laura informed you as she looked at you with a blank face but you knew her facial features well enough from the two years you had known her to tell that she was confused about what you had to talk to your father about. You had always confided in her about the way you felt about your father. 

The disappointment and frustration but also about how you missed the old times between your family. About how you missed your old father and how you missed the comfort your mother had brought you before she died.

She had also spoken about how she missed her parents as well and even though her situation wasn't remotely the same, she still understood what it felt like to be a younger girl who just wanted her parent's love and affection. 

"Yeah, yeah...um where is he?" You asked as you ran a hand through your hair in an attempt to smooth out some of the tangles. 

"In his room. You better get ready, he ain't got all day." Laura sent a nod your way before sending you a half smile, clearly as tired as you as she was sent to do more work around the sanctuary. She never seemed to have time to rest. She was constantly either at Negan's aid or on watch somewhere around the sanctuary. 

"Sir, yes sir." You saluted.

"You wish I was a sir?" She asked with raised eyebrows.

"Nah, you're just fine to look at now." You smiled slyly.

"Jesus, you're just like your father." She shook her head with a smirk. 

"Damn, Laura. You wound me. Seriously that was so hurtful." You half-joked as you wiped away imaginary tears as you turned your head away from her. 

"I take that back, you're way better." She shrugged as she spoke the truth that everyone at the sanctuary thought. Though you had always assumed some of the saviours had befriended you because of Negan wasn't entirely true. Sure some did in hopes of earning extra points for themselves and their families, but most just genuinely thought that you were one of the good ones. That you could possibly be able to persuade your father to change his ways. 

"Alright. I forgive you, Laur. Even if you started my day off with a fucking headache." You spoke as you rubbed your temple, your words earning a very 'unladylike' snort from Laura as she started to back away from your room and down the hallway. 

"My pleasure, Miss. Smith." She saluted before she turned around and quickened her pace to her shift which she was surely late from, leaving you to stare at the hallway wall as you mentally prepared yourself for the conversation you were about to have with your father, knowing it could go two ways. Well, which was the unlikely scenario or, Awful which you were leaning towards. 

And that's how you ended up here. Sat at the table with your father as he settled in his seat after having poured himself a small glass of bourbon. 

You watched as Potter, a worker in the sanctuary, placed two plates of eggs, home fries and some ham on top of the table for you two. You sent a smile his way as he nodded at you and your father before turning to make his exit, but your father's voice stopped him. 

"Oh, Mr. Potter..." Your father spoke in a sing-song voice as tapped his fork on the table. 

"Yes, Negan?" He asked as he turned back to the pair of you. A trail of sweat hastily coming down his brow, as his anxious eyes flicked between you and your father in hopes of getting a read on your body language.

"I think you forgot something." He pointed to his empty cup of water before snapping his fingers as if the second after he spoke lasted an hour. "Today." He rolled his eyes as the man rushed over to pick up the pitcher of water and pour it into his cup.

"Would you like some as well, ?" He spoke your name as he turned to look at you. Your father's glass now filled with ice water. 

"Of course, she wants some. What do you think, she wants to eat your dry ass food without having something to wash it down with." Your father let out a laugh as if it was the funniest thing in the world all while glaring the poor man down, who was practically shaking in his boots.

"No thank you, Potter." You managed to smile softly at him as if to calm him. Your body lowered down slightly as your body inadvertent shrank into yourself in embarrassment at how your father was treating the kind man.

Your demeanour didn't seem to put the man at ease as he still looked as though he was about to stroke out, which apparently was hilarious to your father as he let out a booming chuckle from deep in his throat, his rough and deep voice spoke from behind his pearly white teeth. 

"Jesus, man. I'm just joking. It's just a jokey, joke. Holy fuck," he spoke your name, "did you see his fucking face? He looked like he was going to piss his pants." He laughed before looking at the floor as though he was looking to see if the older man had done just that. 

"That will be all, Potter. Thank you." You looked away from your father to face the middle-aged man before nodding to the door, not quite able to hide your anger well, causing him to look to Negan for permission.

Your father watched you with amusement glimmering in his big brown eyes, clearly finding your annoyance entertaining, before he nodded, still looking at you as he spoke. "Do you need her to tell you again? Leave. Now." Without wasting a second he scurried out of the room, probably to go cry in the corner somewhere. Your father seemed to always have that effect on people. 

"Did you really have to scare him away? I was gonna get him to cut up my meat." He laughed.

"You're a grown-ass man. I think you can do it yourself just fine." You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as his eyes widened slightly before they were amused again, a small laugh leaving his lips.

"You really are my kid, ain't ya."

You guys sat in silence for a minute. You glaring at him and him trying to hide the merriment in his eyes.

"If you've got something to say, baby, just spit it out." He said as he crossed his arms while leaning back in his seat, eyes studying your face. 

"What is wrong with you?" You asked with anger clear in your voice as you shook your head.

"Well, sweetheart, I have a lot of things wrong with me so you're gonna have to be more specific." 

"You know what I'm talking about, Dad. That. How you treat people." You scoffed at his attempt at humour, normally you would laugh at his stupid attempts at making you laugh but now, when he humiliated people for a good laugh, your blood would quite literally boil in your skin. 

"I was just having a little fun. He doesn't mind." He dismissed as he laughed, shaking his head before he began using the fork he was still gripping to take a substantial bite of his over-easy eggs.

"It's not a 'little fun', Dad. You scared him half to death. Does it not make you feel bad when you treat people like shit?" You shook your head in disbelief.

"No, it doesn't. I'm in charge. Im not treating anyone like shit here. Do you see all that I do for these people? What I provide for them." His face grew annoyed at your words.

"Yeah, Dad. I do. But you can help keep these people safe without treating them like shit. You don't need to make them fear you to keep them sa-" He cut you off before you could finish your sentence but you could tell by his tone that you got your point across.

"They need to fear me to stay in line. That's what I do. I keep them in line. How else do you think we're still standing? If I become buddy, buddy with them they'll think they can get away with shit they just can't get away with."

"You can be a decent person and still have loyal followers. I mean, shit, how do you think half the groups still alive are operating?" You tried to mile your tone down as you began cutting up your ham. 

"You mean the groups we're gonna take over? They won't be operating like that for long." He shook his head in dismissal before wiping away the yellow egg yolk that had dropped into his pink lips.

"But why can't you form alliances with other groups? Instead of controlling them?" You tried to reason.

"Look, hunny. I love you, okay? But I don't tell you how to lead your little posey so don't fucking tell me how to lead mine." He said angrily before taking hold of his glass of bourbon and gulping down all of its contents. 

"You do realize you just called you and your people pretentious, right? I do think it fits, though." You snorted as you took a small bite of your scrambled eggs. 

"What did you want to talk to me about? I have things I need to get done." He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance.

"Oh sorry, I didn't know having a conversation with your daughter was such a burden." You shook your head as you began to stand up but we're stopped when your father grabbed your arm.

You looked over expecting to see a look of anger on your father's face but sat back down when all you saw was remorse for his words that were obviously taken out of context but they had hurt you nonetheless, as that was what he hated the most. Hurting you.

"You know what I meant. I love talking to you, you know that, don't act like you don't. Tell me what you want to talk about, baby. Please." He pulled his and away and picked up his fork, signalling for you to speak. 

"What is that community called?" You asked as you picked up the pitcher of water, not missing the look your father sent you that practically said, 'You should have just gotten Potter to do that' but you just brushed it off, knowing you were more than capable of pouring your own cup of water.

"Who am I? Fucking Professor X? You're going to have to be more-"

"That new community. The one you took a prisoner from." You specified, know that was his next word.

"How the hell do you know about that?" He asked with slight anger. He had tried to keep you as far away from his duties as much as he possibly could. 

He had constantly restricted you from leaving the sanctuary in hopes of keeping you alive and blissfully unaware of his actions, knowing that he had shaped his men well enough that they knew they needed to die for you. 

"Everyone knows about it. You don't exactly keep it under wraps. I can hear you boost about it from my room. Your voice travels." You studied him, wanting to make sure he wasn't going to try and keep something from you.

"Huh, so I've been told." He shrugged as he then began to study you, checking to see if he could notice any alternative motives. You could only hope he didn't.

"So?"

"Why do you wanna know anyway?" He questioned.

"I'm just curious. Sick of the gossip and rumours, just want to know what's going on. That's all." You attempted to play it off, hoping he didn't notice the slight quiver in your voice.

"I hate gossipers too. They seem to be everywhere, don't they." He replied as he squirted some ketchup onto his cooling grilled potatoes.

"Yeah, they do... so...?" You pressed, hoping he would stop beating around the bush and just reveal what you were wanting to know.

"Alexandria. It's a nice place but the people make it a fucking shit hole, their leader, Rick, is a joke. A fucking pussy if I've ever known one. Hell, I bet Potter could take him in a fight. Truly it's embarrassing." He ranted as he rolled his eyes, his fork scraping against his plate as if the sheer thought of Daryl's leader, Rick, had brought him so much rage that he had to take it out on the plate.

"So is there a lot of people there?" You asked, trying to sound casual.

"Two-hundred and thirty-four." He revealed causing her to tense.

"So we have more." It was a statement rather than a question.

"By a landslide, baby. We have five hundred and four through all of our outposts. In any way, we outrank them. You know what's hilarious? Their leader is so hellbent on killing me even though he knows my people could wipe his people out in a blink of an eye. Everything with that guy is a dick-measuring contest. But he should know by now that he's not gonna win in that department." He laughed once again forgetting that his daughter was sitting across from him. 

Your eyes rolled as he once again found a way to boost about himself.

"Jesus, your daughter is right here!" You exclaimed as you rolled your eyes. Sometimes he was such a child, you thought. If your mother was here she would beat him with her shoe.

"Sorry, sorry. But hey, I want to show you something." He said as he wiped his mouth with a cotton napkin, before placing it on top of his now empty plate, the streaks of ketchup and yellow remained.

Your food on the other hand was still half full, but you knew your father would have somebody wrap it up for you to eat tomorrow as he knew that it took you at least an hour after waking up to be able to eat. 

As you guys walked you caught sight of a man with long dark hair and a broad frame hunched over a mop. You didn't clue in until you saw Dwight roughly grab the man to make him continue his moping a little way ahead. 

It was Daryl.

You didn't have much time to react before your father was speaking again, drawing their attention.

"Dwighty boy, what do we have here?" Your father said as he stopped beside Dwight, smirking down at Daryl as he watched him silently continue his task, his head angled downward.

"Just Daryl, doing what he's told," Dwight spoke with a slight smile while watching Daryl.

Your father let out a booming laugh and you could see Daryl pause his movements for a moment having to mentally restrain himself from physically pouncing on him. 

You knew if he were to break loose you couldn't really blame him. Your father had put him through hell, but that's what he was. Your father. You couldn't let anything thing happen to him, no matter how much you understood how he was feeling.

"You missed a spot." Your father said as he watched the slightly shorter man conceal his anger with delight, clearly enjoying the inner battle that was going on inside of him. Your father kept his eyes on Daryl as he tipped his bourbon bottle on the floor, the dark liquor mashed with the newly clean floor. The half-drunken bottle now sized down a noticeable amount, he laughed again before he shoved the bottle into Dwight's chest. "Here, buddy. You deserve it." Your father tore his eyes away from Daryl before looking up at you, noticing the beyond-dirty look you were sending his way. 

"Thanks, boss." Dwight nodded as he clutched the bottle.

"Get back to work, you mutt." Your father smiled at Daryl but you could tell it was forced as he roughly patted his shoulder in a condescending way before making his way back over to you, sensing your unease about what he was doing.

He nodded at you to follow him before he began to stroll back down the hallway. You followed but your eyes were still trained on Daryl.

Your heart pounded in your chest when he turned his head slightly, watching Negan go before his eyes found you. 

They narrowed once he caught sight of you. You couldn't quite read the look that took over his emotionless face but you knew he didn't feel joy in seeing you with Negan. 

You saw flashes of rage, confusion and a flash of fear? 

Your eyes were locked on each other before Dwight harshly shoved Daryl back to his task which he complied with but at a slower pace, as if his mind was processing the fact that he had seen you outside of his cell with Negan of all people. 

You waited a moment before you turned back around, and in that moment you saw Dwight studying the two of you in confusion.

You hurriedly turned forward to look at your father's back as you turned the corner finally making your way into the kitchen. The one you had found yourself in more often than ever.

"Ta-da," your father said in an overdramatic voice, a wide smile on his face as he waved a hand towards a big a machine that was shaking as it operated, the small, shiny window was wet with condensation. 

"Holy-shit! Is that what I think it is?" You exclaimed in an excited tone as you practically hopped over to the machine in pure astonishment.

"Well, I sure as shit hope I didn't have seven of my men working themselves into the ground carrying this piece of shit back here all for it not to be the fucking ice cream machine that I've been askin' for, for a fuckin' year?" He spoke as you leaned back slightly as if to amplify his words. 

You let out a yell of excitement as you ran into your father's arms, his arms wrapping around your upper back as you tucked your head into his chest. You could feel his smile as he rested his forehead on top of your scalp.

It was moments like these that you missed. The pure moments of a father and daughter showing care for one another. Sure you were still angry with him for what he did to Daryl just minutes ago and for all the bad he was doing, but you couldn't spoil this moment.

The moment that your inner child craved to have.

The moment you were robbed of one too many times. 

You wondered if the sadness could be shown in your eyes. The longing for the love of your parents. 

You knew that Laura could see it. Just as you could see your sadness as well. It was like an understanding for the two of you. You both didn't get to experience much love from your parents, her from way before the outbreak and you, after.

You knew that your mother wasn't at fault for not being there for you. You knew that if she could be here, she would. That's just who she was. She would never miss any of your important achievements and even your minor ones, she always made sure to show up, no matter how much shit she would get at work. She would take all the yelling from her boss just to see your smile when you noticed she was there. 

Your father tried his hardest to be there but most of the time something else was always more important. You were always left having to deal with his half-ass excuses as to why he couldn't show up; only to find out that he was too busy fucking your godmother aka your mother's best friend.

You weren't sure how your mother could forgive him after all the stress he had caused her in the early stages of her cancer, but you knew it was most likely because of how much she loved him.

You had never quite seen someone treat their significant other as well as your father did when he found out about your mother's diagnosis.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You chanted pulling away from your father to look at the grey and blue machine again causing your father to laugh at you, even though he was feeling elated at the fact that you had enjoyed his little present. 

"So, you want to take it for a spin?" Negan asked with a grin, knowing that he was gonna get a taste of the treat that he had also been craving.

"Do Andie and Ben end up together in 'How to lose a guy in 10 days?' " You asked with a raised eyebrow, a smile on your face. 

"Uh, I don't know, do they?" He asked in confusion, not quite realizing the reference.

"Yes!" You exclaimed before rushing to the ice cream machine, your father hot on your tail.

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[pandorasprongs]

CHAPTER THREE | so inviting, i almost jump in.

'it's nice to have a friend' masterlist + playlist | previous chapter

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

SUMMARY: jamie and reader go out for drinks and meet a familiar face that brings up a painful memory for both of them.

WARNINGS: language

A/N: i'd like to apologize in advance for this one because the end is just 100% angst so brace yourselves sorry :')

It was like deja vu. Over the past weeks, you and Jamie started hanging out on a regular basis. Late nights and weekends were often spent eating pizza, watching old movies, and searching for old schoolmates online. He even helped you re-organize your room when he arrived during one of your cleaning days. You uncovered a box of old toy rings that Jamie gave you every birthday of yours for five years.

Initially, Jamie would message you if he was on the way. But the more he came over, it went back to your usual habits of him just showing up at your door at random hours of the day. When you weren't home, he'd message that he dropped by and then you'd call him when you got back. He'd race over to watch another one of your favorite childhood movies.

You hadn't realized how much you missed it all till you started spending time with Jamie again. You missed it so much that you may have neglected to mention to Liv how often you were with him. Despite the mini-sermon she gave you weeks ago about confronting Jamie, you hadn't actually made any moves to do it. All of this started to feel normal, regular, and the thought of disturbing that scared you too much. Even if there were times where you were annoyed at how casual he talked about the past few years of radio silence from him. Or how he'd mention his Man City teammates and you felt like tensing up every time.

There was no need to bring it up anymore, something you repeated to yourself. Plus, you were noticing that Jamie was now closer to your childhood best friend than the one who broke your heart. But still, you were cautious around the footballers Jamie associated with. Even when the season started again and Jamie would offer to tour you around the clubhouse or reserve tickets for the games, you'd always politely decline. You're sure the AFC Richmond players aren't terrible people given how highly Jamie would talk about them, but better to be safe than sorry.

Besides, with his now swamped schedule, you hadn’t seen Jamie recently. The most you did was when he’d send messages before training or games to which you’d answer with a “Good luck!” It was weird in the beginning, given that when he was at Man City, Jamie didn’t do any of that, but you hoped that this meant he wouldn’t leave again.

The next time you did was the night after one of their games, which continued their winning streak, thanks to Zava. While you knew Richmond fans — well, Liv and Frankie — were absolutely ecstatic to have him, Jamie despised the guy. You stopped yourself from pointing out the hypocrisy of him hating the player for being self-centered and thinking highly of himself.

You guess it’s working though because now you’re watching Richmond secure their fifth win in a row with your neighbor’s kid, Ronnie. When her mom found out you were a Science professor, she practically begged you to tutor her kid (and occasionally babysit). Ronnie was in primary school, so the lessons were pretty simple and you’ve been doing sessions every week to help her out. You always rewarded her afterward with whatever she wanted to watch on your TV that was age-appropriate, of course. This time, — after running back to their flat to get her Obisanya shirt, — she decided on watching the game. 

“Zava’s incredible,” she murmured next to you, staring at the screen as if in a trance. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the reaction. The game was finished and so the channel was just playing match highlights, which for Richmond, were mostly their current star player. Sometimes, you’d spot Jamie in the background and even though the rest of the team was cheering along, he was having a hard time masking his resentment.

When you were finally able to drag her away from the TV, you heated up two plates of lasagna. Ronnie’s mom still hadn’t knocked on your door and you didn’t want to leave her alone in your flat, so she was having dinner with you tonight. For the most part, it was just like eating with Jamie. She was non-stop talking about the match which turned to talking about her favorite players and future games. It reminded you of Jamie as a kid, who’d go on and on about the exact same things.

As you’re washing dishes and Ronnie’s answering some extra worksheets, — she asked for them! — you hear the doorbell ring. You go over and find Jamie standing at the door, much to your surprise.

“Hey! Didn’t know you were coming over,” you say, but after noticing his exasperated expression, you tilt your head. “I know you don’t like a certain teammate, but I thought you’d at least be happy about the win.”

Jamie sighs. “I know." He gives you a weak smile, and you have to admit that even that simple act made your heart skip. “Is that lasagna?”

Jamie enters the room without warning and as soon as he does, your eyes widened remembering who else was there. You turn to the dining room table at the same time as Jamie and together, watch a 9-year-old stare in awe.

“Oh my God,” she let out. “That’s Jamie Tartt!” She walks over to you, leaving behind the worksheets. 

You lean over and whisper to Jamie, “Forgot to mention I’m watching my neighbor’s kid.”

But Jamie’s already jumped into celebrity mode. He crouches down and confirms, “That’s me.” He glances at her oversized jersey before asking, “You a fan of Richmond?”

Ronnie nods her head enthusiastically. “I’m Ronnie! Congrats on winning!”

Jamie chuckles, and thanks her. “Nice to meet you, Ronnie.”

You hear someone approach the door and clear their throat and you turn to find Ronnie’s mom looking curiously at you. You turn back to Ronnie — who has now launched into a full monologue about how much she loves the team — and exclaim, “Look who else is here! I think it’s time to head back to your flat, Neens.”

She pouts at that statement, but one look from her mom and she was waving goodbye to the player. You quickly collect all of her stuff scattered around the place and hand it to her mom, who seems too exhausted from her shift to even notice the other person in the room.

Once you close the door, you lean on it and sigh in relief. “Sorry about that. I sometimes watch her after tutoring if her mom isn’t back, yet.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Nah, not a problem. I love meeting fans. Real ego boost.” 

Yet another countless eye roll. “Calm down. You’re not even her third favorite player.”

Jamie scoffs, almost offended but after remembering the lasagna, he heads to the kitchen for a plate of his own. You walk beside him and after tripping over a loose marker Ronnie left, you fall forward. Jamie's reflexes kick in and he catches you quickly and you grab hold of his — really broad, you notice — shoulders to steady yourself.

Now you're stuck in a position that happens in almost every 90s rom-com you've watched: your feet diagonally off the ground with Jamie's hands gripping tightly at your waist. Both of you are too much in shock to move and simply look at each other with wide eyes. Your faces were close, too close to be platonic if it was intentional. So much so that if you leaned forward, just a little bit…

You snap out of the trance and move to stand straight up as Jamie lets go of you. You head over to the sink and quietly curse at yourself and that stupid blue marker. Things haven't been weird between you and Jamie for ages. And you weren't going to let the possible resurfacing of your feelings ruin that. Not again. Plus, if you were already burying your old feelings of resentment, why not add onto it too?

You go back to washing dishes when Jamie asks you a question. "Are you doing anything Saturday night?"

Given what just happened, your mind wanders off in the romantic direction before you shake your head. Instead, you respond, "I think you know better than anyone that I never do anything Saturday night." You reply as you wipe your hands. "Why?"

"Just wondering if you want to get a drink with me. Well, you get a drink and I get water 'cause fucking Roy’s banned me from alcohol till the season’s over. I just really need a night out. Fucking Zava, I swear." Forget the fact that he was technically at a night out with his teammates earlier; he more of just wanted a night out with someone who isn't so related to his football life. Or, he just really wants a night out with you.

You snort at that last comment but oblige anyway, ignoring the feeling of disappointment.

Jamie and you had only ever hung out together in the comfort of your own home. You'd just assumed that it was to avoid any unwanted press and since the bar he mentioned was one of those members-only pubs, it makes sense that the first time the two of you hung out publicly was there. But seeing as it was a pub, it's not going to be a romantic not-a-date date that you'll be going on.

Though, you soon realized how different it was from your usual places. Everyone there was dressed up so formally and you were glad that you picked the black trousers that you usually only wear to work over your everyday jeans that had paint stains at the bottom of them. Maybe you had worn it in case Jamie at the last minute decided to take a detour to a nice restaurant, but you were relieved either way.

The two of you ended up just sitting in the bar while Jamie complained about his most recent Twitter feud. Christ, you pray for Keeley Jones for having to deal with all his PR nonsense. When he starts shit-talking Roy for getting him up at 4 am for training, — “I thought he was joking!” — you end up tuning out of the conversation knowing how long the rant was going to be.

Your eyes drift off behind Jamie when you notice a familiar face. Suddenly, it felt like the walls were closing in on you. You could feel your breathing hitch and your fingers were scratching the inside of your palm. Before you could even consider doing anything, he reached you.

"Jamie Tartt!" The footballer's train of thought is broken and he turns to his former teammate to greet him. "Haven't seen you since you went off to be a reality star!"

Jamie simply rolls his eyes at the comment. "Well George, I haven't seen you since they forced you out of Man City!"

"They couldn't afford me anymore," He shrugs before his eyes land on yours. You shift in your seat and you can see the exact moment when Jamie notices how uneasy you've become. "And who's this with you?"

He doesn't remember you. And why would he? To him, you were just another crazed fan at a pub, one of many he's encountered over the years. You doubt that the memory of that night stuck with him the way it did to you.

"This is (Y/N), an old friend of mine," Jamie adds carefully and you build up enough courage to shake his former teammates' hand, but not enough to stay in this conversation.

"I'll let you two catch up while I get another drink." You explain, in an obviously fake cheery voice, but only Jamie spots it. He reaches out for your hand on the table to comfort you, but you swipe it away before he can.

You head off to the other side of the bar to order another beer, but you can't stop your eyes from shifting over to the pair of them again. Jamie looked so comfortable laughing and talking to George. You scoff at the sight. How could he act so chummy with that guy when he was the driving force for why the two of you ended on shitty terms in the first place?

Jamie's told you all about how he's been working on himself and trying to become a better person, but a part of you still feared that one interaction with that guy would unravel everything. He was an absolute prick; the number of fights and scandals Jamie had been in for his entire career was nothing compared to the amount George had in his first five years.

You wanted to trust Jamie, but he was always quick to change who he was when he was around certain people. You just hoped he had grown enough to not let his Man City "mentor" — too many of George’s scandal photos had a 19 to 22-year-old Jamie Tartt in the background — bring back the side of him he's tried so hard to erase.

You don't know how long they were talking, but by the time they moved over to the pool table, your vision was already starting to blur. The drinks just kept coming. Flashbacks from that night started to come in too: the spotting Jamie in the crowd, the confrontation, the holding back of tears, and the walk-out. You couldn't look over at the pair of them without an intense pain appearing in your chest.

Jamie looked back to where you were supposed to be seated and found you spacing out into a corner. It was the same dreamy and tired look you had the first time you tested your alcohol limit when your parents were out of town. Immediately, he abandoned the game of pool and rushed over to you.

"Maybe that's enough alcohol for tonight." Someone pulls the Cosmopolitan from your grasp and you squint your eyes to identify them as Jamie.

"Ha, that's rich coming from you." You can't remember how many times you've had to help Jamie sneak up the stairs and into his bedroom after a night out. "Aren't you still busy hanging out with that Man City prick?" Lack of tactfulness is the most obvious sign you'd drank too much.

"Woo, a little harsh there," You hear George come up to the two of you. You rush — well, more of stumble — forward to confront him, but Jamie holds you back. The retired footballer points out, "She's a feisty one."

"Let's bring you back to your flat, yeah?" Jamie offers softly, but you remove yourself from his arms and shake your head.

"I am perfectly capable of getting home by myself." You grab your clutch from the table. "Don't want to ruin another night for you guys, right?"

A pang of guilt visibly hits Jamie, but George is just left confused. You start to walk towards the exit and get to the door till you feel someone gently take hold of your left arm.

"You can't even see your phone clearly to book a taxi. I'll drive you home." Jamie's voice is low and whatever common sense you have left takes him up on your offer. He turns his head to say goodbye to George, but all the former footballer does is shout, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" following by a boastful laugh.

You clench your clutch at the comment, but Jamie brings you out the door before you can turn back and do something that'll land you on the front page of the Sun the next morning.

When you get to Jamie's car, he carefully helps you into the passenger's seat and puts on your seatbelt before getting into the car himself. Once the car starts, you take the chance to close your eyes in an attempt to remedy the throbbing headache you feel is already coming on.

You don't know how long you stay like that, but when you open your eyes, you're already at your building. You slowly get out of the car and once you make it to the sidewalk, Jamie asks, "Can’t believe you just downed a dozen drinks like a recent divorcee."

"I wonder why," You scoff and side-eyed him, unwilling to move your head from looking forward. You see the footballer's expression drop and suddenly you understand what Liv was going on about. You finally break. "How could you still be so friendly with him, Jamie! He’s an absolute arse and everyone in England knows it!"

"He was my teammate! And still a major name in football, even after retirement and all the shit he’s done. I didn't want to risk anything!" Maybe if you were sober, you'd accept that reason. There were countless alumni, tenured professors, and chairmen that you had to suck up to just to keep your job. But were drunk people ever known to be rational?

"Is that why you let him talk to me like that? Back in the pub?"

"You two barely spoke a word to each other," Jamie points out but you shake your head furiously.

"I mean back in Cardiff!" You exclaimed loudly and you knew for a fact that at least one of your neighbors had heard your outburst. But you didn't really care.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You went to walk up the stairs, expecting it to be the end of it. If Jamie didn't have anything to say, then what was the point? He'd let you walk away and tomorrow morning, you'd be back to normal and you can just pretend this night didn't happen. You've done it before.

"You said you didn't want to talk about that." Jamie finally speaks up.

"I thought I didn't," you admit, your voice levels lower than before. You continue walking when you feel a presence following suit. You stayed in that silence till you made it back to your flat. It's a miracle you didn't tip over on the way in, but spite was enough to power you through.

Jamie closed the door behind him and sighed, "I couldn't just ignore him at the bar."

Suddenly, any fear of confrontation seemed to disappear. Your anger resurfaced and you spit out, "You seemed just fine ignoring me for seven years." You turn to face him and for a second, the pitiful look in his eyes almost made you back off. Almost. "Or is abandoning your best friend easier when she's not some big-shot footballer?"

"I know you're mad," Jamie starts and you angrily run your hands through your hair.

"Yes, I'm mad, Jamie!" You shout and you watch him take a step back, but you don't falter. "I'm mad at you! Seeing George tonight just reminded me of it and how a part of me still fucking hates you for taking their side."

"I've been trying to apologize—"

"I know, Jamie, but I'm still pissed at you, okay? For leaving me like that! And for letting me leave that night! I mean, how could you? Just throw away a decade of friendship for some football assholes that threw you away the second they could." Everyone knew how Jamie's career with Man City ended and it was surely a sore spot for the player, but at that moment, you didn't care.

Before Jamie can even defend himself, you start again. "I... fuck Jamie, I loved you. You were my best friend. I would've spent every waking hour with you if I could've. But you couldn't care less about me, right? The moment someone more famous than me believed in you the same way I always did. You just stopped answering my calls, and my texts, and even my parents when they asked you for me! Worst of all, you didn't give me a single reason why!

"Honestly, I would've been fine if you did stop being friends with me, as long as you gave me an explanation. Even if it was for some stupid reason that I wouldn't understand or hate you for, because at least I could've moved on! Instead, I spent years wondering where it all went wrong. If I could've done something, anything to change what happened." You start to feel the strain on your throat and know for a fact that at least one of your neighbors would be eavesdropping, but you were finally letting it out.

Your voice comes out hoarse, "And then the next time I did see you, in that pub, you were a whole new person. A complete and utter prick, Jamie. After that night, I prayed that you'd come to your senses. Do the decent thing and apologize, even if it was just a fucking text or something. But no, you kept ignoring me and pretending I didn't even exist. So I forced myself to stop thinking about you. To stop caring about you calling me. To stop dreaming about you telling me you fucked up and that you were sorry. So I could move on with my life."

You look away from Jamie and around the living room in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing down. You were unsuccessful. "And after years, I did move on. I went to London, got a job, and stayed as far away as I could from football. From you. But God, you always find a way back to me, huh?

"It just had to be you who found me in Nelson Road that night. It had to be you who picked me up, who drove me home, and reminded me how happy I was when we were kids. So much so that I thought I'd be fine without an apology! As long as I had you back in my life, it'd be fine. But as you can tell now, it's not." The amount of alcohol in your system was wearing you down and you were starting to get tired.

You start to lose your balance when Jamie's there to catch you, but you harshly push him off you. He doesn't seem affected by your strength, but even then, he moves back.

  "Just get out, Jamie." is all you manage to say this time and after hesitating for a moment, he does. Now you're left alone again, only with your thoughts and the realization that any chance of bringing back what you had with Jamie was gone.

A/N: and that's that! i hope this teases the interlude nicely cause i'm sick of being so vague about that night since that's up next and trust me, it gets worse in that one... anyway i hope you all enjoyed this one!

TAGLIST: @moonflowersandsparkles @faith-alons26 @rexorangecouny @aiyaiy @thegirlthatwantedtowrite @giggling-sewer-ginger @katdahlali @higherthanheroes @guccilongboard @alipap3 @rockchickrebel @ellietartt @shineforever19 @skewedcherries @jamirtarttdodo @meg-ro @deepdarkvelvet @scaramou @rae4725 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo (couldn't tag you for some reason?)

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fic #jamie tartt fanfic #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt angst #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #it's nice to have a friend series

[cobaltperun]

Woe out the Storm (14) - Eye of the Tiger

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part (Season 1 finale)

Word count: 4.5k

-It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight-

You took several deep breaths, red eyes glaring at Laurel and what you assumed was revived Crackstone. For a moment you felt your lightning growing stronger, almost overwhelming you, threatening to burst through. You’ve spent too much time in lightning form to get across the lake and you could feel control you had slipping as the colors around you began fading. You knew one thing, you needed to finish this fast.

Something red caught your attention and you looked closely to see a gash across Wednesday’s palm. There was dried blood on the side of her head as well. “Sorry I’m late,” you said as the two of you stood up and faced Laurel and Crackstone.

Laurel smirked lightly and walked over to the wall. “I didn’t think you’d show up Y/N, with the lake in your way and your fear of water, but, I prepared just in case,” she said and you saw a wide hose near the wall she was heading toward.

“Shit!” you didn’t need to think long to understand what that meant. You threw your knife toward her, only to suddenly feel strong pressure keeping you from moving.

You gritted your teeth as Crackstone lifted his staff, holding you and Wednesday in place. “You feral beasts have stood in my way for too long! Burn!” he hollered, sending a torrent of flames toward you and Wednesday.

You could have zapped away, freed yourself from his hold, but Wednesday was right behind you.

“Go,” Wednesday ordered you, yet you didn’t listen, you just surrounded the two of you with your lightning, weakening the flames and clashing with them. The heat was similar, red flames colliding with darker, but still red, lightning, made it almost impossible to withstand the heat.

“Too close,” you focused on expanding your lightning, on pushing It away from Wednesday and you until the energy within two forces of nature exploded and pushed the two of you and Crackstone back a few steps.

He didn’t look tired, while you just dropped to one knee, feeling the fatigue of staying in control sneak up on you.

“Here, this will cool you down,” Laurel laughed and the stream of water hit you and Wednesday at the same time.

“Salt!” you gasped, realizing it wasn’t just regular water, Laurel raised the salinity of it and likely added something to it to make it stick to your body like the paint did. You dropped down, clenching your fists as you struggled to hold the lightning in.

“Go ahead and discharge Y/N! Oh, sorry, you’d kill Wednesday if you did!” she laughed, soaking everything around you as well, she used up so much water it covered the entire floor up to your wrists.

“She’ll kill you too,” Wednesday threatened, kneeling down next to you, but luckily not touching you.

“Wednesday, run,” you hissed, unsure of how much time you had left until you’d either discharge or, even worse, shift.

“Lucifer’s mistress cannot run, beast,” Crackstone once again raised his staff, pinning the two of you down. “You’ll be buried beneath the stones, your bodies never to be found!” the whips of fire struck the ceiling, making pebbles fall from it as the old, fragile building began shaking under the pressure of his telekinesis and flames.

“Sweet dreams, Wednesday, Y/N,” Laurel taunted you as the two of them made their way outside.

You couldn’t fight it anymore, even if you could, there was no other way.

“You better hope this kills us!” even your voice was changing, growing deeper, more guttural and Wednesday saw you tensing, your body heating up so much steam was starting to come from the water beneath you despite Crackstone’s ability still holding the two of you down.

As the crypt began falling on the two of you, you broke through telekinesis and pulled Wednesday beneath you. Your eyes went from red to orange in a flash, the colors lost their intensity, the dim light became more than enough for you to see, the scent of candles, salt, smoke, of Wednesday, intensified, and you could feel your body shifting.

~X~

She wasn’t sure how much time passed, you pulled her so hard she briefly got dizzy and lost consciousness due to Laurel knocking her out with a shovel. So, Wednesday didn’t know how long ago Laurel and Crackstone left. As Wednesday slowly blinked, still disoriented from the building collapsing on the two of you she heard panting above her, angry, animalistic, no, beastly, breathing combined with low growls and intense buzzing of lightning all around her. Yet she didn’t feel it, she wasn’t electrocuted, it was as if her immediate surroundings were spared from the rage of lightning. And she forced herself to open her eyes, despite the throbbing pain in her head. She was met with the sight from her vision, the one she had when she touched Rowan, of the beast standing above her.

The orange and black fur, the mane, the large, sharp fangs that could easily pierce right through her, the paws that could easily rip someone in two, and the size of the beast… she couldn’t be sure from her position beneath it, but from her estimation it was nearly seven feet tall, and likely twice as long, tail excluded. A magnificent tiger stood above her, standing despite the roof of the building falling right on top of it, protecting her from the fallen debris and certain death. An explosion of lightning from the beast’s, no, your body destroyed everything around Wednesday, turning the stone of the crypt into pebbles and dust. Wednesday coughed at that and you looked down, your orange eyes staring wildly into her own.

How aware were you really? Was Faulkner right? “Y/N?” she tried, gauging your reaction. You growled, baring your teeth, but you didn’t attack her, you just stared down at her as if trying to recognize her. A few moments later Wednesday saw a glimmer of recognition in your eyes and you stepped away from her to make your way to the fallen knife you claimed as your own after Wednesday threw it at you. You bent down, taking it gently between your teeth, with your size you could easily swallow it, instead you went back to Wednesday and, as she sat up a bit, carefully placed the knife on top of her stomach. You nudged her arm toward it in a way that didn’t fit your size, so lightly she barely felt your fur brushing against her. You lay down, just waiting for Wednesday to get it together and get up.

Even in this form you were being you, making Wednesday wonder why you were ever afraid of shifting and losing control. “We need to get back to the school and stop Crackstone and Laurel,” she told you, though she guessed it was futile as you didn’t budge. The lightning coming out of your body wasn’t intense, it was coming out from your feet and tail, and a bit from your eyes and mouth when you opened it, but it didn’t indicate you were completely out of control. At least as far as Faulkner’s diary told her.

She sighed. All the power you had, and it would go to waste because Wednesday wasn’t sure how to direct it and you didn’t know how to either. Yet, as she turned to leave you blocked her path with your head and nudged her back, toward your back. You moved your head back slightly, motioning toward your back and Wednesday wasn’t sure if she was reading you right or not, but she placed her hand on your back, just behind the shoulder blades and you nodded.

“You want me to get on your back?” she asked and you nodded, almost sounding like you just huffed in confirmation.

Was that why you were lying down? So Wednesday could climb on top of you more easily. Because, as much as it annoyed her to admit that, she wouldn’t be able to climb on your back with your current height if you were standing.

With some effort, because you were still a large beast even when you were lying down, she climbed onto your back and grabbed onto your mane, realizing that you were an amur tiger, instead of one of the other subspecies. Wednesday wasn’t sure if grabbing onto your mane would set you off, or if you would get aggressive, but there wasn’t anything else she could hold on to. And from the looks of it you didn’t mind, as you got up and jumped over the remaining walls of the crypt.

Wednesday used to ride on Kitty’s back as a child, but Kitty was more like a house cat compared to you and the force of the jump took her by surprise. Luckily, you stopped, turning your head to check on her.

Ridiculous lightning beast.

At least act like an uncontrollable beast, you were more like an oversized pet than anything else right now.

“I’m fine, go,” she told you and you tilted your head. Was your ability to understand human speech disappearing, because Wednesday was sure you somewhat understood a more complex sentence mere moments ago. She pointed toward Nevermore and before she could even say one word you took off, not sprinting, but still running in the direction she wanted you to.

You reached the lake and Wednesday thought you’d stop, that this was as far as she’d get, with no boat she had no hopes of catching up to Crackstone and Laurel. Her eyes widened when a ball of orange lightning formed ahead of you, and then another further ahead, she watched, her fingers digging into your mane as you created more and more balls of lightning above the lake, and then you jumped on the one closest to you.

The ball dispersed when you touched it, but it was enough for you to jump to the next one, not quite zapping, but moving along the lightning path forming as each lightning ball burst open. The long, powerful jumps, the control, the definitive lack of fear of water, it made her realize you weren’t entirely you in this form. At your core you were still you, but you were driven more by instincts than anything else, you were doing things Wednesday was sure you couldn’t do in your human form.

You landed on the shore with the grace only a cat could have and took a few steps before collapsing.

Wednesday climbed off you and knelt next to your head. “Y/N?” she called your name and you opened your eyes, blinking slowly before yawning. “You did enough,” she told you, and she believed that. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought it was reasonable to assume you used up a lot of energy to get across the lake twice. It wasn’t a small lake either.

You chuffed and nudged her lightly and even though she was running out of time Wednesday placed her hand on top of your head, just feeling the warm fur against her palm. And then, one small, harmless discharge later her hand fell on top of your head.

Your human head.

“What?!” you sat up abruptly, as if suddenly woken up from deep slumber. Maybe you were. You rubbed the top of your head. “Why would you hit me like that?” you whined and looked around. “What the? How did we…?”

Wednesday remained silent, stunned by your inability to remember what happened.

“Did I shift?” you seemed to piece together the only possible way the two of you could have survived a building falling on top of you and then making your way across the lake. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” you looked her over, frantically searching for any injuries.

“Given the size of you you could have torn me in two,” Wednesday deadpanned, somewhat enjoying the way you stopped breathing at that revelation. “You were,” she wasn’t sure what word to use. “I wasn’t in danger,” she settled down on that, telling you what you likely needed to hear the most.

You let your head drop and sighed in relief. “That’s a relief,” you whispered, your body trembling slightly. It was clear to Wednesday that you were exhausted.

“You don’t remember anything?” she just had to ask.

You shook your head. “Bits and pieces at best, and even that is vague,” with a groan you managed to get back to your feet. “We need to get back to school,” you were struggling to even stand, and you still wanted to keep going?

Wednesday sighed and put your arm over her shoulders. “Come on,” you smiled apologetically and began walking with her help. Luckily, it didn’t take long for you to recover your energy. It must have been the shifting and switching between two and four legs that left you weaker than usual.

~X~

By the time you were about halfway to Nevermore you could walk on your own, which you figured was lucky, because you heard a werewolf howling and not all of them were friendly during full moon, especially during full blood moon. And you were still recovering, unsure if your lightning would be strong enough to deal with a werewolf.

You weren’t ready for a fight, but hopefully by the time you reach Nevermore you would be able to help Wednesday.

You heard the rustling of the leaves before you saw him and you couldn’t help but curse your luck as Tyler came from behind a tree.

“Laurel said you were dead,” the harmless, even kind of shy, barista was gone. All you saw was the killer terrorizing Jericho over the past few months.

“You must have been disappointed,” Wednesday glared at him.

“I was. I didn’t get to keep my promise and bring you the beast’s head. Now I can kill you both together,” he approached, walking like a predator that found his prey.

“This won’t end well for you,” Wednesday threatened, standing between him and you, and if she wasn’t standing between you and a monster that ripped people apart you would feel very happy. The problem was, she was standing between you and a monster that could rip her apart.

Lightning crackled around you and you were ready to move the moment Tyler did something, but you weren’t ready for his eyes bulging in an almost comical way. Truly, seeing the transformation take place was as horrifying as it was hilarious as his body grew and burst out of his clothes. Just how many articles of clothing did he ruin over the past few months?

Tyler roared and swiped his clawed hand up. He no longer needed Wednesday alive and she was still injured. So you grabbed her hand, pulling her back and taking the hit. The claws dug into your left shoulder, piercing the skin, but you managed to zap away, slamming into the nearby tree to avoid Tyler’s claws tearing your shoulder apart.

“Y/N!” you never wanted to hear Wednesday shouting your name like that.

Tyler growled, and you opened your eyes to see him standing above Wednesday. Why wasn’t she running, damn it? It wouldn’t help if she was alone, but you just needed a few seconds! You got up to your hands and knees, blood dripping onto the grass as rage ignited the lightning within you, the fatigue seemed to be burnt through, it was as if you suddenly got a second wind. “Tyler!” you yelled, getting his attention, he turned to face you, roaring as you got to your feet and charged at him, your body engulfed in lightning as his clawed hand collided with your fist. He stepped back, roaring in pain as your lightning electrocuted him.

You were ready to keep going, when something similar to a werewolf flew into Tyler, tackled him to the ground and slammed him into a tree.

“Holy shit,” you weren’t even that angry anymore, just impressed by what just happened.

“Enid?” Wednesday guessed as she took a better look at the werewolf that had now turned around to face you.

“Enid?!” you turned to Wednesday in disbelief, before taking a better look. The hair, the slightly smaller size, her eyes, and that ‘I did it’ look on her face confirmed it. “Hell yeah! That’s the way!” you pumped your fist up.

“Enid!” Wednesday was the first to notice Tyler getting up.

“We got this! Just go!” you threw a knife toward Tyler, zapping toward it and kicking his arm away before he could hit Enid. And to prove the two of you were a fairly decent team Enid immediately took a chance and kicked Tyler away. “Right, Enid?” you smirked at the girl that finally got to wolf out.

Enid nodded, offering you a wolfish smirk, and bumping her clawed fist/paw with your own.

From the corner of your eyes, you saw Wednesday nodding reluctantly. She was needed at the school, and you and Enid could handle Tyler. “Be careful,” she told the two of you, though you could hear the unspoken threat in her voice as she said that. Be careful, or I’ll make you regret it.

Well, that was how Wednesday was.

Tyler got up, furiously glaring at the two of you. You could feel your lightning growing weaker, the adrenaline was fading away and you felt your body growing numb from overuse. Usually, your body would be the first to give out, but this time you were close to depleting all your reserves. At least you didn’t have to worry about losing control and shifting, you doubted you had enough power left to do it.

“I was confident while Wednesday was here, but I’m running low. I can’t do much more than provide support. Sorry about that,” you apologized, you’d make sure Enid wouldn’t get seriously injured, actually, you’d try to make sure she doesn’t get hit at all, but it was a fight, you couldn’t guarantee that.

Enid nodded, charging at Tyler. He raised his arm up, ready to slam her down when she approached, but you zapped to the side of him and hit him with a lightning strike from about a dozen feet away. It wasn’t strong enough to hurt him, but it stunned him, allowing Enid to tackle him and cut him with her claws.

You landed on the ground and put your hands down on it. “Enid! Get back!” the moment she heard you, Enid jumped away from Tyler. As he sat up you sent lightning through the ground, making it burst through it just underneath him. One more. You had one good strike left, and you’d have to make it count.

Tyler roared in pain, his skin smoking as he fled into the woods. Enid gave chase, knowing you couldn’t let him escape. You couldn’t let him go after Wednesday. You were about to go after him as well, but your vison got blurry, and you had to lean against a tree for a moment. One more attack. You had to make it count.

With a growl that sounded a lot more like that of a tiger you pushed your body to move, running after Enid and Tyler. If only you knew exactly where they were. You heard a whine to your left and rushed there, but all you saw was Enid on the ground, bleeding. You ran toward her, and that moment of lowering your guard cost you, as Tyler grabbed you from behind and slammed you onto the ground. With wind knocked out of your lungs you could only gasp as he pressed his claws against your chest. Any moment now he’d pierce through your skin and kill you. And he was enjoying it, you could see it on his face, in his eyes. Was this what Wednesday saw in her vision?

“You… made her worry,” you gasped, the need to survive overpowering the exhaustion. And your lightning turned orange once again.

~X~

You roared, paralyzing the enemy above you. It was weak, unable to hold you down. So easy to push off without even using lightning. Barely three seconds after you shifted the positions were changed. You pressed your paw against the struggling monster, its claws bouncing off your lightning covered legs and chest. You roared and lightning burst through you, destroying the branches above you.

The monster looked afraid, whining weakly as your own claws came out, covered in lightning. They pierced and burnt through the monster’s skin. There wasn’t even any blood there, the wounds closing because of the heat right away.

An unfamiliar loud and sharp sound pierced through your ears and you felt pain in your right shoulder. It wasn’t covered by lightning before, but now it was. It hurt, something was stuck in your body. So, you magnetized it and pushed it out. It was small, round, but it still caused you pain.

“Get away from my son!” you didn’t understand what those sounds meant, but they came from the human holding something in his hands. He was shaking, frightened, but he wasn’t backing away.

You stepped away from the enemy beneath you, slowly stalking toward the human. You weren’t in a rush. If they ran, you’d just go after them.

You heard the monster getting up, and it jumped toward you from behind. You just growled, creating two orbs of lightning and slamming them into the monster. Smoke came from its body, and it fell to the ground, unmoving and changing back into its human form.

“Tyler!” the man cried out and looked like her wanted to run toward the monster.

You roared, warning the man to stay put. It wouldn’t be long now.

Screaming in fear he tried to attack you again. But you recognized the sharp sounds this time, and destroyed those pesky round things with your lightning before they could reach you.

Something else came between you and the man. A canine creature that didn’t give any signs that it wanted a fight. It whined, as if calling you. The creature smelled familiar and you stopped. Curious to see what it would do. Something else came along. A severed body part that moved, that was alive. It approached you, tapping the ground in front of you.

The sounds meant nothing to you, but deep down there was something nostalgic about it.

Something. A place. Room. Two humans and the hand. You.

You lowered your head to the ground, lightning backing away from it so it wouldn’t hurt the hand in front of you. You nudged him with your head, and he grabbed on, climbing to the top of your head much to your surprise. You shook your head to shake him off, but as he kept clinging you wondered how you knew the hand was a he? He kept tapping something on the top of your head, and you still didn’t understand.

It didn’t matter. The sound was bringing you back. Thing. This was Thing! Not some random hand, he was a friend. So was the werewolf. Enid. She wolfed out. She fought with you to stop Tyler. To protect Wednesday.

Wednesday. She was at school. You needed to get to her.

~X~

You growled, shifting back and falling down to the ground, panting as you clutched at the grass in front of you. You had no idea what just happened, but Enid, still in her werewolf form, stumbled toward you and transformed back into her human form. Thing just patted your hand and then moved to comfort her as well.

“I’m going back to school, Wednesday might still need help,” you stumbled back to your feet and took your jacket off, covering Enid’s body.

“Yeah, go get her. We’ll be fine,” Enid encouraged you and Thing gave you a thumbs up.

You nodded and, though it was a struggle, began making your way back to Nevermore.

What would you even accomplish when you got there? Did you even have it in you to fight anymore? You doubted you did, but you were betting on adrenaline to give you that one last push if Wednesday needed you. Because you’d be damned if something happened to her while you were lying around and resting.

You managed to reach the pentagon, but you severely overestimated your abilities, by the time you got there you couldn’t even stand properly, let alone fight. You tried to zap to Wednesday, to get her away from Crackstone as he pinned her down with his telekinesis, but you just dropped to your knees, unable to produce a single spark. “Come on, come on, damn it,” but your body wouldn’t move.

Especially when you saw Bianca stabbing Crackstone. Was it over? You watched in horror as the man’s wound regenerated and he easily threw Bianca to the side and while Wednesday got up and tried to stab him with a broken blade he managed to push back against her with his telekinesis.

And the world around you went black.

~X~

Wednesday tried to push through, to break through the man’s defense, but her blade wouldn’t go through. And then a burst of lightning and a tiger paw swiped between her and Crackstone, ripping off both of his arms and leaving him wide open for Wednesday to pierce his heart.

Wednesday took a few steps back as the resurrected man let out a chilling, inhuman cry and vanished in dust and smoke. She took a couple of deep breaths, it was over.

“Wednesday get back! Stay away from Y/N!” Bianca’s warning caught her by surprise. Why? You just helped her once again. And then she heard a roar that sent shivers down her spine, a roar that froze her in place in a way that was so instinctual, so primal, she barely even remembered reading about the ability of the tiger’s roar to paralyze the prey. She thought she experienced fear when she saw Crackstone in her vision, but this was much deeper, this struck fear into her heart and bones, into her entire being. She blinked a few times, searching for you in the quad and there you were, ready to pounce and tear through anyone who approached you.

Wednesday’s eyes widened as she took in your appearance, you were still a tiger, but you were almost entirely covered in lightning. All the reason, all the control you had, it was gone, all that was left was the wild beast. This wasn’t the tiger that protected her from the building falling on top of you two, this was what you were afraid of, what Faulkner described in his diary, this was the lightning beast that was driven by instinct that couldn’t be reasoned with.

A/N: Well, one chapter to go people!

Reader: I can't shift! I'll hurt someone!

Reader (beast-form) with Wednesday:

Granted... Crackstone POV?

#wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #jenna ortega x reader

[1-800-kami]

picture perfect | geto suguru x gn!reader (1.1k words)

this drabble is actually so corny but i love the idea sm so i wrote it. i love this man so much i want to eat him (i'm also starting to realize that all of my works so far have a similar overarching theme in them... hm)

artist!geto who would always be willing to show you his latest works. in fact, you’re the first one to see them. as soon as he finishes an artwork, he calls you over and shows it or sends a picture. you’re happy that you’re the first one that he always thinks about when he finally puts down that brush. you’ve seen most of his artworks…

…except for one sketchbook. it was a regular old leather sketchbook, and you never saw the inside of it. whenever geto was drawing on it and you walked in the room, he’d quickly hide it and play it off as if he were doing nothing at all. it always made you curious, but you just assumed that his sketchbook was something like a diary. you knew that people owned private journals where they wrote down things only meant for their own eyes to see. art could be nothing different, so you tried not to pry on what geto drew in that sketchbook… even though you itched to ask at times.

you remember one time when you had an idea of what that sketchbook contained, though. you were curled up next to him in bed, fast asleep. you awoke to the gentle nightlight softly awakening your senses, and you stirred. 

that’s when you noticed that geto was drawing on that sketchbook again. curiosity took the best of you, and you pretended to be asleep as you observed geto. a pattern quickly formed over the next few minutes–he would look at your “sleeping” form, flick his eyes back to the sketchbook, draw a few lines, and then repeat the process.

ah. so he was drawing you.

the idea made you smile subconsciously. it also made you feel a little shy. geto dedicated a whole sketchbook just for drawings of you? the thought was so adorable that it made your heart beat a little faster. still, why didn’t he let you see them? was he too shy?

this memory all comes back flooding to your head in your current situation. you had a nice at-home dinner date with geto earlier, and he surprised you with all your favorite meals. these dates weren’t too out of the blue for the both of you, as sometimes, home-cooked meals just tasted better than a fancy restaurant’s meal. there was a notion in your head that today’s date felt a little different than usual, and it seems that you were right.

geto specifically told you to walk down this hallway of your house, as he said that he had “a surprise for you”. you were in awe at what you saw–along the walls of this corridor contained drawings–so many drawings strewn across the hall one by one. all of them were drawings of memories that he shared with you in chronological order. the day he confessed his love to you, your first kiss with him in the passenger seat of his car, your first date (out of many) with him, the first time you celebrated your birthday with him, your anniversary… you relived all of these moments as you walked down the hall. these drawings were all so accurate–geto getting your face shape just right… and the way he was somehow able to capture your smile so perfectly.

you wonder how much time he’s spent on these drawings, especially with how amazing they were. you think all of his works are great, but these are all so personal that it warms your heart differently compared to seeing his typical artworks. 

more memories are envisioned in your head as you continue walking. the exciting day you spent with him at the carnival, (feat gojo as the unhappy thirdwheel) your third holiday season spent together, the-

the last drawing catches you off guard, though. the writing on the bottom states today’s date, and it’s a drawing of you, standing up, and geto, kneeling down while holding a box with a shimmering ring inside. wait, that hasn’t happened before-

oh.

oh.

it was like you could literally feel his presence behind you. tears fill your eyes as you turn around, and there he was, seeing your boyfriend of over three years deciding that he officially wants to spend the rest of his life with you. 

the two of you recreated the last drawing perfectly. 

“i’m so nervous about all of this going wrong that i completely forgot half of my speech… fuck.” he says, and you giggle despite your heart hammering in your chest. you were just as nervous as he was. “i never really saw myself as a marriage type of guy. i thought that i’d spent the rest of my life not being held down by anyone… until i met you, of course. you’re just so enamoring to me, and i bought that sketchbook so i can illustrate each important memory that i’ve spent with you, so i can look back on them until i’m grey and old and i can hardly remember what i’ve had for breakfast in the morning. i’ve spent hours and hours with a pencil in hand, sketching every detail of you until my hand is all cramped up, but i’m willing to do that for the rest of my life if you’re the subject of my drawings. i want to spend the rest of my life with you, so…

y/n l/n, will you marry me?”

you waste no time in nodding your head furiously, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. you often thought about marrying geto, picturing his proposal as something grand–like in front of all your friends or during a fancy night out at the beach. this… was not something that you pictured at all, but it feels so domestic and real, and now that it’s happening, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

you pull your now-fiance into a much-needed kiss, and he takes your shaky hands in his cold ones as he slides the engagement ring down your ring finger. it was so beautiful. he’s so beautiful. this entire moment is so beautiful, and you’re glad you have a drawing to commemorate it forever. there are so many things you want to say to him, and you don’t know where to start, so you just utter the words that are at the forefront of your brain. “i love you suguru, i love you so fucking much.”

“i love you too. ‘m so happy you said yes,” he breathes out, cupping your cheeks with his hands and smiling at your tear-struck face. “i can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

you nod your head in agreement, closing your eyes. “yeah. me too.”

this was based off of that one extra gum commercial <3

#he's so silly #i love him #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #geto suguru fluff #geto fluff #suguru geto #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #suguru x reader #suguru smut #jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[shorelinessightlines]

He ended up doing it on a Sunday. Race weekend. Daniel put his fist through the drywall after his first DNF of the season, and Max broke up with him on the spot.

It had felt very 2018, their argument. Max's head fills the blank spots in his memory with old footage from their pre-Renault days. Daniel, for better or for worse, has not changed so much—it makes it easier to substitute the finer details.

Details have always been difficult for Max, which makes him feel shitty. People think he can't remember because he doesn't care, but he does, he swears he does. There's a lingering, near-permanent part of Max that aches for the smell of Daniel's burnt eggs and charred toast late at night, one that hurts more when he wakes up in the morning to the sound of birds and not the smoke alarm going off.

Caring makes no difference. He's unsure if they were still in their racesuits, or if they'd changed out of them in the few hours it had taken for media duties, debriefs, and post-race apologies slash unfollowing-sprees to wrap up.

The particular characteristics of their argument fade away to this: Daniel had said, "Fuck you, Max," innocuous and unsurprising, but it had brought him back to days at the karting track, the other kids flitting around and shouting swears they only just learned how to say.

Max had run them into a barrier, they complained to their parents, but he would already be sprinting over to Jos, holding up his helmet like, Did you see that? I was brave. I didn't back out. I did exactly what you told me to do.

"That is unfair," he had responded, feeling not very much like himself, and Daniel had looked at him like he had two heads.

"You're dumping me."

Daniel, likely, had never been dumped in his life. Why would anyone dump Daniel? Daniel was fucking perfect and this—this was just another thing Max had managed to fuck up.

"I am not dumping you, Daniel, always you use such ugly words, it is—"

"Max, oh my god, shut up. You're dumping me, and I get you're having a rough time right now, but this is—god, this is just crazy."

Max sniffed then, maybe, sad and angry and violent-feeling. Boiling inside. Hating Daniel in the moment and knowing he would miss him in the morning.

"You—Daniel, you know. Fuck you, this is not fair."

Max told Daniel about the karting tracks. Max told Daniel everything, like his crush on Mark Webber growing up and when his dad died. His hands had been shaking from the weight of his phone in the middle of their Monaco apartment and all Max could think to do was tell Daniel, because he told Daniel everything and Daniel would surely know what to do.

"You wanna talk about unfair? I just had one of the shittiest races of my goddamn life and—" Daniel swiped a cheap lamp to the floor. The bulb shattered. "—my boyfriend is breaking up with me at the racetrack not four hours later. Fuck, isn't that unfair, Max?"

Max's voice tembled when he talked. "You punched the wall. You are so violent, Daniel." It comes out wrong, but it's true. Daniel is violent like Max's father. So is Max, most days.

"I am not Jos," Daniel spit; he knew what Max meant, he knew Max better than anyone and it was still so angry. Daniel hated Jos, and god, Max never used to think like this before but it's so easy, these days, to be reminded of his late father. Last names, misplaced shadows, bruises that had purpled unevenly on Daniel's knuckles—familiar and disgusting and angry. This is not fair.

It was a regular spat—Daniel yelled and cussed Max out and punched a wall and broke a lamp and it was all normal. But fuck, all Max could do was be reminded of the karting tracks, of his dad, and that made Max feel even worse because everything reminded him of his dad and racing reminded him of his dad and Daniel reminded him of his dad and the hole in the drywall reminded him of his dad and—

Max remembers (details, details, details—) the distant way he had said, "I will not do this with you anymore."

It's only been a few days since Max and Daniel broke up. He thinks he is already starting to regret it.

---

Max has taken to imagining a life where he is, perhaps, a fish.

It would fit the empty, white nature of his apartment—if it were in reality a fishbowl, and he just swam in circles endlessly. If Daniel were his fish-friend and they lived their fishy lives together. Nothing could be so bad, of course, if there was Daniel.

But, this is not possible. Jimmy and Sassy would simply eat him.

"Nah, mate," Not-Daniel materializes on the couch. Max doesn't question it; Not-Daniel has been showing up on his couch a lot as of late, to fill the vacancy Real-Daniel left behind. "Nah, Sassy wouldn't eat you. Jimmy, now... that's another story."

"You underestimate Sassy."

"Oh no, far from it," Daniel's voice is strange and round because he's gaping his mouth open and shut to imitate a fish. He looks silly. "Sassy's too cunning. She's waiting for Jimmy to eat you so she can tell me what happened and I'll throw Jimmy out the window. Then she'll have the apartment all to herself. It's quite the plan, actually."

Max laughs at that and blows imaginary bubbles to Daniel, which he catches and throws back at him like a baseball. Then Max throws a pillow, and Daniel laughs too.

"I wish we were really fish," says Max. "I don't care if Jimmy would eat me." In the perfect world of his daydream, Daniel responds:

"Yeah, we'd make the best fish couple, don't you think?"

Of course, Max broke up with Daniel two weeks ago, so he has taken to telling these things to Lando instead. Lando has much less interesting responses, like, "Are you sure you don't want to see a therapist?"

Max scowls.

"I do not want to see a therapist. Why would I need a therapist?"

Lando raises an eyebrow, then both eyebrows. A strange habit.

"Your dad died, like, a week and a half ago," Lando ticks off on one finger. "You broke up with Daniel after five years together, you drove possibly the worst race of your life last weekend, and now you think you're a fish." Lando wiggles four fingers in front of the camera. Max wishes Lando were here in real life so he could shove Lando's dumb fingers into Lando's dumb face.

Then he reminds himself that Lando is his friend, and then Max feels shitty and angry and just like his dad. (Everything these days reminds him of his dad.)

"How lovely."

"Nah, I wouldn't say as much." Lando has a strange expression on his face, the grainy quality of the phone camera merging his eyebrows together into a caterpillar. "Mate. Get help."

"I do not need help."

"That's exactly what Daniel would say." Fuck you, Lando.

Max feels a sudden, sharp pang of anger and regret at just the sound of Daniel's name—wrong on Lando's tongue, marred by a British accent and a chaotic friendship that always managed to make Max insecure. Fuck you fuck you fuck you. You don't know him better than me.

"Daniel would not say that," he says instead of screaming. His voice sounds odd and strained. Mean. Angry. "Daniel is—Daniel would not say that."

Lando says, "Maybe not when you knew him, but you two haven't been teammates for five years. That changes more than you might think.”

"Daniel—"

"—didn't tell you when he got fired, did he?" Lando raises his eyebrows again, because he knows he's right and he is a smug dickhead.

No, Daniel didn't tell Max when he got fired. Max found out through Instagram of all places, and it had felt especially strange back then because they lived together and Daniel told him everything.

It was an exchange—Daniel would spill all his insecurities and his break with Michael and the way the car felt more like a death trap than a vehicle most days, and Max would tell Daniel about how much he missed eating breakfast with Victoria on Saturdays, about the dumb photoshoots Red Bull made him do now that he was a world champion, about Jos and the moment he died and the way Max felt shitty and free and so violent.

But Daniel didn't tell Max when he got fired, and he didn't tell him about his eating problems, and he didn't—fuck, Daniel was so kind and so gentle and sometimes he punched walls so hard the plaster crumbled from the power of his fists.

Daniel was one of those things that hurt more that it healed. Soft and tender in the right places—if Max pushed too hard, he would bruise him. If Max touched his shoulder he might scratch himself on Daniel's sharp edges; might break, like the walls did, under the force of Daniel's anger.

He feels like he's breaking, now. He needs Daniel, all the time, bruises and scars and plaster and all. (He needed his dad, too, and he has come to wonder if needing vicious things has been written into code, much like racing has. If his dad taught him brutality with the braking zones, at the karting tracks all those years ago.)

"I can recommend you a therapist," Lando is saying in this coddling kind of tone, the one you would use on a baby.

Max had never been coddled. It feels odd to hear it now, at his grown age, by a friend two years younger than him who probably found out Daniel was fired exactly when Daniel did.

He says, "Fuck you," and doesn't really mean it.

Lando responds, "Can't do that if you're a fish."

---

Jos's funeral is on a Sunday. Race weekend. The Australian Grand Prix.

Max is convinced Jos wrote that specifically in his will just to screw Max over one final time. Unnecessary, really—Max still jumps at his own shadow, when he mistakes the rigidity of his own shoulders for his father's.

Max catches a glimpse of his silhouette on the grass, bulky and stiff next to the thin lines of other attendees. He grimaces.

It's too sunny out, for a funeral. Max feels overheated in his black suit. Victoria stands at his side and wipes sweat from her brow, equally uncomfortable in a black dress and heels. Jos's other children, most of which Max honestly forgets exist some days, stand ramrod straight and look appropriately sad, sweating through their Sunday-best while their perfect blue eyes and slightly chubby faces scrunch up in grief.

Max tries to imagine Jos yelling at these kids and thinks bitterly that to them, Jos was maybe a good father. A good man, husband, citizen. They must miss him so much, they must be so sad he is gone.

Max tries to find an emotion within him that is not confused or afraid, and comes up empty.

His half-sister finishes the eulogy abruptly—it's wet-sounding, something guttural and painful clogging her throat. After that, the rest of the service passes by quickly. He stays behind with Victoria while all the guests file out and his half-siblings get ushered to the car by their mother; it would probably look bad if Max were the first to leave his father's funeral.

When the last guest has disappeared into the parking lot, Max flops down beside his father's freshly-dug grave and puts his head to his knees. Victoria sits down much more gingerly, careful not to ruin her dress.

"He was a weird dad," she says, unprompted. Max supposes this is the part where they are supposed to mourn him. "I don't remember too much of him. He always took you places and left me home with Mom."

"He took me to the karting tracks."

"Yeah, I know." She sighs. "You missed a race for this. He would've hated that."

Max supposes he would have. He can't decide if that makes him sad or angry or—or vindicated, somehow. Max is sure that if Daniel were here, some more prominent emotion would have risen to the top, just to pick a fight with whatever Daniel wanted to say.

They could never seem to settle when it came to Jos Verstappen.

"Do you think Daniel would have missed the race to be here?" The words bubble up, unbidden. Max practically chokes on them. To be with me, lies unspoken between them, solid like a rock in Max's throat.

Victoria looks at him with something like pity. "He had a habit of doing anything for you," she says like it's a bad thing, "if only you would ask."

Max does not say anything to that. He's not sure there is an answer to be had.

Victoria nudges him with her shoulder. "He won today, you know."

"He did?" The fondness cuts its way out of him. Home race. Big deal. "That's good. He deserves it, of course."

"Hm. He wouldn't have, if you'd been there."

Max bristles at that. He used to like being better than Daniel, being compared to Daniel. He used to like it because Jos liked it, and he wanted Jos to like him.

"Daniel is a good driver."

"No championship, though."

"You sound like Dad."

Victoria smiles, wry. "Fuck, don't we all somedays. You know, I yelled at Luka at the karting tracks the other day to brake later. It was like something came over me, you know? It felt like—like this is what we were born to be. And that felt dumb and ugly and I fucking cried in the bathroom when we got home."

Max gets that feeling. "I broke up with Daniel because he punched a wall," he offers, and it's so stupid, the way Jos has wormed his way into the best parts of their lives and rotted there, like a dead dog in the town well.

"Ah. I was wondering why you didn't ask him to be here."

Max shrugs. He is silent for a while, trying to pick out the right thing to say, and then:

"Do you miss him?" Victoria asks. "Despite the violence?" He wonders if she means Daniel or Jos.

He says, "Is it bad, if I do?"

---

Max is not all that surprised when he wakes up on Tuesday morning and finds Daniel on his couch. It used to be their apartment, after all, and Daniel still has the key.

Daniel is awake when Max stumbles into the living room. His stubble makes him look more tired than he actually must be. He says, "Howdy," in an exhausted and sheepish tone, and Max says, "I was going to drop off your things, I promise."

Daniel blinks.

"That's not what I'm here about."

"Oh." Max blinks too. "How was Australia?" He’s pretty sure he’s already had this conversation with Daniel at least four times in the past week since the funeral. Well, there's no harm in trying again.

"It was great. I won."

"That is good, for the team. I knew you could do it, of course, I told them so."

Daniel shakes his head. "You would have won, if you had been there."

"You sound like my dad," Max blurts out. It is true. You do sound like my dad. Victoria sounded like my dad. Everyone sounds like my dad.

Daniel narrows his eyes and doesn't say anything. Please do not look at me this way. It is not my fault he is haunting me.

Max scrambles to find something else to talk about. "I will make us breakfast," he says, already shifting away from the couch. “Cereal is fine, yes?”

"Uh. Sure. Sounds nice."

Max escapes to the kitchen, which is, in reality, only a few feet away. Still, the separation of the counter and the couch enforces a sense of distance—protection.

Daniel, of course, does not obey the invisible boundaries Max has outlined in his head. He rises, takes a few steps, and now he is in Max's space; lingering like he doesn't know what to do with himself, purposeful and aimless and intrusive.

"Do you—do you need help?" Daniel is peering over his shoulder. Max looks at him, their faces close. Then, he looks back at the two bowls he had laid out on the countertop and frowns.

Max's shadow splays itself across the countertop, and the broad line of Jos’s shoulders stares at him, aloof and alone. For a second, he wonders if the silhouette is Daniel’s, and it is Max who is the ghost.

He feels his heart sink, like the other four times Not-Daniel has woken up on Max's couch since Jos's funeral. Not-Daniel is still saying: “I can help, if you want me to.”

Max feels inexplicably angry, at that—wants to scream that of course he needs help, he has always needed Daniel’s help—Daniel used to char the toast and burn the eggs and make coffee that tasted like burning rubber. Max has not yet learned how to make breakfast without Daniel fucking it up.

Jos used to fuck up the breakfast too, a traitorous voice whispers in Max's ear, and he tenses.

It is different, of course, Max knows this. Jos burned the toast because he didn't care if Max ate ashes. Daniel burned the toast because he loved Max, and he couldn't help but ruin some things.

Max remembers to reply, trance-like, “No. I am okay. Sit back down.”

He turns to look at Daniel, and finds he has magically appeared on the couch once more.

The first time this happened, Max had freaked out, had thought he was going crazy. Now, it’s more disappointing than anything.

Logically, Max knows that he dropped off Daniel’s copy of the key a while ago, along with Daniel’s hoodies and knick-knacks and journals. Daniel has not actually been in their apartment in a very long time, and Max knows this because he has not had to replace a dented pan or nicked glassware in a decent amount of time.

He asks Not-Daniel, as he preps two bowls of cereal: “Do you remember what we were wearing, when we broke up?”

Daniel has always remembered little things like that. Small, tiny, minuscule details that Max could never seem to grasp.

“Nah, mate. I forgot.”

Details. Max was never so good at them.

#raine.fic #dr3 #mv33 #maxiel #ln4 #daniel is probably not this angry irl tbh

[dmercer91]

ebug's sister, dm91

ok, first post where blake is blake!! also, excuse the absolute dumpster fire that is my life, and is the reason that this post is one post and not like 47

last season! (2022-23) part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten / part eleven / part twelve

(2023-24)! part one /

blakefriarr_

liked by dawson1417, adamfantilli and 6,947 others

blakefriarr_: so many things have happened since i last popped up on all your timelines and made them immeasurably better!

this is episode one of season two of i-am-both-the sister-of-the-devils-home-emergency-backup-goaltender-and-also-happen-to-be dating-dawson-mercer-forward-for-the-devils series!

these pictures are in no particular order, because, i am moving into a new place with afore mentioned dawson mercer and have spent the last several weeks making it look like it's not the most depressing back alley murderous apartment any of you have ever laid your eyes on

and apparently, i have a ball ton of stuff!

regardless, here's what i've caught up on;

the entire nhl draft! though i have not acquired any new adoptees, it did come to my attention that the anaheim ducks as an organization did personally victimize me during the 2023 entry draft (they also took a BALLSY amount of time to re-sign bitch one and bitch two. what the literal fuck, dudes). also- if you are seeing this and you need help to flee, blink twice (not you adam) (you know who you are)

2, the entire preseason was also missed while i was one, curing myself from jetlag and the absolute dread of going back to uni and two, moving my egregious amount of shit with a spiteful level of independence. the devils won every preseason game! dawson scored that clusterfuck of a goal on slide two and we also got to see goalie bonks again! (i told you those pics weren't in order and i meant it)

three, (or four, i forgot what came first) quinneth played his first regular season game as captain of the canucks ad they kicked ass against the edmonton dudes. goncrats captain ;p

four (probably) rookie had both his first reg season nhl game AND his birth on the same day! he cried on camera for thousands of viewers and made me question kidnapping his brother and locking him in an abandoned building in ohio (who am i kidding i don't want to be in ohio). the blue jackets have since been doing blue jacket things (losing)

five (it's all blended together these days) the devs started their regular season and now i get to go to the arena and watch in peace as nico makes dumb faces, jack gets into petty scrums and goes to the box (apparently? that ones new.) and dawson does dawson things (be hot)

sixth and finally, assistant coach and captain quinn (he should probably drop a title for his mental health, me thinks) turned 24! i giggled profusely at an edit of him as tracksuit rob. good job on aging, kid 🎉

that's all, i think. (probably not, what do i know)

view 712 comments..

jj.friar31: remember when we were roomies??? siblings defying the odds?? i've been left out to dry. i'm MARINATING in my loneliness. you've basically shot me and left me out for dead, blakey.

→ blakefriarr_: this is a touch dramatic, that's MY thing

→ jj.friar31: if i agree to never steal your dramatics again will you come back

→ blakefriarr_: have u seen how pretty my boyfriend is?? no dude

→ jj.friar31: blake pls

adamfantilli: of every picture you could've used you just decided to screenshot me crying

→ blakefriarr_: hi im blake have we met??

→ adamfantilli: also, do not kidnap luca.

→ blakefriarr_: oh so you just don't want my love?? is that what this is??

→ luca.fantilli: do not kidnap me

→ blakefriarr_: BOOORRRINNNGGGGG

nicohischier: every day i wonder what it would be like if we didn't let the ebug's come into the room

→ blakefriarr_: do you want dawson to be lonely and bitchless

→ nicohischer: yeah kinda??

→ blakefriarr_: oh

jackhughes: why.

→ blakefriarr_ ehehehe your bucket doing weird things

_quinnhughes: ??????? why am i tracksuit rob????

→ blakefriarr_: who else would be tracksuit rob

→ _quinnhughes: nobody needs to be tracksuit rob, friar.

→ _blakefriarr_: WRONG! you do :)

_connorbedard: am i who i are???

→ blakefriarr_: no apparently you are timbaland

→ _connorbedard: oh. okay?

→ adamfantilli: @/_connorbedard you get used to it

→ _connorbedard: do i want to??

→ adamfantilli: eh. 50/50

dawson1417: oh how i've missed the chaos

→ blakefriarr_: fbejdbsjshdghshsb

→ dawson1417: sometimes it's almost like you say words

→ blakefriarr_: :p i love you

→ dawson1417: i love you too, my girl <3

tannercharlotte: this is my reality tv

→ blakefriarr_: i'll leave him for u say the word

→ dawson1417: HEY??

→ blakefriarr_: shhhh baby go sleep

→ tannercharlotte: don't leave him b he doesn't have to know

ryangraves27: she back

→ blakefriarr_: i back!!

nhlblackhawks: ??

→ njdevils: don't '??' her she's right

→ blakefriarr_: thank you (trade for charlie)

→ nyrangers: i can excuse hawks slander but i draw the line at trying to take our char

→ nhlblackhawks: you can excuse hawks slander?

→ jj.friar31: why do teams keep doing this you have ENOUGH leverage over me

trevorzegras: am i bitch one or bitch two

→ trevorzegras: actually yk what don't answer that i don't wanna know

→ blakefriarr_: too bad you're actually both jamie is an angel

view more comments..

#ebug’s sister series ! #dawson mercer #dawson mercer x reader #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #new jersey devils

[illiterateaffairs]

behind the scenes chapter two | the proposal

masterlist | prev | next

pairing: jamie tartt x actress!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T

word count: 4,116

summary: jamie makes you an offer you can’t refuse...or can you?

a/n: hi everyone! while this took a little longer than i hoped, i proudly present chapter 2 of behind the scenes! we are finally ramping up folks. i wish i could promise a regular upload schedule for this story, but i have had a lot going on this summer. but i have a free weekend now so hoping to get some chapters written that i can share a little at a time. for now, i hope you enjoy this new installment and i cannot wait to hear what you think!

It was still too early to really say, but the Richmond Greyhounds had a good feeling about this season,

They were coming off of a five game winning streak to start, and no one wanted to jinx it. Even so, they celebrated each win like it was their last, Isaac often treating them to a party at his place or Sam inviting them to his restaurant. Tonight though, Jamie was feeling particularly generous and offered drinks on him at Crown and Anchor. Of course, because he was footing the bill, suddenly everyone was available for a night out. That meant the whole team, the club staff, and their significant others. Including Keeley. 

Honestly, Jamie had thought he’d been feeling better about the whole Roy and Keeley thing. But that was until one or both of them gave him that look. The “I’m sorry we’re together while you’re sad and alone” look. But he wasn’t sad. Or alone. He had his whole bloody team surrounding him. And what the fuck was wrong with being alone anyway? 

Still it was annoying to accidentally catch Keeley’s eye when she was laughing with Roy and watch her happy face morph into one filled with guilt. 

Jamie was enjoying himself at the bar with Sam, when he glanced over at Keeley from across the room. She and Rebecca were currently egging on their significant others who were engaged in a friendly game of darts. Jamie hadn’t meant to linger on her, but when she turned her head and found him looking in her direction, he froze. In an effort to assuage her sympathetic smile, he gave her a bigger one of his own and titled his pint glass towards her. Unfortunately, this just led to the blonde snaking her way through the crowd to get to him.

“Hello, boys,” she greets him and Sam.

Jamie nods at her, while Sam beams, “Hi Keeley! How have you been?”

“I’ve been great! How’ve you been, Sam?”

“Good. Even better after the win today.”

“I bet, you killed it out there,” Keeley nudged the footballer, “That last goal was incredible.”

Sam laughs and accepts the compliment. Keeley quickly turns to Jamie. 

“You were amazing, too, Jamie!”

Jamie gives her a tight smile, “Thanks, Keeley.”

Keeley nods with a small smile of her own. Then she turns to the bartender to order a martini. 

While her attention is elsewhere, Sam gives Jamie a discreet look that says “she’s still feeling sorry for you?”. Jamie just shakes his head while Sam pats him on the back. Unfortunately, this is the moment that Richard and Bumbercatch decide to call Sam over to their table, leaving Jamie and Keeley alone at the bar. 

When Keeley receives her drink, he half expects her to head back over to Roy. But of course not. She parks herself right in the seat Sam used to occupy.

“So, what’s been going on with you lately, Jamie? Feel like I’ve hardly seen you for a bit.”

That’s been intentional. But he can’t tell her that. 

He shrugs, “Uh, nothing much. Just focused on playing my best this season.”

Keeley nods, “Roy says you’ve been improving a lot during your trainings.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I can tell he’s really proud of you.” 

Jamie huffs. He knows she’s telling the truth. He also knows that she’s not telling him this for no reason.

“You know, though, Jamie, there’s more to life than football?” Keeley adds when he doesn’t say anything else. “I get that you want to be the best. But you deserve a life outside of being a footballer. You should be taking time for yourself. Or going out with other people and doing non-football things.”

Jamie chuckles, rubbing at the condensation on his glass, “I’m doing that right now, aren’t I?”

Keeley laughs, “Well, yeah, but it's with the people you see everyday, celebrating the fact that you won a football match. You should be doing other things. Meeting other people. More friends. People who could be…more than friends.”

There it is. 

Jamie sighs, finally facing her again, “Keeley, I promise you I’m fine. I do loads of things outside of football, with loads of people. I can also assure you I don’t need your help finding people to date either.”

Keeley frowns. Before she can attempt to clarify her concern, someone bursts through the pub’s doors, grabbing everyone’s attention.

Leave it to Dani Rojas to show up late with a girl on each arm.

“You guys!” he exclaims, “Some people are closing the streets over here and I saw a couple of trailers around the corner. I think they’re filming that one movie here this week!”

Suddenly the bar is flooded by excited chatter - more than it was before. Not a day has passed without someone talking about the big rom-com shooting in Richmond since production started last week. A couple members of the team head outside to check it out for themselves. 

Jamie laughs to himself as he turns back around in his seat. He made a conscious decision to not tell anyone about his encounter with the famous actress starring in said movie. Mainly because no one would believe him. But he also sort of just wanted to keep that memory for himself. 

As he goes over that morning, once again, in his head, he remembers the blonde beside him, who is still looking at him with sad eyes. He slowly turns back to face her. 

“Jamie, I know your life and your relationships are really none of my business,” she starts off again now that she has his attention, “I just don’t want you to shut anyone out-”

“I’m not shutting anyone out,” he quickly insists.

“But Jamie-”

“Actually, I’ve been seeing someone,” he says before he can stop himself, or even process what he’s doing.

Keeley’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “Really?”

Shit. 

Jamie instantly regrets his words, but he knows walking it back would make him feel even worse.

“Uh…yeah.” He pathetically responds.

Keeley doesn’t seem to catch his hesitation, electing to be excited for him, and most likely relieved, “Jamie that's great! Who is it? Is it anyone I know? How long have you been seeing them?”

Jamie’s head swirls with her various questions, mixed with his previous thoughts of you and your brief conversation about relationships. 

“Um, it's no one you know personally,” he decides to answer very slowly and carefully, “Its new. Really new. And we both want to keep it private.”

Keeley rolls her eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder, “Come on, you can tell me.”

Jamie manages a half smile, “If it goes anywhere, I promise you’ll be one of the first to know.”

“Alright, I’ll take that,” Keeley gives him a satisfied smile, “I’m happy for you, Jamie.”

That makes one of them. What had he gotten himself into?

Even though it's only been one week and you’ve shot approximately 3 scenes, you were killing this rom-com if you do say so yourself. You were getting along swimmingly with the cast and crew, especially your co-lead Charlie. He was just as charming as he was the day you auditioned together, and just as sweet when you weren’t rolling. The friendship you were starting to build was nice and you had a feeling it would translate well on screen. Take that haters. 

It was now your second week of production; your first full week of actual filming. You were still working on the studio lot today, but soon you’d be on location and you couldn’t wait to see more of Richmond. After a busy morning, filled with exciting scenes, you were now headed to your trailer to have lunch. You were hoping Margot could grab you something from craft services while you changed out of your costume. However, when you arrive at your trailer, you find her already there and looking…anxious.

“Hey…?” you greet but it turns into a question as it drags out.

“Hi,” Margot responds, but doesn’t hide her unease, “So, we have a bit of a situation.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together, beyond curious to know what could possibly be going on. “What is it?”

“There’s this man who showed up to the studio asking for you, claiming he knows you. You know, normally we’d just get rid of them, but apparently he’s some famous athlete here and some execs thought it would be a bad look if we turned him away. His name is James or something…”

“Jamie?” you ask without thinking.

Margot’s eyebrows shoot up, “Oh, you do know him?”

You give a half shrug, “Sort of. We met when I was on my walk last week. He helped me hide from photographers.”

“Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I did tell you that!”

“You didn’t tell me the guy was famous.”

You roll your eyes, “I didn’t think it was a big deal, I meet famous people all the time.”

“Ones that show up randomly to your set?” Margot asks incredulously. “Have you kept in touch with him? Did you invite him here?”

“No. And no,” you’re once again brought back to the reality of what’s happening. Why was Jamie here? You were once again out of your mind curious. “Where is he now?”

“In one of the conference rooms,” Margot tells you, “Do you want to go see why he’s here?”

You didn’t just want to. You needed to. So with a bag of Cheez-Its in hand, you and Margot head for the studio.

When you arrive at the room where you’d previously done a table read the week before, Jamie turns around in a swivel chair at the head of the desk on the farthest side of the room like a super-villain. But then he gives you a wide grin, and your previous comparison no longer holds up.

“See, I told you she’d come!” Jamie exclaims to the security guard keeping him company. The man ignores him and gives you and Margot a look, and upon your signal he leaves the room.

“Are you stalking me or something?” you ask in lieu of a greeting as you sit in the chair at the other end of the table. Margot plants herself behind you with her arms crossed.

Jamie smirks at you, “Don’t flatter yourself, love.” Then he frowns, “Wait, have you had a stalker before?”

You pause, “Not in the traditional sense.”

“Alright, I’m definitely going to ask you for that story later,” Jamie shakes his head, “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Yeah, why are you here?” you question, ripping open your Cheez-Its as your only form of lunch, “And how did you get here?”

“Let’s just say I’m very persuasive,” he states, the smirk reappearing on his face. Then he looks Margot up and down, “Who’s this?”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Jamie was a lot more cocky outside of his little café hideaway. “Margot. She’s my assistant. And she’s staying in here if that’s what you’re going to ask.”

“Does your assistant go everywhere you go?”

“She does when a strange man is following her boss around,” Margot answers for you.

Jamie nods once, “Fair enough.”

“Jamie,” you sigh, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, although I would have preferred not to be ambushed at my place of work after meeting you once, but can you please just tell me what you’re doing here before the rest of the set gets wind of a rogue soccer player lingering about.”

“First of all, you know that it’s called football over here,” Jamie tsks as he stands up, moving to take a seat closer to you. “Second of all, I’m here because I have a proposition for you. A business proposal of sorts.”

You quirk an eyebrow, “And that is?”

“You know that fake relationship your publicist wants to try out? I’d like to apply for the job.”

Your jaw drops a little, and you hear Margot let out a tiny gasp from behind you, “You told him that?”

You don’t bother answering her, “Why, uh, why would you want to do that?”

Jamie’s bravado falters a little. He glances at Margot again, but decides he can still admit it in front of her, and you, “You know that girl I told you about? The one I still see all the time?” you nod, “Well, it’s getting progressively harder to be around her, especially when she’s always giving me these guilty looks. It drives me insane. And last night she made a comment about how I need to put myself out there and meet someone, and I just snapped. I figured if she thought I had met someone, she’d let it go and things could start to go back to normal.”

Your stomach lurches. You feel for him, you do. But this was just absurd. 

“And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, actually ask someone out? Or just find another random girl to pretend to date you? I thought Jamie Tartt had no problem finding girlfriends.”

His lips quirk up just a tad, “Ah, you remember that?”

This time you do roll your eyes, “Jamie.”

“Sorry, sorry. Okay, yeah, sure I could probably find someone else. But that wouldn’t work. My ex knows I’m not looking for flings anymore. And some other random girl isn’t going to be convincing. Fake dating you makes the most sense, because you’re already good at acting-”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome - and this would benefit you too for all the reasons you told me the other day. It’s win-win,” When he sees the thoughtful yet hesitant look on your face, he continues, “Look, it’s not like I’m asking you to do this forever. You’re filming this movie for three months right? We play pretend while you’re here and get your publicist off your back. Then, we can fake break-up before you leave, and you won’t have to worry about bringing me home for Christmas. What do you say?”

You continue studying Jamie, and you can’t believe how serious he sounds about all of this. After a few moments, you also glance at Margot who, despite looking a bit apprehensive, also seems…intrigued by his offer. When she catches your eye, all she can manage is an unsure shrug. Fuck.

Finally turning back to Jamie, you take a deep breath, “I say…no.”

The hopeful look on Jamie’s face immediately falls. “What? Why?”

“I just…can’t. I don’t want to do it.”

“But…”

You shake your head, as you start to stand, “No, Jamie, I’m sorry. I understand how you feel. I really do. But I don’t want to do it. I told you the other day. I don’t want to,” As you brush past Margot and reach the doorway, you turn back to Jamie, “I’m sorry.”

All Jamie does is give you a tight smile and a nod before you take off down the hall towards your trailer. 

Margot is on your tail, and as you get ready to resume filming, you can tell she wants to ask about everything that just went down. But you just shake your head, and she gets the memo.

Unfortunately for you, your brain doesn’t get the memo, because Jamie’s offer is all you can think about the rest of the day. In between takes and set-ups, your mind wanders back to your conversation and the desperate look in his eyes when he describes his situation with his ex. It’s clear he’s hurting; both from her rejection, as well as the constant interaction with her and the man she chose instead of him. 

You think that’s what scared you; that Jamie was so invested in this pretend scheme. It made it intense; real even though the whole point of the idea was far from it. You didn’t like the risks a PR relationship posed - you never had - but doing it with someone like Jamie made the stakes even higher. If something went wrong, not only were you going to be hung out to dry in the tabloids, but Jamie would have to deal with the consequences of having his ex and their friends know that he had lied. And that wasn’t going to make their situation any better.

But there was something else holding you back. A fear you couldn’t place, one that makes your chest heavy.

Of course it was at times like these, when your thoughts were already spiraling, that you make the self-destructive decision to feed them by reading about yourself online. Most comments or tweets or articles were kind, but those did little to nothing to improve your mood, when one negative post did everything to destroy it. And on your commute home, you found yourself hyper-fixating on one particular tweet by a user pointing out your biggest insecurity at the moment.

The tweet was in response to an article about the movie you were filming. 

“A rom-com starring Y/N Y/L/N makes no sense when no one wants to date her irl”

It was the kind of thing Harry was talking about. While deep down you knew the sentiment was far from the truth, it didn’t mean people didn’t think that on account of your public persona. Nevermind that you preferred to keep things private; no public relationships meant you were an unlovable loser. And while a majority of people would argue against it, or just not give a shit about your dating life, it still stung.

So, without much thought, you told your driver not to take you home, but instead to a local café for a late night pick-me-up. And you could only hope, some company. 

Jamie knew his plan was a stupid idea. He knew as soon as he lied to Keeley about seeing someone that it was going to bite him in the ass. But he couldn’t help but get his hopes up that maybe this would give him the out he’s been looking for around Keeley and Roy; an escape from the sympathy and third-wheeling. At least long enough for them to stop feeling like their relationship was an inconvenience to him.

Of course, deciding to fake-date a famous actress was a long shot in and of itself, but you had brought it up first. And a part of him thought you really hit off that day at the café. 

Which is how he ended up right back at the same place. He’d unconsciously walked himself here after training and had been wallowing over cups of tea ever since. 

He rather enjoyed people watching when he wound up sitting alone. Very interesting people wandered in and out of this café. He assumes they’re also the type of people that prefer keeping to themselves. He often made up stories about them in his mind to keep himself entertained or when he wanted to get his mind off of his own life. 

Today he was particularly interested in an older man perched at a table facing the window. He’d been there just about as long as Jamie had, working through a word-search book. He appears to be nearing the end of the book, and Jamie decides he has grandchildren - five of them to be exact - that buy him a new word search book for every birthday and Christmas. He also decides that he and late-wife were regulars at this café, and even though she isn’t around anymore, he still comes here every week in honor of her memory. 

Jamie’s almost made himself emotional over his made-up story for this stranger, when the bell above the door rings. Ah, hopefully someone he can come up with a less depressing story for. However, he realizes he already knows a thing or two about the new customer that has entered the room.

It’s you.

He has to force himself not to look shocked by your presence, as you scan the room, eyeing each patron one by one. When your eyes finally land on him, you seem to be relieved to see him. Jamie quickly becomes hyper-aware of the fact that he’s sitting in the same spot the two of you had occupied when you were here last week, and he hopes you don’t dwell on it.

You walk further into the café, but instead of immediately going over to him, you approach the barista. After a few minutes, you slowly head over to Jamie and hesitantly place a to-go cup and blueberry scone onto the table.

“You must’ve really liked their scones to come all the way back here,” Jamie comments after a beat. 

You push the scone closer to him, “I actually got it for you.”

Jamie’s taken aback, “Oh. Thanks.” After a couple of seconds, he adds, “Do you want to sit?”

You nod, pulling out the chair across from him. He is once again overwhelmed that he’s casually speaking to you, even though it's the third time he’s done it and he was particularly over-confident the last time. 

“I actually came here to see you,” you admit eventually. 

Though he’d expected that, it still felt weird to hear. “Oh?”

You nod again, “I wanted to apologize for earlier.”

“You want to apologize?” Jamie can’t help but ask bewilderedly, “I’m the one who ambushed you with a dumb idea.”

You bite your lip, “...It wasn’t that dumb.” Jamie’s eyes widen just slightly so you quickly continue, “I’m sorry that I shut you down so quickly. I think the idea of actually doing it freaked me out.”

“Can I ask why?”

You’re unsure if you have a clear enough answer to give him since it wasn’t so clear yourself all the reasons it scared you, “I think it felt like there was a lot weighing on it, with how badly you wanted it to work out. It also kind of feels like giving into the whole idea means validating the people online complaining about me, you know?”

Jamie nods slowly, “Yeah, that makes sense. I guess it’s sort of similar in my situation.”

“Yeah. And I know eventually we'll prove them wrong. Like when you’re ready to move on or next year when this movie comes out and they see how amazing I am in it.” 

Jamie chuckles lightly. “No, yeah. You’re right.”

“But I don’t want to wait,” you say defiantly, surprising Jamie again, “I’m tired of hearing about why I'm not good enough to be in a relationship, even one in a fucking movie, and if that means pretending to be in one in real life for a little while, I’ll do it.”

“Wait, really, you changed your mind?” Jamie asks, sitting up straighter than he’s ever been.

“Yeah, fuck it, I’ve got nothing to lose,” you shrug, “And like you said, I’m a good actor.”

“Hell yeah,” Jamie smiles for a brief moment, before it drops, “Wait, are you going to do it with someone else, or were you still talking about doing it with me?”

You give him an amused smile, “I was talking about you.”

“Okay, good. I got worried there for a second.”

You chuckle, “Honestly, it works out really well. Dating a soccer player from overseas that I met while filming here seems a lot more plausible than some other A-List actor I’ve never met out of the blue.”

“Okay you’re really going to have to work on calling it football, that’s a real deal breaker for me.” Jamie corrects, but there’s still a smile on his face.

“Got it. Well we can work through a list of demands later, but for now I should probably get home. My driver is waiting outside and I have a call-time at the crack of dawn.”

As you push out of your chair to stand up, Jamie remembers something, “You’re filming around Richmond starting this week right? My teammates saw trailers being set up near a pub we go to a lot.”

You nod, “Yeah we actually start filming around town in a couple days. Maybe I can pop in one day after work and say hi to my fake-boyfriend’s friends.”

Despite the word fake, Jamie finds his cheeks warming up, “They would shit themselves.”

You giggle, “That makes it more fun.” Reaching into your pocket, you slide your phone across the table, “Put your number in so we can talk strategy soon.”

Jamie nods and eagerly does so. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile, “Good night, Jamie.”

He watches you exit the café with a smile on his face, feeling giddy all of a sudden. Not just at the idea of stopping Keeley and Roy’s guilt train, but getting to know you better. 

You were right. This was going to be fun.

Taglist: @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog​ @royalestrellas​ @loveslide​ @torpedo--belly​ @skewedcherries​ @littlemisssunshine192​ @hopefulromances​ @breakmyheartlater​ @ohpuckyeah​ @alipap3​ @meg-ro​ @rexorangecouny​ @pythagothug​ @gcidrvsh @lightninginab0ttle it wouldn’t let me tag the last couple of you, but i will keep trying <3

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #behind the scenes series #mine

[youunravelme]

Ok hear me out, a jack hughes imagine where him and the reader are dating a disappear at a party to have a steamy make out session and someone comes and finds them but the door is locked so they just shout have fun kids use protection

i tried lol requests for jack are still open (and sorry this took so long)

(this takes place in my upcoming figure skater!reader universe so hope that’s okay!)

roadies were hard on everyone, you and jack were no different. dating for two years didn't make it any easier, though you were used to it by now. between your shows and his games, there was hardly time for the both of you to spend time together and missing each other had become a regular occurance.

until now.

your skating season was over which meant you could finally go see one of his home games. and if his stats were anything to go by, your boyfriend played better under your watchful eye. because you were currently at a bar celebrating a huge win against the canes.

jack hadn’t let you go from the moment he came out of the locker room freshly showered. his hand was in yours, his arm around your shoulder, or a palm placed on your thigh as he drove.

even as the night went on, he got even more handsy. not that you blamed him. if he wasn’t reaching out to you, you would’ve been reaching for him. 

marino was in the middle of telling you a story when your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around your waist.

“sorry marino, i gotta talk to my girl real quick.” and without even waiting for a response, jack was unwrapping his arms from your waist only to grab your hand and tug you into the hallway leading to the bathrooms.

“jack what--”

his lips cut you off. he pressed you into the wall, leaving absolutely no room between your bodies. as if on autopilot, you responded immediately, your arms wrapping around his neck.

it was like you couldn’t get any closer if you tried. you were arching into his touches and it still wasn’t close enough. it was as if the culmination of your separation had finally hit the both of you and you couldn’t stand it any longer. you might’ve died had he pulled away. and given how he was kissing you, jack probably felt the same.

but a cleared throat had you both pulling apart, though jack’s hands still lingered on your waist.

a smirking nico walked by, patting jack on the shoulder as he made his way to the bathroom. “use protection!” he called over his shoulder.

"where are we going?" you asked as jack tugged you out of the hallway, towards the front door and the parking lot.

“home.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes blurb #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl blurb #my writing

[justmeinadaze]

Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites (Steddie X You)

A/N: This is that idea I told y'all about when my PTSD was really bad last week. I actually liked writing some of this out <3. It did help a bit. I wish I had them and a Red to help me through those rough days.

I did set this after the events of Season 4 so slight spoilers involving Max mostly. Im kind of excited to explore a bit more of Steve's PTSD involving the show. I did it a bit here. I also chose to utilize my own trauma as the readers trauma. I'll delve a bit more in the warnings.

Anyone struggling with their mental health, you are not alone <3. You're feelings are valid and we just have to take things one day at a time. I love you :)

Warnings: Steddie X Fem Reader, No smut yet, Fluff with the reader trying to make them feel better and vice versa. Angst, trauma involving the show is mentioned especially with Steve's feelings of what happened to Max, mentions of Eddie being blamed and the town treating him like trash, he does talk about his abuse as a child very briefly as does the reader. No details are mentioned just that it happened. Reader has a panic attack that the boys help her through.

I do expand on symptoms of PTSD and how the reader feels. Symptoms of mental health can be different for everyone so I focused more on what I experience with my own PTSD. As I progress in the chapters and she becomes more open with them I will most likely talk about things that happened to me. I didn't want to generalize what she was going through mostly because its hard. PTSD and trauma are complicated in it of its self so...

Word Count: 5314

You had been coming to this group for years because of your mental health. Your doctor suggested it stating that it might help you to hear from other people going through the same thing you were. Truth be told it never worked. The other people in this post traumatic stress support group were mostly military vets or officers who had just moved to Hawkins to “get away from the chaos.” You imagined it was a quite a shock for them when the earthquake hit…

While a lot of their symptoms and aftermath stories were similar to yours, you struggled to connect. If anything, you felt more alone. So why did you keep coming back?

Routine, maybe. Or the need to have any kind of human contact since you spend the bulk of your time by yourself at home. Hell, you even worked from home so the only living thing you interacted with on a daily basis was your service dog, Ren. You rarely ever spoke in group, choosing to sit there and listen to the other people speak. 

Since the earthquake, however, more people had joined to your dismay. Most of the citizens that came in took up most of the time talking about the event and how scared they were about what happened. You tried not to let the disgust show on your face when they spoke, understanding that everyone experiences things differently but they didn’t really know. 

They didn’t know what it was like to spend years replaying an event in your head even when you’re asleep. To have those moments where something that would be random to someone else meant something significant to you triggering a panic attack that knocked you on your ass for the rest of the day. They didn’t know what it was like to be so scared to even go to the fucking grocery store to get essentials without the fear that everyone is talking about you and judging you because you’ve been standing in front of the canned goods for a little bit too long wondering if you buy this will you actually eat it or will it just sit there for months at a time because some days you don’t feel like eating. 

Your PTSD consumed a lot of your life for most of your life whereas these people were just now stepping into it and were most likely going to step right back out. After a few months, you were correct. All those citizens gradually stopped coming in till it was just the regular survivors once again. 

After grabbing some coffee, you and Ren sat in your usual spot, waiting for the meeting to start. The dog grabbed your attention when he whined and without warning placed his head on the stranger beside you. 

“Oh. Hey, buddy.”, he coos as his big hand reaches down to pet his head. 

“I’m sorry. He probably senses your anxiety.”

“Well shit. He’s not wrong. I’m not really good at any of this.”, he gestures around the room. “But some of my friends insisted we come so…”

“We?”

“Yeah, um…” The boy’s eyes glance up towards someone headed for the seat next to him and it takes you a moment to realize everyone else’s eyes on him as well. 

You recognized his face immediately, Edward Munson. The metalhead had been accused of being a satanic worshipper who murdered a bunch of teens a few months ago. He had been cleared of those charges thanks to the help of the old police chief, some detective journalism by Nancy Wheeler, and his friend… “Steve Harrington?”

“That’s me. Do I know you? My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

“She had school with us and graduated along with you, Harrington.”, Eddie sighed as he folded his arms.

“Oh. I’m sorry. What was your name?”

“You look different.”, you blurted before turning away from him and closing your eyes. “I’m…I’m sorry. Sometimes…my mouth moves before…before my brain catches up.”

Ren senses your heightened anxiety and places himself between your legs so you can pet his head, down his back. 

“Alright everyone, let’s get started.”, the overly cheery coordinator grins as he sits down and crosses his legs. While glancing at his clipboard, he addresses the circle. “Does anyone have anything they’d like to share before we get going?”

“Why is he here?”, someone sneers as they point towards the metalhead. 

“He should be in a cell not in group therapy.”, says another.

“Hey now. Mr. Munson is entitled to care just like everyone else and I expect you guys to treat him with the same respect we do everyone else. If that’s going to be a problem, I completely understand, feel free to leave and meet us at our other scheduled time on Thursday.”

Half the people in the room stood up and walked out, the last person slamming the door of the room for emphasis. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Steve pat his back comfortingly as Eddie lets out a deep, heartbroken sigh.

“Would either of you like to introduce yourself to the rest of the group?” 

The metalhead continued to glare forward as Steve spoke up. “As some of you may know, I’m Steve Harrington and this is my friend Eddie. Our other friend Robin suggested we try this since we, uh, we’ve been having some trouble lately.”

“Good, very good. Nice to meet you both. This is a safe space so please feel free to be open here.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s, uh, let’s continue down the line here. Y/N? Do you feel like talking? I see Ren is on duty today. Something you’re anxious about?”

“Everything.” The man chuckles as people around the room nod in agreement. “I’m ok today, thanks.” 

The remainder of the meeting goes by smoothly without any incident and as it ends everyone rises to leave except the two people next to you. They expect you to leave as well but when you stand, instead of heading for the door you place yourself next to Eddie. He doesn’t move or make any gestures to acknowledge your presence and you’re ok with that. You aren’t really one for small talk or anything like that but something about his demeanor gave you a gut feeling that you decided to expand on. 

Your therapist was always preaching about learning to trust your gut and positive self-talk making your eyes roll every time. 

“Um, this is Ren. He’s a service lab for me because I, uh, I get shaky and anxious really easily. He can sense when I’m nervous or about to have an attack so he helps ground me. I can just pet him or he’ll let me hold him. At home, he’s trained to bring me my medication.”

Steve watches you speak, seemingly trying to get a read on you while Eddie continues to stare straight ahead. You can tell he’s listening though because his head tilted ever so slightly towards you as you began explaining things. Personally, he was so ecstatic to hear a stranger talk calmly with him but he couldn’t display that for fear of ruining the moment or worse, it being a lie.

“Do…do you want to pet him?” 

His head finally whips around to look at you as his eyes scan yours. Swallowing nervously, he sat up straighter, rolling his eyes in faux frustration as his palm reached out to pet the dog’s head. 

“Why Ren? How did you come up with that?”, Steve asked.

“The morning before I got him, I saw Footloose at the cinema. I like Kevin Bacon’s character and his name was Ren. Do you want to see something cute?” Without waiting for an answer, you stood in front of them and motioned for the lab to stand in front of you. Holding out your hands, you sang the Footloose theme song and he jumped up to place his paws in your hands to dance with you.

Both men smiled and you knew you’d never be able to explain why but it comforted you. 

“I, um, I know this town can be full of assholes but I hope you do come back next week. Craig, the coordinator, will take care of you. He’s a little quirky but he’s nice.”

Again, you don’t wait for an answer as you gather your things and Ren before heading out the door. 

****

When Steve got home that night, he immediately went on the hunt for his yearbook. 

“What are you doing, man?”, Eddie whined as he threw himself on the bed. 

“Looking for my yearbook. I’m surprised I don’t remember her. The guy said Y/N, do you remember her last name?”

Of course, he did. When you were in school together, he had a few classes with you especially English. Junior year you wrote a story that the teacher made you read in front of the class about a girl who was hiding in a forest behind a tree as she watched two monsters argue about how they were going to eat her when they found her. The other kids thought you were weird but he identified with it; picturing his parents fighting as you read.

Eddie never found the courage to speak to you but he was always your hidden knight, watching over you. One of the party boys had talked about how they fucked you and how much of a freak you were so he slashed the kids tires and spray painted “Asshole” in big, bold letters on his car. You probably didn’t remember but on valentine’s day he had slipped a note in your locker that was a drawing of you battling your monsters you had written about. 

“No. Come on, Harrington. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’re going back anyway.”

Steve paused his search as he sat down and crossed his legs. “Why wouldn’t we go back?”

“I don’t know if you noticed but people weren’t exactly excited I was there.”

“Fuck those people. At least one person was excited. Two if you count the dog.”

“Yeah sure. Let ruin that by bringing her into our shit. Plus, it’s not like we can tell anyone or talk about what really happened.”

Steve sighed as he got up to sit beside him. “Ed, first off, there isn’t shit to bring her into. Vecna’s dead; we killed him. Secondly, we don’t have to talk about what happened…just what happens after.”

“Really? You want to play that game, Steven? He may be dead but we still got shit. Max is still in a coma, Dustin is still struggling, the town is quite literally cut in half, and ALL of us still have fucking nightmares with all that other fun post traumatic shit. Things are still so out of whack we haven’t even told our friends about us yet.”

“They have enough on their plates.”

“Exactly. So, I reiterate, why do you want to bring this girl into our chaos?”

The man sighs again as he hangs his head making Eddie feel a little guilty as he leans his head on his shoulder while reaching for his hand.

“I don’t know. There’s just something about her that makes me feel comfortable and safe.”

###########

“You came back.”

“Yeah, it took some convincing but…”, Steve grinned. “Hey Ren. May I?”, he asked before petting the lab when you nodded. 

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?”

The metalhead softly smiles at you as he tilts his head in your direction. When the meeting begins you can already feel that the energy is different. One of the regulars is extremely agitated today as his leg bounces and he folds his arms. As soon as Craig reaches him, he shouts his problem as he struggles to control the volume of his voice. Your eyes close as you try to stay present and remind yourself that your safe.

No, no, no. Please. I can’t have a panic attack here in front of all these people. Everyone will look at me. They’ll think I’m weak. No, no, no.

“Y/N?”, the coordinator calls your name and you fold into yourself. “Y/N, you’re ok. You’re safe.”

Ren places his front paws on your knees as he rests his head on your shoulder. You couldn’t do this, pushing him back as you stumbled out the door into the hallway before sinking to the floor.

Your service dog continued to do what it was trained to do as he ran after you and laid beside you in your arms. The sound of your bag and a bottle of water being placed beside you startled you but you couldn’t move to acknowledge it.

You felt your head being lifted and placed on something relatively soft as you continued to try and calm down. It took a few moments but once you felt like you could breathe you opened your teary eyes to see Eddie looking towards the window.

“Hey, hey, take your time.”, Steve soothed in a soft tone when you tried to sit up. “I grabbed your bag and some water. Do you need your meds or anything?”

“C-C-Can you help me?”, you asked as you reached your arms back to try and push yourself to a sitting position. He leaned over to help you adjust as you laid against the wall with your head on the metalhead’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I didn’t want you laying your head on the hard floor. I hope that was ok.”, Eddie tenderly grinned. 

You nodded, watching heavily as Ren dug his snout in your purse before producing your medicine and placing it on your lap. 

“Good boy. Steve, in there is his treats. Can you give him one?”

He smiled as he did what you asked and your dog wagged his tail happily. 

“Do you need help?”, Eddie whispered.

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

Without saying a word, he grabbed the meds from you lap and opened the bottle, shaking one into his hand and popping it closed. He placed the pill near your mouth and your eyes met his as you slowly opened, allowing him to place it on your tongue before holding the edge of the water to your lips and tipping it back. 

“You’re not any trouble. I…we…appreciate you being as kind as you have been to us.”

As he extended his arm to place everything back in its proper place, his jacket sleeve slid up and you noticed some slight scaring around his wrist. When he felt your eyes on him, he followed your glance, quickly covering it up as he leaned back. 

“Thank you for coming out here. You didn’t have to. I struggle with aggressiveness like what Jeremy did in there.”

“Is that not normal for him?”

“Usually, no but I imagine this earthquake and the aftermath hasn’t helped him with his flashbacks.”

“How has it been for you?”, Steve asked.

“Um, not to chaotic. I had a harder time a few months prior when this town was going crazy and playing police officers like they were the law or something. Oh shit. Eddie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even—”

“No worries, sweetheart. I’m used to it now; the stares, gossip, and questions.”

“Should you be?”

His eyes met yours again before quickly looking away as the door to the group area opened and people filed out. The man who had been yelling came over to where you were sitting and apologized in a much more gentle tone then he had previously. After accepting it and smiling towards him, you slowly wobbled to your feet with Steve helping to guide you.

“Are you ok to drive? We can take you home if you’d like.”

“No, I’m alright. I just need to eat something and get a little energy back.”

“Would you like to have dinner with us?”, Eddie offered carefully.

“Sure.”

***

As the three of you entered the restaurant, your eyes darted around as your brain did its regular anxiety check. You made sure to clock where all the exits were and how to get to them, scanned the current patrons to make sure no one was someone who would hurt you, and marked which seat you would prefer to be in just in case you needed to run. 

When you glanced towards Steve, you blinked back surprise when you realized he was doing the same thing. 

“I have to leave, Harrington, but get it to go and we can eat in my van. If that’s ok with you.”

You nodded, panicking slightly as he walked back out the door, unsure of what he was hiding from. To avoid another episode, you did the same leaving the other man to order. When you made it outside you found Eddie in the driver’s seat smoking a cigarette, his eyes darting to you when you climbed into the passenger’s side. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I saw Jason’s parent’s eating at a table so…”

“I never thought you killed those kids.” As soon as the words blurted out, your eyes squeezed shut. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Finger reached out to touch your arm causing your eyes to open again, meeting his kind chocolate-colored ones. 

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

When you apologize again, both of you let out a breathy, genuine laugh. 

“When I saw on the news what happened to Chrissy, I knew you couldn’t have done it. Yeah, you were always loud in school but you were also really sweet… at least from what I remember.”

You two jumped when Steve opened the back of the van and threw himself in. “Eddie, go.”

Without any hesitation, he started to put the vehicle in gear but he wasn’t fast enough as Jason’s father appeared by his window and aggressively knocked on the glass. 

“Where do you think you’re going, freak?! You’re the reason my son and his girlfriend are dead!”

“Go, Eddie!”, Steve commanded.

The metalhead slammed his foot on the gas and sped off with the man shouting behind him. The rest of the ride was silent until he parked near the hill that surveyed the town. You watched as he continued to grip the wheel like a lifeline as his chest rose and fell. You wanted to help but you didn’t know exactly how. They only thing you could think of was to grab his palm and place it on Ren’s head. The dog was used to limp pets as Eddie’s hand lazily fell down his back but he promptly rested his head on his lap as you praised him. 

Steve leaned over the seat and placed his arms around him as he whispered things in his ear furthest from you. After a few moments his hand began to move against Ren’s fur making the dog’s tail wag as the other boy released him from his hold. 

“Come on. Let’s eat.”

############

It was actually the perfect evening for eating outside. The van doors remained open as the three of you munched on your meals in the back. From this spot Hawkins looked different; less chaotic than it was.

While you guys ate you casually talked about yourself. They told you some general things about themselves and you did the same. Even though you felt safe with them you didn’t want to bombard them too much with the mess that was your life. You felt like they were holding back as well, omitting certain information they were afraid to tell.

“You can work from home, you know?”, you mentioned after Eddie brought up how hard it was to find a job because of who he was. “That’s what I do.”

“I could do that.”

“Wouldn’t that be hard for you, Ed? You’re very talkative and outgoing. Don’t you like thrive off of people or some shit.”

“Thrive off of people… No, Harrington. I’m not a vampire.” They grinned at each other when you giggled. “I mean it wouldn’t be much different. Everyone already thought I was a freak beforehand. Now I’m just a murdering freak.”

Everyone went silent as the metalhead turned away to glare outside. 

“You should stop saying things like that.”, you murmur. 

“It’s how they feel.”, he shrugs.

“Who cares how they feel. What matters is how you feel and the truth. You didn’t do it so stop saying it.” Eddie’s eyes jerked towards you as your tone got more agitated.

“Yeah, well, what would you know?”

“Eddie, stop it.”, Steve warned.

“It’s ok, Steve. I can handle this. I’m mentally ill not weak.”

“No one said you were weak, Y/N.”

“What makes you so confident I didn’t do it, hm? You weren’t there. Maybe I did.”

“Eddie…”

“No, Harrington. I’m curious. What makes her so confident? I have to know because besides my friends and my uncle you are the only person in this town who believes I didn’t do some satanic ritual to murder Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, and Jason. That I didn’t hurt Max to cause that fucking earthquake. Why?”

Steve angerly threw the water bottle he was drinking from hard against the inside of the van making you jump.

“Jesus Christ. Are you fucking kidding me, Ed?! We finally find one person who believes the truth and you have to fucking question it! Who gives a fuck why she believes you! Just embrace it.”

He crawls out of the vehicle and begins to pace as he lets off steam. Ren puts his head on your lap and you pet him as you watch Eddie climb out as well and hug the boy from behind, resting his cheek on his back. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you.”, Steve apologized without looking your way. 

“You didn’t. I…I feel safe with you, both of you. That’s why I believe you. I can’t explain it, Eddie. I wish I could. My therapist says that because of my trauma I had to learn how to read people so I could protect myself and prepare just in case. You two…I just don’t get this vibe that I need to be afraid of you.”

“Like a superpower?”, the metalhead grins softly as he comes to sit back beside you. 

“You could say that.”, you giggle and his heart melts. Abruptly, you lean over and wrap your arms around his shoulders, feeling his body stiffen only for a moment before fully accepting it. “You’re a good person Edward Munson.”

Steve watches you both as he stands in front of you, also taken aback when you turn your love towards him by hugging him to, circling your arms around his lower back.

“You to, Steve Harrington.”

****

The following week you were happy to see they attended group again and seemed so much lighter than they had the other times they had come. As the meeting started, once again you felt that shift in energy. 

“Y/N, I know you don’t talk much here and that’s absolutely fine. I was hoping maybe we could talk about what happened last week.”

“Oh, um, I don’t want to make Jeremy feel bad.”

“I’m ok. I want you to talk about it. It helps me understand…”

You gnaw on your bottom lip at his answer as Craig looks at you with earnest eyes. “I, um, he got aggressive and I panicked.”

“He did get verbally confrontational. Was it the yelling or what he was saying that triggered you?”

“The…yelling doesn’t…doesn’t really bother me or what is said. It…how it was being said.”

“Huh. Interesting. Please, go on.”

“My mom…was always kind of…forceful with her words…”

You don’t see it but both the boy’s protective modes had kicked in beside you especially Steve’s. It takes all his energy not to comfort you in some way. Yesterday, you had hugged him and Eddie but you three had been alone. Right now, you were in room full of people and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He settled for casually extending his legs a bit so his knee was just barely touching your own. 

“I don’t want to talk anymore if that’s ok.”

“That’s fine, Y/N. How about you Steve? I noticed you and Eddie got up pretty quickly to make sure she was okay. I’m sure she appreciates that. Are you usually the protector of your friend group?”

He smirks slightly. “They would probably say I’m more like the babysitter.”

“That’s funny.”, the coordinator laughs. “I have seen you around town with some of the younger kids like Dustin Henderson and Mike Wheeler. You and Mr. Munson there.”

“How’s Max Mayfield doing?” Both their heads shot up to look towards the member that asked the question. “Is she doing any better? I heard her mom is wreck.”

“Jackie, you know the rules. We don’t gossip in here.”, Craig scolds. 

“I’m not gossiping! Max was dating that Sinclair boy, right? Who hangs out with Michael and Dustin who apparently hang out with them so…I just want to know.”

Ren, who had been laying on the floor by your feet, suddenly sat up and waddled between Steve’s legs before lifting himself up so his head was on the man’s shoulder.

“Hug him.”, you whisper as you reach out to rub the boy’s back.

Slowly, he wraps his arms around him and pets the dog’s head. “Good boy.”

“Let’s, uh, Let’s move on to someone else.”

As the coordinator began talking to another person, Steve got up to leave as you and Eddie followed behind. Unlike you, instead of sitting in the hall, he continued to the parking lot towards his BMW. 

“Steve, wait. Wait a second!”, the metalhead called to him trying to keep up.

“I’m fine. Let’s just go home.”

“If you’re fine then why are we leaving?”

“Because I know they are going to ask about her again and I don’t want to hear it so…”, he aggressively gestures towards the car. 

“Isn’t that the point of this therapy group bullshit? To talk or whatever the fuck you said. This was your idea. You can’t just drag us here and then leave when it gets hard.”

“Ok, well, you know what? You were right, okay? We can’t talk about what happened so—”

“But they aren’t asking what happened. They are asking how she is. They already think they know what happened.”

“Fine! Fine, Eddie! Let’s go back in there and answer her question! ‘Oh yeah, Jackie, Max is fine. Just all of her limbs are broken and she’s in a fucking coma but hey the doctors say she’s not brain dead! Always a silver lining!’”

“Steve…what happened to her wasn’t your fault.”

“Fuck this. I’ll walk home.”

The metalhead ran in front of him, trying to block him with his body. “What happened to her, me, Dustin, and Lucas wasn’t your fault. You killed him. You, Nancy, and Robin saved us all but you’re not fucking superman, babe. You can’t be everywhere at once and can’t protect everyone.”

Steve’s head hung and they clung to each other as Eddie embraced him. When they disconnected, they were almost startled by your presence, forgetting you were there entirely. 

“Hey, um, before my brain glitches, I drew you something last night.” Eddie digs in his pocket and hands you a folded piece of paper. 

When you open it fully, you softly smile at the image of you in boots and a superhero style outfit with your palm in the air as a zig-zag force field surrounded you. Next to you was Ren with his tongue hanging out and mask over his eyes. At the top was bold 3D lettering that read “LADY EMPATHY” with smaller print underneath; “Senses Emotions and helps heal the innocent with her trustee four-legged side kick Anti-Depressant.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry but you loved it. No one had ever done something nice like this for you except that one time someone slide a drawing into your locker.

Your eyes met his as a light bulb went off in your head. 

“Do you two want to come over to my house? We can hang out and eat some food. I would like to show you something.”

Eddie glanced at Steve who nodded his approval. 

“Ok. Sounds like fun.”

****

“Wow, this place is really nice.”, Steve muses as he looks around. 

“Thank you. I don’t have much but I don’t need too much so…”, you shrug as you watch them move around. 

“You seem to like a lot of movies, huh?” Eddie walks around looking at your posters hanging on the wall. 

“I do especially the fantasy ones. It’s nice to hide from reality in movies like The Never Ending Story or Dragon Slayer. I can’t wait for Labyrinth to come out. You know that new Bowie movie?”

The metalhead chuckles when Steve shrugs. “He doesn’t know who that is, sweetheart. Steve isn’t exactly well versed in most media.”

Your eyes widen as you head towards your sound system and push in a cassette. “Let’s Dance” flows through the speakers and he bobs his head he listens. “Pretty cool.”

Eddie laughs harder when you playfully sigh as his musical ignorance. “Yeah. Welcome to my world. What did you want to show us?”

After disappearing into your room, you come back with a frame in your arms, the image facing your body. 

“When I was in high school, I was pretty good at being invisible but sometimes I wasn’t so lucky. The jocks would pick on me a lot and pretty girls like Tammy Thompson would make my life hell.” Steve sighed praying that he wasn’t one of the people who hurt you. “That was nothing compared to what I was dealing with at home. My parents…they, um, they weren’t nice with each other and sometimes…my mother would take that out on me.”

“I always loved English class because I could write about what I was feeling. One day a teacher had asked me to read something I wrote in front of everyone. I told him no but he insisted and as I stood there, I could hear people snickering. It was awful; I hate talking in front of people. But anyway, a few days later, I found this in my locker.”

You turned the frame around to display the image Eddie had drawn for you as you slowly moved toward him. 

“You have no idea what this did for me. In a world full of people where I felt like no one cared, this showed me someone was listening. Someone out there did care…at least enough to take the time to draw this and give it to me.”

Eddie’s eyes met yours as he spoke. “I related to it, your story about the monsters and the kid hiding. My father used to scream at my mother until it escalated. I would always hide in my room hoping I wasn’t next.” Steve came over to stand next to him and rub his back comfortingly. “Turns out I can’t fight any monsters, can I, Stevie?”

The boy growled under his breath as his hand fell. 

“You were always amazing to me. You seemed so smart and strong; I was so afraid to talk to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about your story so I drew that and slid it into your locker.”

“So…my superpower works? I was right about you. You are a good person.” You smile when he smirks in your direction. “You guys can talk to me…about anything. I won’t judge you or hurt you or anything. I trust you and I hope that you can trust me.”

They glance at each other and you see the hesitation in their look. They a definitely holding something back but you pray that one day they’ll feel comfortable enough to let you in. Little did you know, the massive secrets they could tell.

#steddie x reader #steddie fluff #steddie smut #steddie fanfiction #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie fanfic #eddie stranger things #steve fanfic #steve smut #steve stranger things #joe keery #joseph quinn #stranger things #fan fiction #mental health #ptsd #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #eddie munson fanfic #protective eddie munson #protect Steve Harrington

[danaewrites]

Helmet Over Heels

part ii: metal man with a backup plan

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 6.4k

summary:  When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives. 

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

i think this fic set a writing record for me lol (10.2k words in two weeks? with a regular posting schedule?! unheard of!) many more chapters to come... i have so much planned for these two <3

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii coming soon!

You didn’t see the Mandalorian again for weeks.

You weren’t missing him, exactly. Sure, the droning noise of your coworkers’ voices seemed just a bit more dull in comparison to the baby’s sweet giggles, and Maker knew none of your regulars were ever up for lively banter, but rule number one in this galaxy was to never get too attached. Especially to mysterious strangers who left quicker than you could say ‘mudscuffer’ and more likely than not would stay gone. Despite knowing that, your foolish imagination hadn’t received the memo, and you kept finding yourself wondering what the beskar-plated man and his tiny son were doing somewhere out there in space. His ship must have been fixed, since you hadn’t seen any unfamiliar spacecraft when you strolled past Sanna’s shop the other day. In a temporary moment of weakness, you wished you knew what it looked like so you could casually fish for information about it from off-planet travelers at the cantina. Then again, asking questions could bring unwanted attention to the odd pair, so perhaps it was better for all of you that your curiosities remained unsolved. 

You’d woken up the morning after the storm to an empty cantina with every doorway blocked by two metres of snow. You weren’t sure how he’d managed to get out without disturbing the squeaky hinges of the shutters, but the Mandalorian had left the place completely untouched except for the bag of credits–far heavier than you deserved– on the bar. Your eyes had widened to the size of the two empty soup bowls next to it when you counted how much was in the pouch. Kriff, what sort of cosmic royalty was he, with this much money to spare on a cantina waitress? You remembered the bright glint of his armor in the moonlight, belatedly recognizing the characteristic sign of pure-cast metal. Beskar alloys were far from cheap, but pure beskar? If you had so much as a thimble-sized piece of it, you could afford passage off this planet fifteen times over. You huffed out a breath, shaking your head with a tiny smile. Well, that meant that he definitely still had enough saved to take care of the kid after his not-so-small gift, so you grudgingly allowed yourself to enjoy having a few extra credits for once.

The credits he’d left you weren’t enough to buy a ride off-world, but they’d pay for this month’s heating bill and a nicer set of clothes while you put the rest of your paycheck towards a future ticket. The extra money emboldened you to go shopping for the first time since you arrived on Nath– which was why you were currently weaving through the narrow streets of the Solstice Market, hoping to find a decent textile shop amongst the booths that lined this alley. You brushed past the promenade of young couples holding hands despite the cold (as well as significantly more haggard-looking spouses holding pouty children), awed by how the bright colours and loud haggling around you seemed to brighten Nath’s dreary atmosphere for a moment.

Your steps slowed to an abrupt stop as you heard a quiet chiming coming from your left. You turned to see a pocket-sized holospeaker sitting on a rickety display table, shaped like a mildly deformed egg and covered in twisting silver filigree. The booth worker looked hopeful as you eyed the far more impressive–and expensive–metalworks arranged in front of the small item, but quickly slumped back to dazed boredom as your fingers traced the rounded object instead. The speaker was dented and each note vibrated for slightly too long, but the melody it produced reminded you of the Odalian lullabies your mother had sung to you as a child. Stars, you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed her voice, soothing you with ballads of true love and tragedy until you fell asleep with the stories etched into your dreams. You blinked back the water that threatened to fill your eyes as you hummed along to the soft music, love and grief welling up between your ribs with a gentle ache. 

That was how the Mandalorian found you– eyes half-closed, your head gently bent toward the tiny instrument. You were so lost in your memories that you didn’t register his awkward presence until a tiny green hand poked your side. You gasped, instincts learned from years of working in a rowdy cantina kicking in as you reflexively threw a punch at the offending party. The Mandalorian immediately shifted to shield the giggling child, a move that was good for the kid’s health but rather unfortunate for your knuckles. 

“Kriff, metal man, you could’ve said something,” you wheezed out, rubbing your throbbing hand where it’d met unforgiving beskar. The kid gurgled happily up at you from his position in the bag. Apparently, your newest injury was the most amusing thing he’d seen all day. 

You pouted exaggeratedly at him, reaching to ruffle the wiry hair that floated above his floppy ears with affection. “Sorry about that, bug. Didn’t think I’d see you again,” you spoke softly, giving his very shiny father a subtle once-over in the daylight. The Mandalorian was taller and broader than you’d remembered from that dark night in the cantina– something that definitely did not cause your stomach to twist with interest. His armor appeared to have been polished sometime recently, and you stole a moment to admire the pride with which he wore the gleaming beskar. The effort he’d put in to maintain the parts of his appearance that were visible to the outside world was obvious (and strangely attractive, if you were being honest.) You briefly wondered whether he was as well-kept underneath the armor, but realized your mistake when that question brought a whole host of dangerous ideas to mind. Stars, why did you continually do this to yourself? You immediately shoved any daydreams of what he might look like behind that helmet somewhere far, far away lest a traitorous flush reappear on your cheeks. 

“I need to talk to you,” the Mandalorian in question stated, distracting you from your quickly-spiraling thoughts. You glanced up at him inquisitively but allowed him to steer you away from the busy crowds. 

“Nice to see you, too,” you grumbled once you had reached a reasonable distance away from the market. “What happened to hello, how are you, sorry I left and didn’t even leave a note saying how I got past the shutter locks.”

The Mandalorian turned to face you, cocking his head. “I left you the credits, didn’t I?”

You opened your mouth, retort poised on the tip of your tongue, but then thought better of it. Probably not a good idea to risk the generosity that brought you to this market in the first place. “Okay, you win that one.” 

The Mandalorian ignored your rare moment of surrender, rolling his shoulders back and stepping closer to you in a fluid movement that had more of an effect on you than you wanted to admit. “I need you to look after the kid.”

O-kayy then. Straight to business. 

“I have a job here, I can’t take him with me– it's too dangerous.” 

“A job?” Your brows furrowed as you considered what work he could possibly be doing here. People here either worked in the ice fishing huts or in one of Nath’s many depressingly ugly oil processing factories, and neither of those occupations seemed right for the intimidating man in front of you. You crossed your arms, only partially teasing. “You mean you have things to do besides scaring innocent waitresses half-out of their skin?”

The Mandalorian scanned the area around you, then subtly pulled a small metal object out of the leather holster slung around his hips. You leaned over to see the unmistakable blinking red light of a tracking fob resting in the palm of his dark glove. 

Oh. That explained the money, then. Bounty hunting— through the Guild, if the emblem on the device was anything to go by— had shot up in popularity after the Empire fell and the New Republic needed good mercenaries to capture the remaining Imperial loyalists. You’d bet a decent amount of credits that this hunter wouldn’t balk at capturing a few Imps, with the way he’d spat out the name of the Empire as if it poisoned him when you first met. Personal vendetta or not, you respected anyone who was brave enough to give them the justice they deserved for the destruction their reign had brought to the galaxy. 

You bit your lip, considering. You had already made up your mind to take care of the child when he suggested it, but he didn’t need to know that. “How long would you need to leave him with me for?”

“A day, at most. Shouldn’t take too long, I’ve been stalking the quarry for a while.” The Mandalorian continued. “I can pay you well for your time.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You still owe me a story, you know.” Bending over, you reached into the Mandalorian’s bag and gently picked up the child, careful not to snag his tiny tunic on the metal clasps. “C’mere, bug. Looks like you and I are going to get to know each other.”

A thought popped into your head as you stared down at the small green baby. “Does he have a name?” 

The armored man in front of you spoke with gruff pride, “His name is Grogu.” He seemed unexpectedly pleased at your question; you supposed he didn’t have many opportunities to talk about his son very often, with the literal wall his armor created in social interactions.

You watched in surprise as Grogu twisted towards the Mandalorian at the sound of his voice, cooing happily. “You like the sound of your name, huh?” Clearly, the kid adored him, and for good reason. The stoic warrior had an obvious soft spot for the little guy.

Speaking of which… You eyed the man in front of you. “You know, it’s generally polite to have introduced yourself by now, metal man. It’s getting a little weird to keep thinking of you as The Big, Nameless Suit of Beskar,” you teased. 

You beamed up at him innocently and spoke your name, extending your hand towards him. “See? Not so hard. Now it’s your turn,” you explained slowly, as if you were trying to teach a toddler to sound out the alphabet. 

After several tortuously long seconds, during which your outstretched hand began to waver slightly, he finally responded. “Most people just call me Mando.” 

You dropped your arm, flexing your fingers. Ah, well, you could work on the handshake bit later. “Mando.” You hummed at the way the name easily rolled off your tongue, absently registering how the man stiffened at the lilting sound. “Not as scary as the outfit, but it’ll have to do.”

The M–Mando shrugged off the strange, momentary stillness that had possessed him and began retreating closer to the throng of marketgoers. “You’ll be alright with the kid?”

You rolled your eyes, affirming your ability to take care of Grogu while he handled business. Mando gave a quick nod and turned, preparing to leave. You took the moment to swipe the holospeaker out of the child’s hands– how had he gotten ahold of that?– and scanned the market for a booth that he might like. You still couldn’t find a textile shop in your line of sight, but you noticed a tiny arts and crafts area that seemed perfect for him to play in. 

You looked up to find the Mandalorian still standing nearby, helmet tilted towards you as he paused. “For your.. story. He likes shiny toys– he’s always unscrewing bits of the ship to play with when I’m not looking.” He pulled a small metal ball out of his holster and tossed it over to you. “This is his favorite.”

You turned the sphere over in your hand, smiling as the baby immediately reached for it. “I wonder why,” you mused, giving his silver-plated father a pointed look. “Must remind him of somebody.” 

Mando huffed a surprised laugh out through the modulator, helmet angled with new interest in the green child deeply entranced by the reflective surface of the ball. “Never thought of it like that before,” he muttered as he walked away, sparing you a short wave before he disappeared in the crowd.

You watched him go with a poorly-hidden grin, balancing Grogu on your hip as you navigated a path back into the market. “Alright, bug, let’s go have some fun.”

***

You spent the rest of the afternoon browsing countless booths with your charge, picking up little trinkets here and there. You eventually left with a respectable amount of merchandise– a pad of paper and coloring supplies for Grogu, a new tunic set, and even a sachet of Hothberry tea leaves that were rumored to keep one warm for hours after just one sip. Nothing for Mando, although the thought had crossed your mind more than once. You began your return home, carrying the cooing green child under streetlamps that twinkled warmly as the sky gradually darkened. He’d behaved so well all afternoon that you gave in and bought a sweetgrain scone to share on the long walk back.

You spent very few minutes setting your purchases in your rental pod upon your arrival. Grogu was getting fussy despite the snack, and you realized that Mando had never told you a meeting place where he’d pick him up. You decided to just bring Grogu along to your evening shift at the cantina, since that would likely be the first place he’d look and you didn’t want to be blamed for disappearing with his child. Sure enough, the Mandalorian showed up soon after the sun sunk beneath the icy horizon with another bag of credits and armor that was slightly more scuffed than the last time you’d seen it. You smiled, handing him his sleepy but satisfied son and the art supplies you’d picked up.

Mando had stared at the bundle of gifts for longer than necessary and for a moment you worried that you had offended him somehow. When he looked back at you, though, your fears were calmed by his intensely genuine tone. “Thank you. That was thoughtful of you.” He carefully placed the items in his bag. You smiled as he tried– and failed– to wrest the metal ball from Grogu’s tiny hands, despite the child looking seconds from passing out.  

Your eyes darted to the gradually cooling bowl of soup in front of him, which hadn’t been touched since he sat down. You cleared your throat awkwardly. “Is, um, something wrong with the food? Because I didn’t see you touch it last time, and I can make something else if you need, but.. you have to tell me.”

The Mandalorian remained silent, and you doubted whether he had heard your small-voiced question when he finally spoke. “I cannot remove my helmet in front of others. It is the Way,” he explained carefully, watching your response. 

Your eyes widened in comprehension as you considered his statement. The library datapad had frustratingly little information on Mandalorian culture, and you’d never heard of this rule until now. If he couldn’t remove the helmet… how long had it been since he had the chance to eat or drink without the kid nearby? Between taking care of Grogu and tracking bounties, you assumed that there was very little time for him to find a secluded area to remove the beskar. You nodded decisively to yourself, grabbing his soup bowl and motioning for him to follow you. 

“What are you doing?” His voice was curious, alert but not apprehensive of your actions.

You swiveled to face him, keys dangling from one hand and a focused expression on your face. “We have a storage room for the non-perishable food back here. If you want to eat there, I can make sure that no one comes in for a while,” you explained, leading him to a cramped, dimly lit room with pallets of sandgrain flour forming a makeshift table next to a small folding chair.

“Is this.. okay?” You spoke hesitantly when he stilled at your words. Kriff, you hoped you hadn’t implied something insulting when you’d unthinkingly offered the room. You grimaced as your brain kicked into overdrive, spinning like a frightened sand massif at the first possibility of a mistake. 

“I know it’s small, and I understand if you’d rather—”

“It’s perfect,” Mando interrupted you, stumbling slightly over the rushed words. “There are– many who would try to remove my helmet.” His voice lowered, edged slightly with wonder. “Thank you for allowing me to maintain my Creed.” 

He stood there for a moment, helmet tilted intently down at you. His hands lingered for a fraction of a second, tough leather brushing powder-soft skin as he gently set Grogu in your arms. When he shut the door, you leaned against the doorframe as quietly as you could, still feeling the ghost of his touch on the hands pressed to your heated cheeks.

***

And so you fell into a routine: every few weeks, Mando would come by with the kid and leave him with you for a few hours while he tracked down another bounty. When he returned, you’d invite him into the back for a warm meal, allowing him to eat alone in peace for a few minutes while Grogu thawed the icy hearts of your patrons with his mischievous coos. He always arrived after nightfall and never spent longer than an hour in the cantina. Well, except for the one time he’d accidentally fallen asleep in the small room. You’d gone to check on him once you finally cleared out the evening’s customers. It was clear that he’d been napping by his scratchy, startled response when you knocked softly on the door– emphasized even more by his embarrassed posture when he exited. Privately, you thought it was rather endearing, so you chose not to tease him about the momentary lapse in consciousness. 

You’d gotten used to his schedule, your semi-frequent meetings becoming a habit you were quite fond of maintaining. So when you didn’t see Mando for several weeks longer than predicted, you began to feel worried. Your heart twinged at the thought that maybe he’d found someone more interesting than a cantina waitress to look after Grogu, someone who didn’t live on an icy prison planet a parsec removed from civilization. And yet– Mando hadn’t hinted that he’d be stopping his visits, and his job was dangerous and unpredictable. Your mind swam with visions of him spiraling through space, unconscious and battered, ship engines sputtering out flame. You started taking earlier shifts at the cantina, pushing down thoughts of him before they ate at you more than they should for a casual acquaintance. 

Which is why you were shocked when Mando appeared in the doorway one afternoon, silhouetted by the bright daytime sun for the first time.

A momentary hush descended upon the cantina, quickly turning into a roar of nervous chatter when the imposing beskar figure sat down at the end of the bar. You muttered an excuse to your coworkers and rushed over, trying to look casual as you scanned his armor. It looked considerably worse than it had the last time you saw him, scuffed and covered in frozen mud– but his movements didn’t seem impaired by injury. You let out a tiny huff of relief, the sound catching the attention of the Mandalorian. 

He nodded at you, straightening. You sent him a small smile as you tossed him the cantina menu. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” you said, as casually as you could manage. 

“Miss me?” You couldn’t see his face, but you would bet every credit of your tips today that he was smirking under that kriffing helmet. You gaped at him, then recovered yourself with a haughty toss of your head, letting your hair fall in a curtain before your face so he wouldn’t see your flustered expression. 

“Don’t know why I would. I only tolerate you for your son, you know,” you sniffed, placing your hands on your hips. 

He let out a surprised, genuine laugh at that, and your face warmed at the deep sound. You felt a heady rush of pride at being able to pull the reaction from the normally reserved man, fighting the desire to do whatever it took to hear it again. You quickly brushed that thought aside, however, when you took in the empty bag slung across his torso, frowning at the noticeable absence of Grogu’s big ears. 

The Mandalorian followed your trailing glance. “I don’t have the kid,” he said, tone edged with a hint of frustration as he adjusted his gloves. “Kriffing Imps,” he muttered.

You paled. Imperials? “Is he–”

Mando’s helmet snapped up at the panicked tone of your voice. “No, he’s safe. Left him with a friend,” he explained. “Someone’s been following me on this bounty— maybe another Imperial remnant. Didn’t want to risk him.”

Tension bled out of your posture at his words, but your eyebrows remained knit together in confusion. “So if you’re not here to drop off the kid…” you started slowly. “What brings you back to Nath? Since you obviously didn’t stop by just to say hello,” you asked, giving him a pointed look. 

Mando tilted his head in acknowledgement. Apparently, that was the closest thing you were getting to an apology. Oh, well.

“Wish I knew,” he muttered. “Chased the quarry across the galaxy for weeks, don’t know why he stopped here when there’s more populated places. It’s like he wants to be found.”

You sucked in your bottom lip, absentmindedly scrubbing at a sticky puddle of spotchka on the counter. “You think it’s a trap?”

He gave a small shrug, subtly flicking something on his helmet and scanning the room. “Not sure.” He turned back to you, posture tensed. “Somethin’ doesn’t feel right, though. Keep your eyes open and get out if there’s trouble.”

You nodded, wiping a pair of dusty glasses to make it look like you were doing something more than eyeing the half-full cantina with hidden trepidation. You felt it too– the strange quiet of the wind brushing past the shutters, the way your hair stood up on your skin. 

Minutes later, a Trandoshan sauntered into the cantina and took the seat beside Mando, who immediately stilled. He grinned lecherously at you, motioning for a drink. You poured a glass of spotchka and handed it over, grimacing at the feeling of his eyes trailing down your torso like cold slime. “Thanks, honey,” he drawled, scaly hand scraping your wrist in a menacing caress. You stiffened, but chose not to respond, focusing back on the dishes. This wasn’t the first time you’d been harassed by a customer, but until now no one had dared to do so in front of the beskar-clad man sitting in front of you. Your frequent proximity to the intimidating figure seemed to cow the usual crowd into something adjacent to manners– something you missed during the weeks he was away. 

“Heard you were looking for me,” he spoke affably to the Mandalorian beside him. The hulking lizard raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, smirking. Mando remained silent, hands tightened around his glass, and you wondered why he hadn’t already tied up the bounty and left. The Trandoshan’s sly confidence around his hunter made you shift uneasily. Something was very, very wrong.

“See, I got a lot of credits, and you seem reasonable,” the Trandoshan spoke casually. “I know the bounty’s not worth what I can offer you, so how about we make a deal?”

Mando shifted slightly, the beskar plate on his forearm glinting. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold. Your choice.” His voice sounded through the modulator, deep and calm with a predator’s poise. “How’s that for a deal?”

The Trandoshan let out a harsh laugh. “Shame you wouldn’t bargain,” he said with mock regret. He twisted his hand up in the air, and you watched as nine more Trandoshans slunk out of the shadows of the cantina booths. The rest of the patrons quieted as they watched the tense scene, the smart ones making their excuses and leaving in a hurry. You were no stranger to bar fights, but they’d never escalated past a couple of drunken punches and a firm boot to the curb for all involved. This one, though… it seemed like it might get deadly.

“My friends and I’ve heard something about a Mandalorian bounty hunter. One who’s got a nice, fat Imperial price tag on his head,” he sneered, spit flying from his mouth. “Think that’d be a fair replacement for mine.” 

Mando turned his helmet oh-so-slightly towards you, making the tiniest nod towards the door. Go, he seemed to be telling you, and you inched towards the kitchen–

Your breath caught in your throat as you eyed the lizards closing in around him. You were sure he was a seasoned warrior, but ten armored adversaries at once seemed a little much for one person. You couldn’t help him fight, but… maybe you could distract them long enough for him to gain the element of surprise.

Before you could talk yourself out of your quickly-made plan, you grabbed a tulip-shaped flute of algarine bubbly and stepped up to the orange Tradoshan you’d served earlier with a coquettish smile. “On the house,” you said, passing him the glass with a bat of your lashes you hoped came across as sincere. You felt ill at the way his eyes rested greedily on the sliver of your chest exposed by your lean across the bar, but it appeared that you’d momentarily distracted him. If only you could get his friends’ attention, too… 

You glanced around, searching for anything you could use to cause a scene– pointedly ignoring the way Mando’s gloved hands twitched at your movement closer to the dangerous humanoid. Trust me, you mentally pleaded with him. I’m trying to help.

Your eyes finally fell on the spotchka situated uncomfortably close to your elbow. Perfect. You gave the Trandoshan a ditzy giggle, swaying like you were entranced by his gaze as you quickly jabbed the large pitcher. You gasped in fake horror as it shattered, spraying alcohol over most of the floor and onto the three closest lizards. The group swiveled at the disruption, venomous glares shifting to you instead of the armored man they were gathered around. 

“Oops,” you smiled, sugary-sweet and innocent. “Sorry, honey.”

And then Mando did something with his arm, flexing out his vambrace in a motion so quick you didn’t register it until flames shot across the alcohol on the bar and onto the scales of the Tradoshans. He immediately snapped into action as they roared in shocked pain, twisting and shooting as they fell one at a time. You admired his agile form for a moment, awed by how precise his movements were, how easily he moved into the flow of fighting like it was a second skin. A moment too long, it seemed, because you snapped your gaze away from Mando to see the orange Tradoshan bearing down on you. 

“Fucking bitch,” he hissed, eyes bulging with hatred as he lunged across the counter. Your eyes widened as you ducked backwards, intending to stumble into the safety of the kitchen but slamming into the unforgiving wall instead. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you chided yourself, stomach dropping as you scrambled to get your bearings through the surge of pain paralyzing your muscles. You didn’t know how to fight–should’ve run for cover the minute the spotchka hit the floor, honestly– and instead you just stood there like a kriffing nerf herder. 

You cried out at the impact of the Tradoshan’s sharply-scaled fist scraping your cheek, gasping and flinching away from the hit you were sure would land next between your ribs. He hissed at you through jagged teeth, sour breath like acid on your face. He cocked his blaster and you twisted yourself, preparing to launch into one final, defiant attack–

A blur of silver slammed into the orange lizard, knocking him off of you with a violent crash. You heard his bony nose break with a crack, followed by what sounded like an entire charge cartridge’s worth of blaster shots. You pushed yourself off the floor, wincing at the throb of pain that echoed at your temples but steeling yourself to get up nonetheless. Your mouth parted at the sight of the cantina, booths ablaze and blaster shots ringing through the smoky air.

Mando shouted your name over the commotion, sharp and intense. “Are you–”

“Fine. I’m fine,” you wheezed out in a relieved sob as he made his way over to you. “We need to go, the fire–”

“I know,” he muttered as he hooked an arm around your torso and dragged you behind a countertop, shielding you with his armor. “They’ve blocked the doors. Windows, too– I got seven of them, but the others are trying to burn us out.” 

“Please tell me you have a backup plan,” you begged, narrowly avoiding a stray charge that chipped the already-fragile cabinet. It would only be a matter of minutes before your feeble cover fell, and you didn’t feel like waiting around for more Tradoshans to show up.

The Mandalorian shrugged, gesturing to the fireplace in front of you. “It worked the first time.”

Your jaw dropped, anxiety momentarily forgotten. “Metal man. Are you saying that on your first night here… you left through the chimney?!”

“It’s very comfortable,” was all he said as he swung you over onto the hearth, casually shooting backwards at the face of a Trandoshan peering through a crack in the cantina door. From the muffled sound of something hitting the steps, his aim was flawless.

You gaped at him, speechless with disbelief. Was he… teasing you? If he was trying to distract you from the pain shooting across your face, it was definitely working. “Oh, no, everything’s fine, I’m just escaping a crime scene with an apparent madman,” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head at the absurdity of the situation. “Don’t know how I could’ve missed the simplest way out of here.”

No wonder you hadn’t woken up when he left– he hadn’t so much as touched the very reasonable idea of opening the shutters to get out. No, the kriffing chimney was the most obvious next step. With that kind of creativity, you supposed it made sense that he’d stayed alive in the bounty hunting business for so long. The mental image of the big, stoic Mandalorian inching his way up the vertical corridor with a little green accomplice on his back–combined with the general chaos of the last half hour–quickly became more than you could handle. You allowed yourself a moment of hysteria before sliding into the fireplace, head tilting back as you viewed the long, long passageway above.

***

Comfortable, my arse. You panted, some ten minutes later, sweat streaming down your face as you struggled to keep a solid grip on the sooty brick around you. The climb was not as amusing as you’d previously thought. Maybe you’d manage better if you had a grappling gun hidden in your forearm and boots with climbing spikes, like the beskar-plated man behind you. Right now, though, all you had were your worn-through work shoes and a hacking cough from all the smoke rising up to you from the wreck of the cantina below. 

“Come on,” you muttered, willing yourself to scoot up another meter despite your quickly fatiguing thigh muscles. How tall was this chimney, anyway? It felt like you’d been climbing for miles, but maybe that was just your poor endurance talking. 

“You doing okay?” Mando called up to you, grunting slightly at the weight of the Trandoshan bounty around his shoulders. There was no way you’d let him try to carry you too, though you knew he’d offer if you faltered. You screwed up your face in concentration, muttering something resembling an affirmation as you focused on shifting higher and higher until you finally, blissfully reached the top.

You let out a small whoop of success, collapsing on the roof as Mando pulled himself up behind you. “Thought I’d never make it out of there,” you beamed up at him. Your relieved smile faded as you took in his still-tensed posture as he looked off the edge of the roof. 

“What is it?”

He turned back toward you, setting the Tradoshan’s body down with a thunk. “They’re setting detonators around the building,” he spoke, his modulated baritone rough and distracted as he fiddled with a heavy metal backpack beneath his cloak. 

You swallowed thickly, closing your eyes for a moment as you fought to suppress the panic that rose up at his words. When you opened them, he’d shoved the Tradoshan onto the roof of the building next door, which was a safe distance away from the flames but remarkably jagged. You eyed the area, wondering if his plan was to crouch there and pray that the shrapnel from the explosion would miss the two of you. 

Mando walked over, motioning for you to get up. You got back on your feet, slightly dizzy from the smoke as you stumbled over to him. 

“Need you to hold on to me,” he muttered awkwardly, extending an arm. You gaped at him, utterly confused at the uncharacteristic action. How was clinging to him like a baby womp rat supposed to get you out of here before the building crumbled? 

Still, you stepped closer to him and tentatively wrapped your hand around his vambrace. You made a tiny noise of surprise as he tugged you into his chest, your arms instinctively wrapping around his broad torso. You ducked your head, glad that he couldn’t see your flaming face from this angle. Yep, that touch starvation was definitely doing a number on you. You could feel the rise and fall of his breaths, his chest surprisingly warm underneath the cool beskar plates that protected it— and stars, none of that was doing anything to lessen your little crush. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, and you quickly complied. Seconds after you’d scrunched your face up in concentration, you felt a tug in your stomach and the wind rise in your hair. Your eyes snapped back open on instinct as you felt your feet leave the ground, your grip on Mando tightening in panic. You peeked past his armor and saw nothing but cold winter sky— and was that a kriffing jet pack?! You gasped as you glanced down and realized that you were rapidly approaching a hundred feet in the air, the cantina exploding into a fiery speck beneath you. 

You and large heights had a strained relationship, so you clung to Mando with all your strength and prayed that he had enough fuel to land somewhere very solid. “You didn’t tell me we’d be flying out of there,” you spoke, words muffled by the wind and the way your face was currently scrunched against his hard chestplate.

“You didn’t ask,” he responded. If you weren’t so focused on staying alive, you might have been offended at his cheeky tone, but you settled for an eye roll.

You landed a few miles outside of town on the ice fishers’ territory. It took you longer than you wanted to admit to get detangled from the Mandalorian, mostly because your fingers had frozen into a death grip of a hug around him. He gently pried you off his armor, setting you on a patch of snow slightly less icy than the others and walking past you. You turned to see him open the boarding ramp of a silver Razor Crest in all its pre-Imperial glory. The ship was older than you expected, but in decent condition.

You carefully followed him into the ship, climbing up after him into the cockpit. The leather passenger seat was surprisingly comfortable, and your muscles slowly unstiffened as you watched him fire up the engines.

“I have to go pick up the bounty,” Mando stated, moving over to set the navigation screen. He paused. “Do you need to be… dropped off somewhere?”

“I— I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” you admitted, looking down at your lap. “The only place I had a connection to here was just blown up.” You winced, wondering how you’d ever find work now that you were partly to blame for the destruction of the town’s singular watering hole. 

Mando was silent for a while as he maneuvered the ship towards the cantina wreckage. You craned your neck towards the arching glass windows, staring down at the snowy landscape of Nath. “It’s so much more beautiful from above,” you spoke softly, wonder evident in your tone. “Always wanted to travel, see views like this every day, but… off-world tickets these days are too expensive.” Your face took on a wistful expression. “Must be nice to do this for your job. I bet the kid loves it, too.”

Mando cleared his throat, helmet tilting towards you.

“You could— work for me. Take care of the kid, here on the ship,” he spoke hesitantly. “Visit planets with us when I’m not hunting bounties.” 

You glanced over at him in shock, mouth falling open. Hope swelled up in you at his words, and you could hardly breathe at the idea of what he was offering you. A way off Nath, to experience the galaxy like you’d always dreamed- stars, but it felt surreal.

“It’d be better for him to have someone to rely on when I’m gone, stay in one place for longer,” he continued, faltering slightly at your silence. “The ship’s small, but I can pay you well and your needs would be taken care of for as long as you stay—“

“Yes,” you gasped out, the words embarrassingly rushed, but you didn’t care. “If— if you’re serious, then yes, I accept.”

He seemed surprised at the vehemence with which you spoke, but nodded. “This is the Way,” his deep baritone sounded through the modulator, final and determined. 

This is the Way. You practically vibrated with excitement at the phrase, face breaking into a grin as you settled back in the seat. All you’d have to do was keep that pesky attraction to the beskar-covered man piloting the ship under control, and you’d finally be free. Free of Nath’s soul-crushing atmosphere, free to travel the galaxy like you’d always dreamed of— albeit with a little green child at your side. 

Sure, he was the most interesting person you’d ever met, and the way his voice lowered when he bantered with you sent a jolt of something down your spine.

But it couldn’t be that hard, right?

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read on: part iii

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