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kiwisbell · 2 months

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helen ; chapter three

the red circle

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the truth.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship (and blasphemy), sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, mentions of rape/SA, cars, bill is here, joel is still a bit of an idiot, childhood/religious trauma, hitman!joel finally hitmans, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST (still unresolved oopsie), we're getting there though, exposition, conflicting emotions, joel's tattoos are sexy but they're also plot-relevant, Sleeping Together, but not like That, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 7.6k a/n: this chapter marks this fic being halfway done already, which is madness. also, can i just say that i'm loving the amount of people who've specifically been watching john wick because of this fic?? this is my agenda!! as always, thank you so fucking much to mya baby @cavillscurls for beta reading this fic and being, idk, generally the loml. i hope you enjoy chapter 3, my friends! i'm sorry it's been such a long time coming, but life lifed, y'know?? prev | next

“How much?”

“Two million. For now, at least. It’s open.”

“Goddammit, Tommy.”

“I told you to be careful, brother. Now look at you. You’re a loose end.”

Joel resisted the urge to toss his phone. The shower continued running in the bathroom, muffled by the closed door.

He couldn't lose you. He didn't know life without you. Love had no name until he knew you. He'd christened it with that first kiss, maybe even in the first breath he'd shared with you.

If there was a chance Cabrera’s kid could come back for you, even if just to hurt Joel, he needed to see this to its end. There was no choice.

“He tried to rape my wife,” said Joel. “He's lucky I’m only tryin’ to kill him.”

Tommy only sighed, and the call ended.

I married you, Joel.

I loved you.

You lied to me.

He rests his elbows on his knees as he watches you doze. The sunlight shines neatly through the break in the curtains, and you squint against it in your sleep, turning over with a little huff and bringing the duvet over your head. You’ve always needed total darkness for a half-decent sleep.

You’ve been crying. The tears leave remnants on your cheeks, a dryness at the outer corners of your eyes, salt seeping moisture from your skin. He’s never known a thing so soft as the drag of his hand down your back.

I loved you.

You lied to me.

You will never understand. There are reasons—too many to count—that civilians cannot know. He may have gotten you to relative safety in the Continental, but there are a hundred dangerous people in this building who have a long-standing grudge against Joel Miller or the man he worked for. A hundred people who would take you as collateral the moment you stepped outside the grounds. But as long as you remain inside, you’re safe.

He just needs to finish the job. He needs to see it through, and he’ll be out. You’ll realise he’s done it all for you.

I loved you.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he watches the rise and fall of your chest beneath the sheets. He broke your heart last night. He watched you turn in on yourself, your eyes so cold, so far away. He listened to you scream, and inside he pleaded: Keep hitting me, baby. Keep shouting. Be mad. He wanted you loud and furious and spitting fire. If you were angry, you still cared. He could work with that.

And to see you walk away, the fire frozen over, the fight in your marrow sucked out…

The anguish of losing your ire still stirs in his chest. The guilt peels him away in layers. Acid.

She’ll understand, he tells himself, you, anyone who’ll listen. She’ll get it someday—why I did it, why I lied. She’ll forgive me.

Forgive me, baby. Don’t let me live the rest of this life never seeing you smile.

“Stop looking at me,” you grumble, your eyes still closed.

Joel averts his eyes. His throat feels tight. “You sleep okay?”

You haul yourself upright and stretch out your back. Joel studies the curve of your spine and the nape of your neck. You’re the muse painters rave about. The reflections of sunlight on water at dusk. The pond of water lilies.

“You didn’t. Your sheets haven’t even moved.”

“I can’t sleep without you.”

You give him a heavy look, your eyes bleary with sleep. “You managed all those years before me, Joel. Let’s not do this.”

“What if I want to do this?” he says, dropping to the floor next to your bed and taking your hands in his. You try to pry yourself free, but he drops his head and traps you in his rapt vigil.

“Joel…” Your voice is still groggy, but there’s agony in the way you say his name.

“You’re my wife,” he says against your skin. “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved. You’re the girl I saw that night in the restaurant with the pretty eyes and you’re the girl I called every night just so I could hear your voice, and you’re always gonna be the only fucking girl for me. You’re my reason for everything, baby. I need you. Please… please just understand. You have to know that.”

You’re silent for a long while, your legs curled under you as your own husband kneels as if in prayer. Your throat burns with more tears you have little energy left to shed. You whisper his name.

He looks up and you find you cannot meet his eyes. So you stare at one of the patches of skin that disrupt the brown-grey of his beard. “That first night at the restaurant,” you say, trepidation colouring your voice blue, “you disappeared after the second course. When you came back, you told me you had to take a call. Was that the truth?”

Joel’s eyes are frantic in their search for an answer. “Don’t,” you snap. “Don’t lie to me again. Was that the truth?”

“There—” His voice cuts off, his eyes shuttering. “There was a target. That’s… why I was there in the first place.”

Your sob dies in your chest. It doesn’t even make a noise. You wrench your hands out of his, and he lets you, still kneeling at your bedside like a lost sinner. “Love has never been the problem. You might love me, but you’ve never told me the truth. Not from the first day.”

One of his hands wraps around your ankle. “I wanted out. I wanted out my whole life, and you’re the one who made me find the way. Cabrera, he… He gave me an impossible task. I completed it. And I gave you this ring.” He brushes his thumb over the knuckles of your third finger where your bands are still secure. “You said yes. You married me. Doesn’t this mean something?”

The sound of your hollow laugh hurts more than any words you could use to cut him. “It did,” you confess, “when I knew exactly who my husband was.”

He shakes his head, his lips parting in another desperate cast, but you’re standing up and crossing the room, gathering your toiletries for the bathroom. “What happens now?” you ask.

Joel stares at the ring on his finger. “I’m going to talk to the Manager. You have to stay here.”

“Okay,” you say softly. Your back is rigid. “Just tell me something.”

“Anything,” says Joel.

“If I asked to leave,” you whisper, “would you let me go?”

Joel feels his heart crack in two. He remembers the small outdoor wedding, in the heart of May, when he’d seen you walk down the aisle toward him and struggled to find the words, as he always did, that would be good enough.

I vow to love you, he'd said, his hands trembling as he took yours. I vow to be your partner in all things. I vow to show you every piece of my soul, the way you've given me yours, and to be gentle with your heart.

I vow to be the man you want, the man you need, and the man you love.

He’s failed. He knows that. But you smiled at him that day, your eyes brimming with tears that turned black from your mascara, and you kissed him before the officiant said the words.

I loved you.

“I’d do anything you asked me to,” he says, “but not that.”

Joel made a stop at the Continental Tailor before he went to find the Manager in the lounge. He paid the Tailor a bit too much for the new suit, he realises now, the sleeves a bit too tight, the pants not quite tapered. He was dressing a different body than the one he knew all those years ago.

Joel weaves through the darkness as a crooning voice sings something about evil men up on the stage. The band is playing along, a smooth jazz tune, and the bodies around him smell of expensive cologne and perfume and vodka. He remembers with a start why he hated this place so much.

Adjusting his jacket, he finds the Manager sitting in the VIP section on a long curved booth upholstered in crimson velvet, sipping a dry martini.

“Joel,” he says, lifting his glass in toast.

“Bill.”

The Manager doesn't look particularly thrilled. “You know there’s an open contract on your head. Who did you have to kill to end up back here?”

“Just a couple people.” Joel sits opposite him. “I need information.”

“And you're here on more business. Does your consort have anything to say about that?”

Joel curls his fingers into a fist atop the table. “I’m invoking my guest privileges. And she is my wife.”

Bill sniffs in amusement. “So, you did end up marrying the gal. Good for you, Joel. She's a stunner.”

“Fuck you, Bill.”

A short, booming laugh. “Nobody will so much as look her way. You have my word and all it means.”

“Doesn't mean much,” says Joel. “I’m just visiting.”

“Don't be the idiot I know you aren’t,” says Bill, leaning forward and setting his glass aside. “You dip so much as a pinky back in this pond, and you won’t get out so easy. Sometime, somewhere, someone’s going to come to you with another impossible task.”

“And I’ll complete it,” says Joel. “Emiliano Cabrera. Where is he?”

“You really wanna do this, Joel?”

“Yeah.”

“Your wife may be safe now, but she won’t be forever.”

“That’s why I’m going to finish it. That’s why I’m going to kill him.”

The Manager sighs, polishing off his martini. “You know damn well business will not be conducted on Continental grounds, Joel. You may as well go have a drink at the bar, take a load off. I can’t tell you anything while you’re inside my hotel.”

Joel suspected as much. “Then tell me something you can.”

Bill’s nostrils flare and Joel feels some satisfaction knowing he can still push the old man’s buttons. “I’ll tell you what: the game has changed since you left it. Your only chance is to get out now, while you still can. What could possibly warrant the Boogeyman reentering the fold?”

Joel licks his teeth. Your eyes blurring with tears as your skull connected with the ground, your body going limp as he stood above you. The clink of a belt buckle echoes still in his head. If he hadn’t been fast enough—

“It’s personal.”

Bill’s gaze dips. “Well,” he says, “then, unofficially, I wish you the best of luck. But, as a former friend”—Joel snorts —“let me give you a piece of advice. Take your wife home and forget about all of this. I like you, Joel, but for her sake and yours, I’d rather never see you again.”

Joel doesn’t take it personally. “Tell Frank I said hello.”

Bill grabs a full glass from a passing server. “Fuck you, Joel.”

He nods his head, closing the lapels of his jacket and slipping the first button through the opposite slit. As the singer on the stage transitions into the next song, Joel orders a glass of bourbon and watches the bartender slide his drink over on a pristine white napkin.

“On the house, per the Manager’s request,” says the bartender. “Welcome back, Mr. Miller.”

Pristine—save for the small red circle drawn with marker on the centre. Across the bar, Bill raises his glass in another toast, and Joel leaves the lounge, his drink untouched.

It’s a Tuesday night, and the Red Circle is lined up around the corner. One must know someone to get inside, and that someone must be a paying member. Joel had a membership by default, being contracted under Cabrera, but it was revoked along with his other privileges once he had completed his task.

You would hate this place. It’s throbbing bass and flashing neon lights and sweat-slick bodies rubbing up against one another. It’s brick and industrial metal and glass and the people don’t mix, either.

Maybe part of him is hedonistic, too. He doesn’t think he ever used to be. The job gave him wealth to spend that he never cared to; when he met you, he began to understand the pleasure of material things. Gold shone when it hung around your neck and wrapped around your fingers. Diamonds glittered like the jewels in a crown when you wore them on your ears. And when he pulled you close to him for the first time, undressing you slowly, hooking his fingers in the lace panties he’d bought for you and bringing his mouth to the heat between your legs, Joel began to understand the draw of pleasure.

It isn’t that he’d never had sex before you. He’d just… never been interested before you. Bodies always felt… too cold. They were complex. They were things to be followed, things to be killed. They were names on a piece of paper. They would bleed all their warmth and light into his palms and he would return, limping, to a house he never cared about and absolve himself of red. He’d never known the thrill of a body until he tucked his hand under the soft swell of your naked breast and put his mouth on yours and felt your heartbeat bleed into his hands. He never wanted to wash it off.

If I asked to leave, would you let me go?

After the orphanage, Joel visited a church only once.

He hadn’t meant to find it. He’d heard an organ humming from within. The cathedral was taller than it was wide, built for a small gathering. He’d slipped inside during a sermon, delivered by a pastor with white hair and a pair of wilting hands. Joel watched the tremors pass through his face, the agonising pulse of the vein in his throat, the way he would gulp down mouthfuls of water. He spoke with rhythm, with melody, and when he was finished, he grasped the edges of the pulpit, his head bowed in silent prayer. Joel thought he had never seen a more devoted man in his life.

When the sermon was over, he waited his turn to speak with the pastor. He did not know why. He hadn’t felt a stirring in his chest at the word of God; he never had.

I’ve never seen you in here before, my son.

Joel shook his head, frowning at the ground. I… left the faith, in a way. When I was young. I’m… sorry.

Devotion is a choice, said the pastor, taking Joel’s hands in his own. They were wrinkled, speckled with age spots. Joel lifted his gaze to find the pastor smiling. As with all things in life. Devotion, my son, is not a birthright. We must find it. Though it may not be His word, you will know someone’s word. And you’ll find it will move you enough that you choose to follow it. To whatever end.

Joel has been slashed, burned, drowned, whipped, beaten, strangled. He could count the telltale black spots in his eyes like dreamers count sheep. He developed a reputation because he was good at what he did. He was efficient, fast, lethal. He once killed three men in a bar with a pencil, they whispered. A fucking pencil. Word in the Underworld spread of a boogeyman who would take your life in your sleep if you wronged the wrong person, if you were just an unlucky bastard.

Their word never mattered. He’d never knelt in the blood of a victim and prayed for absolution. He would never find it, anyway. His soul was black.

If I asked to leave, would you let me go?

No word has ever cut so deep as yours. How could he wake up every single day next to the love of his life and lie so easily to your face? How could he put a ring on your finger knowing damn well he’d betrayed your trust every second of your time together and you never even knew about it?

How could he wear the mask of your husband and dream of blood on the very same hands that touched you each night?

Joel checks his watch. It’s one o'clock in the morning. You’ve been sleeping since breakfast. You won’t sleep a wink tonight if this keeps up, but it seems you’d rather do anything in the world than speak with him.

He doesn’t blame you.

He found his word that night in the restaurant. He’d followed it, followed you, wherever you took him. And he will follow you, his almighty word, beyond the grave, to whatever end you decide.

He will not abandon his faith. His purpose. He will not throw up his hands and let you walk away. He’s made mistakes he cannot mend. He can’t go back to the day you met and tell you all he should have, rules be fucked. He cannot fix what he’s already broken. You cannot put a piece of tape over fractured glass, a bloodied hand over wounded skin.

He made his fucking vows. It’s time he lived up to them.

Across the street, Joel watches, turning over the knife in his pocket by the hilt. Emiliano Cabrera and his lackeys step out of Joel’s Mustang and toss the keys to the valet. They skip the line, smacking one another around and jeering at the ladies in line, and Joel feels the hunger pull at his teeth.

His first target is posted by the east entrance. Joel takes the alley, stepping aside trash bags brimming with used needles and slipping the Glock from the lining of his jacket. The weight of it is formidable in his hand. Under the cover of dark, he slides into a second skin, black as the names they call him. Bringing the gun to the back of the guard’s head, he watches those huge shoulders stiffen.

“Francis,” he says politely.

“Joel,” says the guard.

“Workin’ late?”

“Why?” says Francis. “You want in?”

“Yeah,” says Joel, “I do. You lost weight.”

“Twenty-seven pounds, if you’ll believe it.”

Fuck.

Twenty-seven guards tasked with protecting the little shit. Joel may have a reputation, but it’s been years. He was ambushed in his own home last night. And after it all, he’d let the bastard slip between his fingers.

“Why don’t you take the night off?”

Francis lowers one meaty hand to the piece in his ear and takes it out. Turning his head, he says, “Can you at least lower the gun?”

Joel does. “Wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

“Word’s going around. They say you’re back.”

“I’m just passin’ through.”

“Sure, Joel.” Francis offers his hand, and Joel shakes. “You better make it quick. I don’t feel like getting fired.”

“Understood.” Joel slips inside, letting the door click shut behind him.

Even from afar, the music lives in his chest, a writhing thing that seeks departure by way of his throat. He tries to swallow and it wriggles back up again. The bass throbs hard against his ribs.

There’s a bathroom on the VIP floor. As he sneaks by the frosted glass partition that separates him from the public, Joel hears the squeak of locker doors. He puts his palm on the door and pushes inside.

Did you see the tits on that girl? says one man in Spanish. Emil got a pretty one.

Another lets out a booming laugh. Shut the fuck up, man. Good pussy and you tuck your tail and run.

Yeah? And you're in here because you scored?

I’m in here because bitches prefer to choke on clean dick. What's your excuse?

Neither feels the breeze of the shadow slipping behind them. Neither of them sees the man in black lock his arm around one of their necks and squeeze until there's no air left. By the time the other has turned on the porcelain sink and begun to splash his face, the boogeyman has him by the scruff of his neck, fisting the collar of his fluffy white bathrobe. The sink continues running, and he’s choking on the warm water as Joel holds him down.

“Jesus! Fuck!”

“Where is Emiliano?”

“Vete a la mierda,” he splutters. “Let go of me, motherfucker!”

Joel takes one of the man’s fingers and bends it all the way back. His screams are muffled by Joel’s hand.

“Where is Emiliano?”

“The bathhouse, downstairs,” he groans. “Fuck, let me go, pendejo!”

Joel bares his teeth, breaks the man’s neck, and leaves him slumped over the sink, the water still running.

The bathhouse is doused in red and blue. The water is illuminated from within, and the whites in his victim’s eyes glow where he stands half-submerged, toasting a bottle of champagne to his rowdy friends. Joel flattens himself to the wall, listening for the tread of dress shoes. The music pounds too loudly for him to hear, but he can see the shadow before he sees its owner.

“Clear,” says the voice.

When he rounds the corner, Joel drives his knife into the man’s throat and silences his gurgling moans by clamping a hand over his mouth. He slides down the wall, and Joel holds his gaze while the light slowly dims in his eyes.

One.

Two more men are waiting behind the partition, hands folded in front of them. Joel does not recognise them. Their suits are pressed, Italian; it seems Cabrera has made some alliances. Joel lies his first victim on the ground and prowls toward his next two.

They go easily: unsuspecting, they bleed out under his blade, choking on their blood, and he leaves them lying by the foggy partition. Three.

The music is dreamy, the crooning of two voices set to a throbbing track. In the bathhouse, he hears the sloshing of water and the singing of a group of men nearby. They're singing an old folk song, Joel realises. A song about a ghost.

Hurry, fall asleep, or the Boogeyman will come for you…

They don't sound particularly frightened by the spectre haunting them. Joel watches them toast their bottles of champagne and grab the waitresses’ asses. It's Emiliano and his friends, all right. Joel spots another five guards around the waist-deep water and another two by the doors upstairs.

There's a childlike self-assuredness about him—this kid. He thinks he's protected, safe, almighty as God. He sings about Joel and smiles.

A guard leans over him and sneers. “You need to stop drinking.”

“Are you scared of the fucking boogeyman?” jeers the kid. “I’m not! Hijo de puta.”

The guard plucks the bottle from his hand and passes it off. “You wanna vomit while you run away? Or would you just prefer to get shot in the head?”

Emiliano’s haughty sniff makes Joel wonder if a bullet in the head is retribution enough. “Get me another fucking bottle!” he says to his friend.

Joel picks up a bottle of complimentary cologne and tosses it. The glass shatters, potent liquid pooling on the shiny floor. Three guards flank the partition. The music is too loud to let the sounds of his blade in flesh seep through.

Six.

On the other side of the glass, coloured blue and red and slick with humidity, the singing continues.

From the swamp he will come…

He feels the wet splash of blood on his face.

… and take the children that don't behave.

Another man rounds the corner as Joel is tearing the knife from the last guard’s throat. He doesn't have enough time to slash his throat, so he pulls the handgun from his holster and shoots. He crumples to the floor, but Joel’s cover is blown.

“He’s here! Miller’s here!”

The partition explodes. Glass rains on him as he rolls to evade the gunfire, raising his barrel to strike at the remaining guards.

Seven. Eight.

The men by the stairs are shouting some Spanish, some Italian. The music carries on, but the song they're singing has ended.

Joel finds the man he's been looking for: hiding behind a petrified waitress, Emiliano Cabrera looks like a goddamn child. He's wrapped himself hastily in a bath towel around his waist, and his eyes are wide as saucers. Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m going to enjoy this a little.

He locks eyes with Emiliano for only a moment. The guards at the top of the stairs begin to fire at Joel. He ducks behind the wall as shots chip brick from the wall or plunk uselessly in the water. By the time he flanks them around the other side of the wall and brings them tumbling down the stairs—ten—the kid has already run. Joel growls at the loss of the kill and follows him into the club.

With an eruption of deafening music, Joel bursts into the crowd. Behind him, a gigantic LED screen is illuminated with spirals in red and blue and white. Women dance in elevated cages while the crowd below becomes a sea of skin and sequins and sweat. Joel reloads, checks the clip, and resumes his hunt.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Joel feels the punch of the barrel into their chests as he fires, again and again and again. The commotion is lost in the din of the music and dancing. Bodies connect and grind and Joel kills.

Fourteen. A guard by the wall. Fifteen. Another lurking by the LED spirals. Sixteen, seventeen—two men rushing him in an attempt to ambush, eyes wild with rage and a bit of fear. Joel puts them down like sick dogs and continues to push through the crowd, his eyes locked on the retreating Emiliano, who's waving a gun about like a white flag.

But it's no surrender. It's a beacon, a sign that the deer is spooked. Joel feels his lip curl. So frightened, he thinks.

Eighteen, nineteen…

Your bleary eyes, blinking through the pain, limbs limp and helpless as he unbuckled his belt above you. A cut on your face, barely bleeding. The red still consumes him.

You were so afraid that night.

Twenty.

Twenty-one.

He's getting closer. The crowd parts down the centre as Joel marches toward his goal. But the music is loud and he does not hear the approach from behind.

The gunshot grazes his shoulder, but he feels the flare of pain ooze its way down his arm. Joel grunts, knocked askew from his path, and turns to forge at his assailant.

The man is fast, though, and rushes him. The tackle brings him down to the ground, winding him just enough to briefly stun, to send his Glock spinning along the floor. He’s taller, broader, madder.

But he shoots one-handed.

Joel knocks the gun aside and it misfires into the gap in the crowd. In the dispersing, he sees more guards closing in his periphery. The only protection he has is the hulking body on top of him. So Joel uses it, bringing his elbow to the man’s throat and bunching the lapel of his jacket in his fist. The guard attempts to reach for the blade in his thigh holster, but Joel reaches down and bends his arm backward until the crunch crackles in his ear. The man howls, and Joel grasps the hilt of the knife.

Twenty-two.

He picks up his gun and fires a shot into each of the three approaching guards, but Emiliano has fled to the first floor. Joel grimaces as he stands, blood on his fingertips where he's prodded the wound in his arm. “Goddammit,” he mutters, following his target upstairs.

The air is dizzying. Hot. Joel never liked clubs. He hated the closeness and the bodies in cages and the way skin felt so sticky, too tight, like he needed to step outside of it. He hated the feeling of being suffocated by strangers, as if any of them could be lurking low in the darkness, waiting to strike.

He didn't understand the lure of the scantily-clad body until he saw you wrapped in a tight black dress. He didn't know the pleasure of dancing until you took his hand one night, his old vinyl player crackling out Frank Sinatra, and lay your head on his shoulder. It felt like stepping over the threshold into consecrated territory. He should not be touching you. But you were touching him.

Joel spots Emiliano running for the back entrance, shoving another guard in Joel’s path.

Twenty-six.

The final man, approaching Joel from the lounge, pulls his gun in time to shoot, but not in time for Joel to notice. The bullet shatters a glass of wine and topples a waiter’s tray. Joel fires.

One to go.

He has no choice but to lunge for the kid before he can run out into the street. Joel’s heart is pounding in his chest, his blood electrified. The take-down is sloppy and his ankle rolls, but Emiliano Cabrera is pinned beneath him and yelping like a kicked dog.

“My father will kill you,” he gasps, his cheek pressed to the floor.

“Your father knows exactly why I’m here,” says Joel, “and he knows how stupid you are.”

“Hijo de puta, it was just a fucking car,” he spits. “I was just going to have some fun with your bitch. I would've given her back.”

Joel isn't quite satisfied. He turns the kid onto his back and grasps him by the jaw, forcing him to meet Joel’s incendiary gaze.

“Everything has a price.”

The knife goes in smoothly, the flat of the blade glinting in his gaping mouth. No light flees his eyes. There is nothing but cold slate-grey. And although Joel feels no happiness feeling the pulse slow to a crawl beneath his palm, he does not pull the knife out.

Your body, sacred, helpless, lying on the floor. A predator’s gaze. The clink of a belt buckle. Joel steps over the body and leaves, limping to the valet and slipping him a golden coin. He slips back inside his Mustang, turns on the engine, and drives back to the hotel.

You’re tucked in the alcove by the window, staring out at the moonlit night. Your chin rests on your knees as you hug yourself close. The lamp between your respective beds colours the room orange.

“You’re limping.”

You haven’t even turned to face him.

“How—”

“I know how you sound when you walk.” Your temple is cool where it rests on the windowpane, your breath frosting the glass. Joel staggers to the small table and braces himself on the back of a chair as he watches you.

You’re as warm and bright as the day he found you that night in the restaurant. Your eyes may be a little older, but the glow is the same. He folds his bleeding hands around the back of the chair. Everything around you curls in, darkens, and wilts when it confronts your beauty.

“I’m all right.” He doesn’t deserve your concern. He’ll swallow any bullet to keep you from worrying.

You stand at last and cross the room to face him. His heart jumps like it’s the first time you asked him on a date. Like the first time he kissed you, his chest taut with tension and nerves and the assumption that you’d reject him.

“You can lie to me about lots of things, Joel, but I know this face.” The pad of your thumb ghosts over the crease between his brows. “I’ve painted it a hundred times. It doesn't lie.”

It's the first time you've touched him in days. Joel closes his eyes. Part of him, the part that jolts back to life under the tender weight of your soft skin, means it when he says, “I’m okay.”

You seem to ponder him for a moment. “This wouldn't be the first time I patched you up,” you say, as if resigned. “Go on. Bathroom.”

He winces. “You don't have to—”

“Go. And afterward, you can tell me everything.”

The pads of your fingers memorise the ridges on the gold coin. The time is close to dawn.

He’s no longer bleeding, and although you have nothing close to the Doctor’s prowess, you’ve managed to disinfect and wrap the wound in his arm. You can’t do anything about his ankle, but it’s a sprain; he’ll heal in time. The mangled black and blue on his tender skin reminds you of a night sky without the stars. It doesn’t seem to pain him. It only makes you wonder what sorts of agonies he’s faced—ones you never knew about.

The hurt has festered in your time away from him. He’s an open wound in the shape of a hand on your back, searing cold through to your heart. The hand sports a golden band, and it reflects in the one you still wear. You don't quite know what to make of it now.

He looks exactly like the man you knew. Not a part of him has changed—he's still scruffy, still tired, still jaggedly gorgeous. You paint him with blurred edges, with blues and greys. Your heart still pulls when you look at him. Your chest still gapes wide open, and he digs his thumbs into the bruises. He lied to you. He broke your trust. And there's still so much of your Joel in him, from the skin to the bones.

“It’s beautiful,” you muse, turning the coin over.

“Technically, it’s not money,” Joel says. “It is currency. They can be exchanged for favours, information, relationships.”

“A hotel room,” you add. “Good to know I don’t have to move any savings around. Where have you been keeping these?”

“There’s a safe in the basement,” he says, “under the floorboards. When I left, I buried all of it. Weapons, coins, contacts, anything I had from the Underworld.”

The Underworld. A fitting name, if you’ve made any sense of it at all. “Do the police know about all of this?”

“Most of them are in the pockets of High Table members. Those are the ones who control how it all works. Rules and consequences,” says Joel, “is how they operate. They're what separate us from the animals.”

You lift your brows. “And who sits at this High Table?”

“Twelve leaders. They're the ones who run most of the major crime families and organisations. They control police, politicians, banks—”

Your shuddering sigh makes him stop in his tracks. He watches you lean back in the chair and bends forward slightly, as if tied to you by an invisible thread.

“So… the girl who serves me coffee on the corner by my office could be part of it.” You frown at the coin in your hand. “She could be a witness, a runner, a messenger. She could be like you.”

“She isn't,” says Joel, “but that is the general idea.”

“But civilians are immune.”

“More or less,” says Joel. “There are… heavy penalties for harming them.”

“Penalties like death.”

“Most of the time,” he says. “And there are rules here, too. No business can be conducted on the grounds of any Continental hotel.”

“Any? You mean—”

“There's a Continental in every major city in the world. It's where we go to remind ourselves we’re civilised.”

“Civilised,” you scoff. “Civilised murder, sure. I’m buying it. And now that you’re back—”

“Visiting.”

You just glare at him, and he ducks his head.

“—there's a contract on your head.”

Joel nods. “Two million.”

You curl your fingers over the coin in your palm as your stomach bottoms out. “That's a lot of incentive to put a bullet in your brain.”

“They won't,” he says. “Cabrera holds the contract, and he only opened it because of Emiliano. He’d pull it the second I agreed to stop looking for his son. He doesn't want me owing him.”

“I don't know if I’d call that a debt.”

“Considering everything I did for him,” says Joel, a bite to his voice, “anything short of killin' his kid is a favour.”

Despite yourself, you open your hand and slide the coin toward him. “Tell me what you did.”

His head shoots up, his brows knitted together. “What?”

“Tell me what you did to get out. Tell me about this ‘impossible task.’”

“Baby, that’s…” He rubs his hand across his jaw, and it strikes you then how deep those half-circles colour the space beneath his eyes.

“Stop,” you whisper. It never used to hurt when he called you baby. “Tell me how much blood you thought I was worth.”

Joel’s jaw ticks. His knees barely touch yours under the table. “You don't wanna hear the answer to that.”

“Then start here. What did you do, Joel?”

The sigh he releases feels heavy. “I came to Cabrera, asking him to release me from my contract. He told me he'd let me out, no strings attached… if I hunted down his enemies.”

Your mouth drops. “Which enemies?”

He picks up the coin and turns it over in his palm. The silence drops an anchor on the ground. Your belly churns with the movement of the golden piece as it catches the light.

“All of them,” says Joel. “All of ‘em, in one night. That was his impossible task.”

The scrape of your chair legs across the floor is grating. But you stand anyway, your head vaguely stirring with the beginnings of a headache.

“Oh my God.”

You barely feel your own hand on your cheek, barely smell the iron tang of blood on him, barely see the red cutting through his pressed white shirt. “How many people?”

Joel shakes his head, his shy eyes lowered, still as the paintings you've made of him. “I… I don't know.”

I lost count, he means. There were too many, he means.

Your throat is just wide enough to let your breath escape. The air you take in feels poisonous. He killed every single one of them. All because he wanted to marry you.

All because he wanted peace.

“Is there anyone in the Underworld who doesn’t know your name?”

Joel’s repentant silence, head ducked as if in prayer, is all the answer you need.

“How did this happen?” Your voice is uniquely quiet.

“When I was a kid,” he says, and your heart sinks, “I lived on the streets. Lived like a rat, mostly, but I survived. You know that much.”

You nod solemnly, lowering yourself into the chair once more. “The Sisters reunited you with your brother.”

His dark eyes reflect the lamplight and it resembles a flame igniting in the depths of the iris. “Found me on Canal Street, runnin’ drugs for a mobster I don't even remember. Tommy was only five, but he must've told them about me. They took me to the orphanage and started my training.”

You swallow, your temples pounding. Deep in your gut, something wild and dry begins to kindle. “They were the ones who taught you all of this?”

“They teach the word of God above everythin’ else, but yeah. They train children to thrive in the Underworld. We were taught knives, guns, hand-to-hand. Hell, they even taught us how to dance—how to move faster than the opponent. I knew how to kill someone before I could read.” Joel chuckles, and part of you thinks he actually thinks it's funny. “Probably why I’m so slow.”

You aren't slow, you want to say. You've never been slow, not from the first day.

The kindling curls and you can feel your mouth pull at the corners. He had only been a child. An orphan. A child had no way to choose, to resist how they were raised. He hadn’t been given a choice—his life in exchange for a roof over his head.

“Those fucking bastards.”

Joel’s laugh is mirthless. “It was a long time ago. I’ve made my peace with it.”

You angrily swipe the tears that warm your cheeks. “No adult should have that power. They should nurture and comfort and protect, not—” Your breath hitches. “You were a child. You didn't deserve that.”

Your fingers have curled into a fist atop the table. With both hands, he gently lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. You expect it to feel foreign, wrong. It just feels like Joel.

“The Sisters were cruel,” he says softly. “But I made myself into a weapon. It was the only way I would survive.” He reaches out as if for a wounded deer and brushes his thumb over your jaw. “They never made me believe, sweetheart. That was all you.”

You sniffle, your head bobbing absently. You don't know what to think. You don't know how to feel. Your own husband has been through the seven circles and crawled back out only to teeter back over the pit once more. There’s an ancient weariness in the black of his eyes, an old hurt, a mansion slowly crumbling at the edges.

“You hid this all from me, and never told anyone,” you say, the ache widening. You find you want to assume, consume, even a modicum of the pain that he's felt.

One of his shoulders lifts in a mild shrug. “I wanted to forget all of it. I wanted to make something of the new life I’d killed for.” He meets your gaze and you swear part of the open wound in his pupils has sealed. “I didn't want any of it to touch you.”

And you remember lying in bed with him that first night, after that first time, tracing a scar on his back. White and ridged, it spread like lightning feelers from the middle of his spine to the dimples in his lower back.

You'd put your mouth to his shoulder blade and felt him melt into you.

What happened?

The silence that followed could have heard the brush of a feather over skin.

I was raised in an orphanage. In a church. They weren't kind.

And that was that. You'd prodded and fussed and he'd said I’m fine. It was a long time ago.

“But that's what you do, Joel,” you tell him. “You hide your hurt and you bury your feelings and you do it all because you're afraid it'll make everyone leave you.”

Sometimes he would wake in a cold sweat, heaving, tossing aside the sheets, but he would never make a sound. You'd see him, pretending to sleep, and place your hand over his chest. His fingers would grasp yours as if marooned on the water, seeking driftwood, his hand suffocating yours. He'd keep it pressed to his heart until the beats slowed.

You regret those times you never pressed. In a way, you were afraid, too. If you opened your eyes, if you asked him to confess, he would close the lattice and turn his back to you. You didn't want to lose him, either.

But you did.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it doesn't hold the weight you want it to. It doesn't blow out the candles in the cathedral. It doesn't pluck the scared little boy from the streets or give him a warm bed. It doesn't stop the beatings and the lashings and the pain.

It does not pry the pain from his heart and bury the shrapnel in your chest instead. It is something he bears, as he always has, and must. It is something you cannot take from him. And you feel more helpless than you ever have.

He shakes his head. “I know we can't go back,” he says, tracing one of the little daisy charms on your bracelet. “But it feels… good. It feels good to finally tell you. Even if we were too late.”

The sound of his voice breaking shakes your heart loose from your rib cage.

“Come to bed.” Your voice is raw and used. “Just… come to bed, and sleep.”

He doesn't dare look hopeful, though you can see the tremor that courses through his hand. He wants to take yours, the way he did the day he proposed, dropping to one knee with your palms flush.

He looked a little hopeful that day, too. With rapt attention, he'd taken hold of you and said, I love you. I love you more than anything. You’re my best friend. Will you marry me? Will you let me be your husband?

You realise now why he'd let himself hope. He'd gotten out. He'd started his new life. With you.

You can see his old scars, even in the dark. You think, in all your time together, you've learned his body as you learn the earth you tread upon. The praying hands of Dürer lie beneath the name inked in small black lettering.

Your name.

You gingerly reach out and place your hand on his back. Joel shudders. He does not turn to face you where you both lie on your sides.

“If you bleed on the bed sheets,” you say to the darkness, “will management make us pay?”

He chuckles. “Strongly worded phone call at best. I’ll take the hit.”

You frown, ghosting your fingers over the tender skin around the makeshift patch job on his shoulder. “Does it still hurt?”

“No,” he says, leaning into your touch, “not anymore.”

“You never told me about this scar on your back.” You touch the edges of the puckered skin. “I never stopped wondering. But I should never have stopped asking.”

“Don't,” he says quietly. “Don’t say any of that like it's your fault.”

The silence bleeds as viscous as an open gash into the dry air. His watch broke the day of your wedding. He told you it was all right, that we've got all the time in the world, and you'd kissed him and laughed. He’d replaced the battery since then, but sometimes the little hand lags behind, as if afraid to chug forward. Afraid to let time, of all silly, trivial things, consume your world.

“Do you remember your vows?” you ask him.

“‘Course I do.”

“Do you remember mine?”

His head bows slightly on the pillow. “‘I vow to be your partner in all things,’” he recites. “‘I vow to protect your heart like it's my own. I vow to take your pain, and to shoulder it so you don't have to.’”

The tears saturate the pillowcase beneath your cheek. You fall asleep with your arm around his waist, your hand next to his, not touching, but nearly.

#fic: helen #kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller au #joel miller fic #john wick au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader

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kisskissgotohell · 2 years

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MY SPEAKERS STOPPED WORKING AGAIN

#GODDAMMIT #LET ME LIVE MY LIFE

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y3ager · 5 months

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STORYTIME I (26 F) FUCKED MY SUPERSTAR CLIENT (24 M) AFTER MONTHS OF SEXUAL TENSION!

— ‘i’m a manager for a pretty big music label and my client is the biggest dickhead in the world but i fear i fucked him after one of our usual arguments.. 😵‍💫’

eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, smut, porn not much plot, hate(?)sex, cunnilingus, cowgirl, reader gets called ‘mama’ and ‘boss’, unprotected sex, mild choking, musician!eren, manager!reader. minors do not interact.

my first collab entry MAKE SOME NOISE YALL WTF!!! but no seriously thanks so much to @k9nto for letting me join your event i had a blast writing this! hope you all enjoy! 🤭

YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED SOME annoying people in your life. in kindergarten, a boy taunted you by picking up one your fallen hot pink knocker-balls and refusing to give it back to you. in high school, some chick named tiffany ripped down all of your junior class president posters that you spent weeks designing and printing out on the highest quality paper. your college advisor had been completely useless, you’d still be dragging yourself through your bachelor’s degree if you didn’t stay on your toes and realize the classes you were dropped in were a waste of time. but all of these people, and many more that have slipped your mind, shaped and molded you into the woman you were today. strong, tenacious, independent, a go-getter who never gave up and thus was able to reap her hard work, in the form of three nice crisp degrees and a never pitiful bank account.

but eren yeager, grammy award winning singer, songwriter and musician, with multiple weeks spent at the top of the billboard hot 100 and 200 charts, millions of units sold worldwide, and stadiums packed to the brim, took the fucking cake.

you were warned he’d be difficult. every manager he’s assigned quits before one of them ends up in a body bag. none of them have a single nice thing to say about him, and he finds that hilarious.

for better or for worse, you took the challenge because you’re a sucker for them. nothing in life comes easy, and you figured that the managers before just didn’t come hard enough. maybe eren’s fame and status made them falter, but such a fate wouldn’t befall you.

you dragged him to his magazine shoots, you kept his mouth in line during interviews, you kept his socials clean. he was never a second late to rehearsals and recordings. he was a reflection of you, and if you were perfect goddammit he was going to be too.

until today.

“i’m not putting in another extension, eren. the label is starting to get really irritable. we need to go to the studio now.” you furiously swiping along your ipad, pacing around the singer’s deluxe hotel room. while you’re dressed for the day in clean crisp clothes, sharp stilettos, and jet black lace front expertly melted and laid, eren’s still in the bed. the covers are everywhere, his shirt is next to a couple pillows on the floor, and he’s laying on his back eating a croissant from room service, paying you absolutely no mind. it takes everything in you to not chuck your device at his big head. “i’m serious. get. up.”

“and i said i’m not,” he mocks your assertive tone, voice oozing in sarcasm. “going.” he coughs, obviously faking. “my voice hurts. can’t make those greedy bastards money if my vocal chords ache. they’ll live.”

“you are on a strict deadline this era. if you want to catch award season, this album needs to be finished and dropped in the next month. amidst the press tour, your window of recording time is dwindling fast.” dates in your digital calendar glare at you, red and angry. every time you check something off your to do, ten new things pop up. you feel your jaw clenching, teeth gritting together uncomfortably.

“i’ve won enough awards. i don’t care. i’m not getting up.” eren finally raises up from the bed, narrowed green eyes meeting yours. it’s fire against fire, an unstoppable force that is a manager determined to do her job versus an immovable object, a musician who’s not budging from his spot. “it’s my album. it’s my music. i finish it when the fuck i get ready. that label will burn before they drop me.”

“if you don’t follow contract, they will drop you. they put a lot of money into you-”

“money i made back for those dumbasses-!”

“they are your bosses, without them-”

“they need me way more than i need them-!”

“get,” you toss your ipad over to a small couch, storming over to the bed. you snatch the edge of the covers and yank hard. enough is enough. if he won’t get up, you’ll make him get up. “the fuck out of this bed, eren, now!”

“you need,” the cover is yanked back, tugging you forward along with it. you lurch momentarily before righting yourself upwards, leaning back to give yourself more leverage in this childish tug of war you find yourself in. “to calm the fuck down, ___. i’m not going and that’s fucking it.” eren may be lean, but he’s toned like a MMA fighter, muscles rippling under tan skin when he calls upon them. another tug and you topple onto the california king bed, one expensive heel sliding off your foot and falling across the room.

your heads snaps up from the covers, brow furrowed deep in anger. “stop being so fucking difficult, you moron!” emotions welling, you grab one of his arms, preparing to drag him out of this bed. your to do list is a nagging itch on your brain that by the grace of god you are going to scratch. you’re not about to let this bad-with-authority dickhead best you when all he has to do is record a fucking vocal.

“oh, we’re doing this?” easily, too easily, so easily that you register your back hitting the soft bed before you realized he even grabbed you back. he pins you down easily, slightly calloused hands grip your upper arms firmly, pushing them down. he places his legs other either side of your hips so yours are forced in between them, but doesn’t keep you from writhing to free yourself. “whatever fucking—stop doing that—chip you have on your shoulder, you need to fucking solve it because shit’s not going your way today. i’m not going and that is final.”

the tussle leaves you two of you panting, eyes boring into each other’s. eren’s long chocolate brown hair is disheveled not only from a night’s sleep but from this impromptu wrestle. small beads up sweat trickle down his naked chest. your writhe again, and he presses down against you, a synonymous hiss sliding through both of your mouths.

“i hate you, eren.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, ___. looks like you wanted an excuse to feel up on me.”

“oh, like you wanted an excuse to hump me like a mutt?”

there’s another beat of silence as you two watch each other. eren’s hands tighten their hold just a tad before he presses his hardening length hard against your clothed cunt. against your better judgement, your head tilts back and a small moan fights against your bitten bottom lip.

eren hums lowly, his dick bulging against the constraint of his boxers. “hate me too much to actually fuck me, huh? i’m only worth a dry hump.”

oh how eren frustrates you. how he makes even the simplest things in life painstakingly difficult. how he makes you want to smoke ten packs of cigarettes after a day of dealing with him. but oh, how handsome he looks under the lights at photo shoots. how his deep, smooth voice reverbs in your ears. how his fingers move so deftly on his guitar, as if it’s merely an extension of his body. who wouldn’t fantasize about that late at night, him bending you over and snatching down your pants to fuck the stress out of you, or yourself knocking him down a peg and making him beg to let you cum inside.

“shut-” another roll of his hips makes you gasp. “up..”

“i want you, ___,” eren confesses. his hips don’t falter, his cock becoming hungry for release. “i want that pussy. i wanna fuck that little attitude out of you, can i? i see how you look at me and i stare right back.”

you shiver, hand rushing to undo your dress pants and feel more of eren’s dick against your dampening cunt. his hands work with your perfectly, yanking your pants down. it’s a whirlwind of clothes, your sweater, bra, your other shoe.

eren reaches up to grab your breasts, rolling them in his palms, squeezing the supple flesh, pushing them together. “oh, pretty girl. pretty fuckin’ tits.” leaning down, he kisses down your sternum, stomach, inching closer and closer to your center. he wastes no time grabbing your thighs and licking a nice, long stripe against your drooling cunt and sucking on your clit.

your back immediately arches up and your hands fly to grip eren’s hair, tugging at the locks and pulling him in closer so you can feel everything. “oh my god, eren.” the singer’s not shy at all, audibly sucking at you and reaching up to twist and pinch your pebbled nipples.

with another languid lick eren pulls himself away. he pulls his boxers down on and off, freeing his dick from the constraint. he rubs the thick, weeping tip up and down your slit, staring hungrily at the juices leaking out. the feeling of it makes you shiver in anticipation.

“mmm, mm-mm.” you push yourself up. “let me get ‘n top..” there’s a greedy look in your low eyes as you place your hand on eren’s solid chest and lay him down on the bed.

“take charge here too, huh?” your forwardness makes him chuckle as he watches you straddle his waist. “okay then. ride me.”

you brace yourself on your toes as his hand and yours grasp his shaft, directing it to your pulsing hole. you slide down gingerly onto him, his size quickly stretching you out. “ahh, fuck, eren. fuck…”

“you got it,” he assures you, one hand on your thigh as you sink lower and lower, taking him in inch by inch. he bites his lip at the wet tightness of your walls, squeezing and sucking him in. it makes him throw his head back, a couple of small pants escaping his mouth. “mmhm, fuck that pussy feels so good. take that dick, boss.” his hand raises only to land on your ass check with a sharp slap.

you start out slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the wideness of his dick but that quickly gets old. you’re soon addicted to the feeling of him fitting inside so perfectly. gripping his free hand in yours, you swivel and raise your hips faster and faster, effortlessly, desperate for that feeling of him pounding that oh so sweet spot. your juices slide down his length, the slap slap slap of your ass against his muscled thighs filling the room. “‘s so big, feels so good,” your voice slurs.

eren hisses from his spot under you, eyes trained on where you two connect. mouth slightly agape, he watches your cunt swallow him up and the fluid that leaks out. “yes, mama. keep fucking me just like that. feels.. f-fuckin’ amazin’…” his hands grab your plump ass cheeks, fingers digging in hard as he thrusts his hips up, driving the tip of his cock even deeper inside you and pulling a loud moan from you. “keep goin, mama, ‘m almost there, don’t stop, please..”

his pleading make you clench even tighter around him, and that feeling deep inside your tummy aches for release. you place a hand around his throat to better balance yourself, relishing in his low groan. your thighs quake and tremble, your hips meeting his eager thrust perfectly. “oh, my god; oh my god. i’m— shit!” you throw your head back in ecstasy, cumming hard enough on your client’s dick to leave you numb.

“aw, fuck, boss.” eren thrusts up to push his cum deep inside, holding you against himself to ensure a single drop doesn’t leak. “take it, take it..”

the two of you are left panting hard, bodies sweaty and gleaming with the afterglow of sex. you gingerly pull away, cunt left sore and spent from a round of sex months in the making. eren reaches over to caress your ebon lips, admiring the smooth, wet feeling once you roll onto your back. “no more attitude from you, yeah?”

“no more attitude from the man reduced to calling me ‘mama’ and begging to cum either, i’d assume.” your teasing laughter is cut off by him purposefully sinking three fingers deep inside you. “mmh…”

“mhm, sure.” roles reversed, eren climbs on top of you and stares down with green eyes aflame with lust through his tousled brown hair. “now i want to see what i can make you call me.”

#eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x black reader #eren jaeger x black reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager x black reader #eren jeager x reader #eren x reader #eren x black reader #🏙.aotmodern #❤️‍🔥.aotsmut #kishibyesredditcollab

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greentrickster · 15 days

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Okay, so, been reading some good scumplane (OG!Shen Qingqiu/Airplane) lately, because in this house we support Airplane being loved by terrifying/terrifyingly hot men, but also, like... I do love Moshang just so so much as a ship.

And all this has awoken a mighty need in me.

A need for a Moshangjiu fic with scumplane getting established first and then bringing our favorite popsicle in on things.

Anyway, scenario! Shen Qingqiu starts noticing Shang Qinghua when they're disciples via the classic scenario of being smart enough to realize something is fishy about SQH being the only survivor of a demon attack, begins paying attention to his most anxious shidi, accidentally shows his most anxious shidi the simplest of Human Kindness, accidentally becomes shidi's favorite shixiong, accidentally becomes friends with shidi, accidentally catches feelings. Continues being a Sneaky Bastard in order to figure out what shidi is up to (and now also to confirm shidi is single).

Ah, shidi is entangled with an Ice Demon. This shixiong will make use of his scholarly peak's library to learn all and then decide to- wait. Wait, it's super violent by human standards, but is it- is this demon attempting to... court shidi?

...

Not if SQQ dates him first he's not!!!

There follows a whirlwind romance between SQQ and SQH where no one really knows what's going on, especially the two involved, it involves a lot of shit talking about everyone else in their lives, snacks, and accidental trauma bonding.

Also Airplane being Airplane and accidentally spilling that not only is he also kinda crushing (bad) on Mobei-jun, but also Mobei-jun's entire backstory and please, shixiong, I know it all looks bad but this shidi's house is literally the only place in the world it's completely safe for his king to sleep, everyone deserves to sleep without having to worry about their relatives murdering them for things that aren't their fault from time to time, right, shixiong???

Shen Qingqiu: ...goddammit, the demon's a fellow sad little meow meow. (only not in these exact words because he doesn't know these phrases, naturally)

In a wild, bold, and - dare I say it - shockingly sexy convolution of thought processes and ideas, SQQ manages to finagle SQH into letting him meet with MBJ (SQH nearly has a heart attack three times in the process but it's fine, it's cool, this is his life, this may as well happen, it's fine-).

SQQ: It has come to my attention that my shidi is spying for you on our sect.

MBJ: (glowering at SQH, who is cowering behind shixiong wondering how he got talked into all this)

SQQ: However it also appears that this is merely a cover story and the only thing you really do is use his room to nap. And also that you are quite fond of him.

SQH: (This is it, this is how I die. Again.)

MBJ: (...if I stare straight ahead and don't change my expression, no one will be able to tell that he's right)

SQQ: So anyway I think you should join Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.

MBJ: (gears grinding)

SQH: (squawking splutters of protest and confusion)

SQQ: (who speaks panicking!SQH at this point) Stop that, it's perfectly reasonable. He has the head disciple of our logistics peak under his thumb, it would be the simplest thing in the world for him to have you throw the sect into absolute chaos without even trying, then organize an attack, swoop in, and crush us all. He could have done it years ago, but he never has, he never even seems to initiate anything. I don't think he even cares about taking the Northern Throne, I think he's just incompetent about wanting to spend time with you. So he might as well just lie low until our shizuns ascend and then I'll take him on as a disciple on Qing Jing and you two can stop sneaking around like idiots.

MBJ: >8O

SQQ: Are you actually opposed?

MBJ: (folds arms and looks away sulkily, because like... it's true but you don't have to say it like that)

SQH: 8O ...reverse uno...

SQQ: What?

SQH: You're reverse unoing my blorbo!

SQQ: Quit making up word-

SQQ cannot continue because the System just presented the option to accept this potential new plot line (even if it does have the rather confusing title of 'Shidi Has Two Hands'), and holy shit, Mobei-jun seems to be potentially down for it, holy shit, apparently Mobei-jun actually likes me, holy shit, SQQ may have just solved all my problems-?!? This is great, this is fantastic, this is the best day of my life, this- is a long time I'm being allowed to be myself about all this, why is Shen shixiong not interrupting...?

Ah.

It is because I am kissing him full on the lips.

Cool cool cool.

At least I'm gonna die on a high note.

SQQ: O///O o_o (ahem) Shidi's- shidi's a really bad kisser.

SQH: Ah-haha, I can explain-

SQQ: We should work on that. Later.

SQH: (BEST DAY OF BOTH MY LIVES!!!)

MBJ: (I... did not actually hate watching that. Hm.)

Anyway, he agrees to the plan, SQQ and SQH start dating, some more time passes, the previous generation of peak lords ascend, the new generation take their places, and a week later Mobei-jun is an outer disciple of Qing Jing Peak.

The other peak lords are not amused, Qingqiu that is a demon, no.

SQQ: So what I'm hearing is that whole 'Cang Qiong will accept anyone from anywhere' philosophy was a lie then?

He's a demon!

SQQ: Children can't help where they're born. Now if you'll excuse me, I have classes to teach.

First lesson of the day is SQH and SQQ are a package deal, take it or leave it. Second lesson is no canoodling with Shang Shibo until you've finished with lessons and chores for the day. Third lesson is if you see any Bai Zhan disciples hassling our peak's disciples you can break their swords. Just snap 'em in half. Throw them off the peak. Don't kill them, but do make them cry.

SQH, meanwhile, has now seen MBJ in an outer disciple uniform and had a whole bunch of new awakenings on top of all the other things he already knew about himself.

And, in a twist of dramatic irony... Qing Jing's first disciple to ever have demonic heritage decides the dorms are a no-go after one night because, to him, they are broiling hot, how can anyone sleep in this heat, and chooses to go sleep in the wood shed instead.

#svsss #scum villian self saving system #moshang #scumplane #moshangjiu #shang qinghua #mobei jun #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #super fast and dirty outline to banish this plot bunny from my brain and inflict it on others instead

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anodyne-sunflower · 7 months

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You know, I feel like some in the fandom don't quite see how belittling it is for them to automatically make Astarion incapable of ever enjoying sex or wanting it. As someone who has been through a lot of sexual abuse in my life, violent ones at that, it was a difficult path (and still is) to realize it's okay to want sex, to enjoy it with the right person. We have trauma, but we aren't broken. It took me a long time to let myself enjoy it, with the right people, because I spent years telling myself it was wrong due to my past. That I shouldn't feel good because I've once felt disgusting and bad.

It's a struggle and even married, I sometimes dissociate. But I have a partner willing to listen, to be patient when I need it. But also not afraid to ever touch me, to pleasure me.

So it drives me a little mad when fans seem to think Astarion is incapable of ever having it again with Tav or whoever. That it's wrong to place him in a relationship that's sexual. He isn't fucking broken, if you romance him, you become his good experience. Just like my husband was for me. The right person, the gentle person, makes all the difference in finding yourself again, and learning it's okay to feel 'good' (not just sexually) in your life. We have temptations, urges, happiness, trust, fear, disgust, anger, shame. The list goes on but those emotions don't need to cancel out one another. Let us feel them. Let us determine what we can and can't do. Don't write us off as damaged goods to be cooed over and treated like celibacy is all there is to healing.

Yes, this is a rant, but having felt those experiences myself, I just hate being viewed as broken or being treated with kid gloves. We're still people, we're still allowed to have fulfilling sex lives. It isn't wrong to see Astarion and let Tav be that someone he trusts enough to eventually get back to that point. I also know he's fictional lol but I just get upset when perusing the tags and watching some say him wanting sex or fans writing him or drawing him in such situations is wrong. HE ISN'T BROKEN. Sexual trauma will always be with us types, but we are not broken goddammit...we are people, we just need someone to see that in us.

We are allowed to live a life, remember that. You don't get to dictate our traumas path to healing. That's precisely how abusers want it to be. To take all of our freedom of choice, and twist it to forever be 'tainted' (as Astarion says too). Fuck that. We can be people again. We're allowed that.

#sorry #i got serious over fiction again #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion #tav x astarion #we are people #we just needed someone to see that

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thelampisaflashlight · 2 months

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Dew, fresh from the shower: "Mount, I can't use the shared bathroom in the dorms anymore." Mountain, looking up from his phone: "Hm?" Dew, leaning against the doorframe: "Went to go tell the others I was getting in the shower so they could go in before me if they needed to pee or whatever, and you know what happened, Mount? You know what happened to me?" Mountain, sitting up: "...What happened?" Dew, pinching the bridge of his nose: "I went to go tell them, and I took two steps towards the living room and let out the loudest goddamned fart of my fucking life. Shit fucking echoed off the walls, and just when I thought, 'Fuck, this can't get any worse-' I let it rip again, Mount, and this wasn't a little pfft, this was a cartoon ass explosion level fart..." Mountain, trying not to laugh: "O-Oh?" Dew, pressing his forehead against the wall: "Mount, I was like, 'I'm gonna take a shower.' and Swiss said, 'What, you shit yourself, dude?' and I didn't even have time to defend myself before Aether started in on his, 'You ate cheese again, didn't you-' lecture, and YEAH! Yeah, I ate cheese, but goddammit-" Swiss, from the hall: "I'm surprised that little ass could produce so much noise!" Dew, leaving the room: "Motherfucker, I- Hold on." -closes the door- "When I get my hands on you-"

#lamp rambles #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul #swiss ghoul #aether ghoul #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc

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cowgurrrl · 6 months

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Sam

Author’s note: Inspired by @pomegranatevampire’s amazing drawing of Ellie and a puppy and written with permission from the original artist 🩷 dedicated to my childhood dogs who passed away a year ago next month whose love and dedication taught me more about life than anything else (PS please listen to Sam by Strugill Simpson I LOVE IT)

Summary: "he heard them as they walked past say 'too big, too old, too damaged'. so still he waited, patiently, for someone to accept the things he could not change. for someone to stop and say 'i choose you.'" - zeppelin moon aka Joel and Ellie adopt a dog [1.2k]

Warnings: talk of nightmares, PTSD, brief mention of addiction recovery, puppy fluff :-)

"No. Absolutely not." Joel says within a millisecond of seeing Ellie with the mutt at the back door. It's not a particularly big dog. He's small enough for Ellie to hold him but big enough that she has to use both arms and balance him on a hip to keep him steady. Even then, it wouldn't matter how big or small it is because he's perfectly content in the girl's arms.

"I didn't even say anything!" She whines, and Joel shakes his head.

"Don't matter. The answer's still no."

"Look at his little face! You can't say no to that face!" Ellie says, grabbing the dog's nose and turning his face toward Joel in a show of big, sad eyes from both of them. The dog, which Joel now realizes is more a puppy than anything else, is surprisingly calm when Ellie grabs him. No growling or biting. He didn't even flinch. It's impressive that such a feral thing wouldn't react negatively to her.

There isn't an abundance of dogs in Jackson. Most of them are used for work, joining on patrols, and whatnot, but every so often, some dogs fail out of the training. Sometimes, they're adopted by families in Jackson, and other times, they're left to their own devices to roam the town. Everyone does their part to take care of them by giving them food and belly rubs when they want them, but for the most part, they keep to themselves. This heap of brown, black, grey, and white fur, however, is practically melting at any form of attention he can get. Even Joel's hardened glare.

"Please, Joel, let me stay," Ellie says in a goofy voice, moving the dog's head like he's the one who's talking, and Joel rolls his eyes. Goddammit. If he loved this girl less, he would be able to stand his ground and force the canine back out to the porch. But he can't, and he doesn't.

"One night. He can stay for one night, but then he's gotta go back out." He relents, and Ellie looks like she could explode with glee. She puts the dog down and opens the back door, letting the puppy rush over to Joel in a tidal wave of excited squeals and slobber. If he thought Ellie was excited, it was nothing compared to the animal half in his lap and licking his face.

"Laika! Get off Joel, you psycho!" Ellie shouts before physically picking up the dog and putting him back on the floor.

"You already named him?" Joel asks, and Ellie smiles sheepishly. "What kinda name is Laika anyway?"

"Laika was the first animal in space. She was a mutt they found on the streets of Russia and thought she'd be a good fit."

"Why?"

"They thought because she was a stray, she could withstand space conditions. I don't know how true it was, though, 'cause they never brought her back."

"So, you named him after a dead Russian dog stuck in space forever?"

"No, I named him after one of the greatest heroes to ever live. Get it together, old man." Ellie says matter-of-factly before snapping her fingers and running up the stairs with Laika on her heels.

That night, Ellie feeds, walks, and makes a makeshift bed for Laika on her floor out of blankets and a pillow from the downstairs couch. Laika is quiet as he adjusts to going from living outside full time to being waited on hand and foot by Ellie, but he greets her with tail wags and affectionate licks when she gets close enough. When Joel peeks his head into her room after she's fallen asleep, he sees that Laika has forgone the homemade bed and has instead crawled into bed with Ellie. He's sitting at the edge of it, staring at the door, when Joel comes in, and he swore he heard the dog growling before he realized it was Joel. Not that he wants the dog to be violent or reactive, but it's good to know that he's protective over his little girl. Laika: Once an explorer of space (and Jackson), now a protector of Ellie.

Of course, Laika ends up staying for longer than just one night. Joel and Ellie take him to the vet in town to make sure he's healthy and has everything he needs. After a few shots, Laika is given a perfect bill of health and sent on his way. They go to the store together and buy a food bowl, a bed, and a rope that Joel ties to make a tug-of-war toy for him. He may not have wanted the dog at first, but he still deserves some toys, right?

It isn't until winter that Joel realizes just how important Laika is to Ellie. Winter is hard for both of them. Memories of that first winter spent together haunt their days and nights and make it hard to breathe, let alone sleep. One night, Ellie wakes up crying so loud that Joel hears from down the hallway, and he quickly rushes to her aid. However, when he gets there, he sees Laika tucked under Ellie's chin, putting a comforting weight in her lap and distracting her from the panic seizing her by the shoulders. Joel tip toes in, not wanting to disturb the peace, and Ellie catches sight of him.

"You alright, kiddo?" He asks, and she nods.

"Laika helped." She says simply. He smiles and sits with them until she's soothed enough to go back to sleep. Even in sleep, Laika stays nearby, snuggling into her chest and sighing contentedly every once in a while. That image of them cuddling in bed seals the deal for Joel. He'll give Laika the best life possible if it means he makes Ellie happy.

Joel gradually warms up to the dog as he grows into his too-big paws and personality. He feeds him scraps of food from the dinner table and finds quality sticks from the yard to throw him during their sunset backyard time together as a family. On late-night patrols, Laika is the first one to greet him with excited sniffs and licks. Laika is also shockingly good at reading Joel's emotions too. When the weight of grief gets too much, or he feels himself teetering between sobriety and relapse, Laika will nudge his leg with his nose and distract him from distressing thoughts. Joel learns to enjoy Laika's company and vice versa.

If Joel is downstairs playing guitar or woodworking while Ellie's asleep, Laika will walk down there and sit at his feet just so he has some company. Joel often rewards him with ear scratches and a kind word or two. "You're a good dog, ain't ya?" He'll ask, and Laika will perk up as if to say, "Who? Me?" "I know Ellie tells ya that all the time, but I thought you oughta know I think you're pretty cool, too." Laika's tail always thumps against the floor when Joel talks to him like that, and Joel always gets a weird sense of pride in his chest, knowing he made the dog happy. "Yeah. You're a good boy." Then, after a quick kiss to the head and a belly rub, he'll nudge Laika with his foot. "Now go on and get your girl." With that, Laika walks back up the stairs and takes his sentinel position at the foot of Ellie's bed.

And only once he knows that both of his humans are happy and safe will Laika lay down his soft head and dream secret dreams of smiling faces and sticks thrown through a green field.

#the last of us series #the last of us fic #the last of us fluff #joel miller fluff #joel miller and ellie williams #ellie and joel #joel tlou #ellie tlou #joel the last of us #ellie the last of us #the last of us

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bloodynereid · 7 months

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Reapers & Ravens

<< prev | chapter iii | next >>

pairings: jordan li x oc

tw: swearing (like A LOT but come on it's gen v), seizures, mentions of death, drinking of alcohol, mentions of sex, iffy morals, bad parents

description: the story of a girl. a girl cursed by compound v to live a life without touch.

a/n: so this chapter is a little shorter that the rest cause i tried to stay as faithful to the ep as i could! hopefully u enjoy the addition of vic's dad and some more convos and interactions between jordan and vic. lmk if you wanted to be added to the taglist and my asks are open if you feel like chatting :) also one of my wonderful mutuals (the same one who created gemma) helped me write a few of their interactions so writing credits to them as well <3

The harsh white light that illuminated the stairwell cast strange shadows on Cate’s face as she convulsed. It had already been over 3 minutes and she wasn’t stopping, Andre and I were completely lost on what to do. We couldn’t just call an ambulance - we were in a restricted area of the school where a top secret Vought bunker was literally placed.

Then I remembered the incident with Luke’s blood, the way that his power seemed to have soaked into my veins when I absorbed the remaining energy in his cells. If I could control it, I could save Cate. Control over greed. Control over greed. Fuck okay I can do this.

Taking a deep breath, I looked over at Andre, watching as he scrambles to do anything and everything to get Cate out of her seizure. Goddammit. I start pulling off my gloves and stretch out my now naked fingers.

“Andre… I have an idea.” He looked up at me with pleading eyes but then he realized that my hands were uncovered.

“What- Vic, you know what don’t tell me, just do it.” I nodded and inched my hands closer and closer to Cate’s convulsing face.

“You need to be prepared to pull me away if I can’t stop myself.”

“Wha-” Before Andre could finish his exclamation my fingertips shakily laid on top of Cate’s forehead. As soon as I felt her energy start entering my body I wrenched my hand away and took a deep breath. I could feel everyone’s life force around me, even the ones behind the concrete door.

“Vic what the hell did you just do?”

Ignoring Andre’s voice I focused on the foreign force that tingled in my brain. Unlike the cold fire that corresponded to Luke’s powers this sort of felt like spicy chocolate. Sweet but also imbued with something peppery.

I focused the power on my hands. I delicately placed them again on Cate’s face, this time I didn’t feel any of her life force seeping through. Only human skin. Oh wow so that’s what it felt like.

“Stop Cate. Relax.” Once the words left my mouth Cate stopped spasming and the spicy chocolate feeling left my brain, suddenly replaced by a rush of my power which instantly started to absorb her life force. I jerked my hands away and rubbed my wrists. I did it. I actually did it.

“Oh my god Vic, what the fuck?” I blinked up at Andre and pulled on my gloves, taking extra time to do up the clasp.

“I- I don’t know Andre. Something happened when Luke’s blood hit my body and I took a chance.”

Andre opened his mouth to respond, thankfully his eyes didn’t seem to hold anger, just a whole lot of confusion and something like… awe but then Cate let out a loud groan.

“Uh guys?” My eyes left Andre’s and looked down at the blonde, she had a confused but weak smile on her face and her eyes were all bloodshot.

“CATE! You’re okay, oh thank god.” Andre gingerly encased her in a hug and a fragile laugh was heard in the corridor.

“Aww thank you I wasn’t aware that I’d been raised to the status of god.” I said with a chuckle and Cate looked at me with a confused look on her face.

“What exactly did you do Vic?” Andre asked while we both helped Cate to her feet, I unrolled my sweater from where it laid on the floor and pulled it onto my shoulders. Carefully maneuvering around the guards, we stealthily (not really) walked up the staircase.

“So you know how I told you ages ago that I never once absorbed a supe?”

“Yeah… what does that have to do with this?”

“Well, a few days ago when he umm died, I was sort of able to siphon some of his power from the blood that hit me. I don’t have any idea how I did it but if I didn’t do anything Cate could have gotten really hurt so I needed to at least try.”

“You two are literally going to be the death of me. It’s like looking Reckless #1 and Reckless #2 over here.” Andre said with a roll of his eyes but a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Oh and you’re one to talk.” Cate adds meekly, a teasing tone evident in her statement. I laugh slightly and make her lean more of her weight against my side.

Once we got Cate to her dorm room, I left Cate and Andre to talk. They had this tension between them that I very much didn’t want to get involved in. Then a realization hit my brain like a freight train. The fucking interview! Shit I had promised Jordan.

I twirled around in place and started sprinting to the auditorium where we had the shoot earlier today. My heels clicked hard against the concrete and my enhanced stamina helped me stay at the same furiously fast pace until I reached the doors.

Slamming them open with as much force I could muster (with supe strength it ended up with the doors being knocked off their hinges slightly) and walking into the now darkened auditorium. The only things in sight were not camera equipment, a talk show set or even any other people. At the end of one of the rows, I heard whistling and saw one of the school’s janitors mopping the floor.

I let out a frustrated sigh through my teeth and rubbed a hand over my hair. Pulling on a couple of the blonde strands, I twirled around and made my way back out into the warm night.

“Fuck!” I moaned out, kicking a stone into the green grass surrounding the walkways. I needed to find Jordan. I needed to find them quickly.

I ran over to the junior dorms, knowing that Jordan’s dorm was only a few rooms away from Cate’s. Pounding on the steel door, I prepared myself for the inevitable backlash my decision was going to result in.

“Fuck off.” Jordan’s voice seemed almost distant because of how muffled the door made it.

“Jordan look I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” I heard some distant scuffling inside before the door was unlocked and pulled open. There stood Jordan, eyes rimmed with red and in pajamas. Still looking as stunning as ever.

“What?”

“I don’t really know how to explain this without fucking things up but uh Cate and Andre needed me.”

“Oh really? So you just decide to go against your promises for a quick fuck?”

“WHAT? No, no. Where the fuck did you hear that? I didn’t sleep with them.” I frantically tried to explain myself, stumbling over my words like there was no tomorrow.

“Yeah sure.” Jordan’s face was now covered in a mask of annoyance and indifference, a sarcastic smirk trying to cover the cracks of her vulnerability.

“Jordan… Cate had a seizure, Andre was busy doing something illegal again and dragged me with him. Cate tried to help but she pushed too much. I was trying to help her.”

“Oh. Shit. Is Cate okay?” Jordan’s face no longer looked angry instead pure worry seeped through their pores, they instantly shifted with a soft pop.

“Yeah uh Andre and her are in her room.” I chuckled slightly but Jordan just rolled his eyes.

“Sorry for assuming I just thought-”

“No you’re good, I would have done the same thing. Probably would have blown up more to be honest. I should be the one saying sorry.”

“Oh it’s fine, not like the trustees would do anything different.” Jordan answered in a self-deprecating tone.

“Did Marie at least say something?”

“Oh no she was playing her part like a perfect little puppet.”

“God I’m really fucking sorry, Jordan.”

“The system’s fucked what can I say? At least we have the memorial ball tomorrow, I can try to get some sponsorships and stuff there.”

“Fuck right the ball. My dad’s supposed to be coming to that.”

“Shit I’m hoping and praying that my parents don’t show up. Uh do you want to come in?” A smile immediately blossomed on my face at their suggestion.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Nah come on in. It could be like our first meeting of the shitty parents club.”

“Oh do you have stories cause I have plenty?” I aaked as I shut the door behind me and stood slightly awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“I’ll give you one better, I have stories and weed.” He said as they held out a bag of gummies.

“Fuck yeah!”

I, as silently as I could, carefully opened the door to my shared dorm. The sun had risen about an hour ago and it felt like I was living the literal definition of ‘walk of shame’ even if Jordan and I hadn’t actually done anything yesterday.

Somehow I had completely forgotten that Gemma was an early bird so the second I stepped through the heavy door, my roommate jumped up from her bed.

“Ah Vic where have you been? Did you sleep with someone? Ooo was it Andre? Tell me everything.” Gemma said as she joyfully jumped up and down around me, before I could even take notice of her barrage of questions I realized that her hair had changed. It no longer was her usual shade of red instead it hung down her shoulders in strawberry blonde ringlets.

“Your hair? Also wait- Andre? Why does everyone keep thinking I’m sleeping with Andre?”

“Oh right, I got bored last night but come on! Tell me what happened. And I don’t know you guys just have this vibe.”

“We do not! I think we’re going to need all morning for me to clarify the fact I’m very much not sleeping with Andre.”

“I don’t have any classes and I’m pretty sure you don’t either so stop making me wait.”

“Alright, alright.” I let out a laugh at her contagious joy and spent the next hour discussing every minute of last night’s adventures, even the illegal bits.

After our little catch up, I decided to get changed out of my day old clothes and finally get some softer gloves on my hands. When I had inevitably crashed on Jordan’s bed last night, I wasn’t able to change into my usual pair of sleep gloves. So after having leather on my hands for more than 24 hours I was more than glad to welcome the feeling of soft and pillowy cotton.

Once I had put on a whole new outfit and washed my face I felt like an actual person again. The soft sheets crumpled around my body as I readjusted my reading position. In front of my eyes stood the text of a psychology book on conspiracy theories. It was actually pretty interesting and so far removed from my usual school readings that the world around me just disappeared for a little while.

Unfortunately, my little moment of solitude was disturbed by our dorm room’s door flinging open and as I turned to look at who the intruder was I recognized her to be Emma. Emma who hadn’t even realized I was there so she just kind of threw herself onto Gemma’s bed. Since the divider to our room stopped me from being able to see what was going on I just decided to rely on my senses. Closing my eyes, I blindly shut the book and focused.

“Gemma, I- fuck I need you to shift into me.”

“Uh okay sure?”

A second later I hear sounds of kissing and my mouth drops, oh OH shit. The sounds of moaning and whimpering seemed to start increasing in volume and I realized I probably should leave. Two sets of loud moans made me make up my mind instantly. Yup definitely leaving.

As silently as I could, I grabbed my books, iPad, headphones and phone before shoving them into my canvas bag. I also put an extra pair of gloves, purple this time, in case they were needed for whatever reason.

Tiptoeing my way over to the door, I risked a glance at the couple with a slight smile on my face. Gemma deserved the fucking world and hopefully Emma would be able to provide some of it. I twisted the knob of the door and just as I stepped through the door I turned back one last time.

“Wear protection!” I said with a teasing lilt in my voice and let the door slam close as a loud ‘fuck’ echoed through the hallway.

Group Chat with Cate, J, A.A. & Luke

Me: anyone free?

don’t have classes until the afternoon

i’m boredddd

J: can’t

got some stupid essay i need to do for a fucking extra branding seminar about lunchboxes

Me: lol what

why r u taking that?

J: fuck if i know

it’s mandatory supposedly

Cate: WHAT

no it’s not

who told u that?

also vic i’m free meet me @ the tables outside the caf

Me: k omw

J: ITS NOT MANDATORY?

fuck that little fuck louis

A.A.: really?

u trusted louis?

J: he’s my academic advisor u bitch

ofc i trusted him

Laughing, I locked my phone and tried to spot Cate at the tables. My eyes caught hers at one of the end tables and she waved with a smile on her face, urging me to join her.

“Hi. It’s good to see you’re doing better.” I said once I put my bag down on one of the benches and got a good look at the blonde. She looked absolutely radiant today, clad in a sage green blazer and dangling pearl earrings.

“Yeah, thanks for that. You quite literally saved my life.”

“Hey that’s what friends are for right?” I asked as I laid my gloved hand over hers. She smiled and tugged a flyaway strand of her hair away from her face.

“Of fucking course, now tell me all about what happened with Jordan last night.”

“How did you know?”

“I have my sources.” She says in a sing-song voice as a smirk paints her face. I huff out a laugh and shake my head fondly.

“Fine, keep your secrets but… you have to tell me everything that happened with Andre.”

“Deal.”

Cate and I talked for what seemed like hours (in the best way possible) and we ended up ordering lunch. A pasta dish that was probably one of the best things I had ever tasted.

“Vicky, I didn’t realize you had already made some friends.” The familiar voice made my spine seize up and goosebumps appear on my arms, and not the fun kind. Cate’s mouth had dropped open as I swiveled around to look directly at my dad’s hazel eyes.

“Hey dad.”

“Kiddo! Come on, give me a hug.” He had a wide smile on his face, he looked genuinely happy - not buzzed happy. That was probably one of the only reasons why I actually decided to hug him. After he left me out of a slightly too tight embrace, he looked towards Cate and smiled.

“Oh right dad, meet Cate Dunlap. Cate, meet my dad.”

“Uh hello Mr. Oaks or uh Frostbite, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She said, politely offering her gloved hand.

“Nice to meet you as well Cate. These are beautiful gloves, similar powers to my daughter then?”

“Uh kind of, I can mind control people using my hands.” Dad’s eyes widened as he whistled appreciatively.

“Wow, now that’s a cool power. If you can excuse us, I need to pull my beautiful daughter away for a bit. We have a fitting.” Right, the memorial gala. Ugh.

“Yeah sure. I’ll see you there.” Cate quickly encased me in a hug and then leaned close to my ear, “I forgot how hot your dad was.”

“Cate!” An outraged gasp left my mouth as she just laughed while she walked in the direction of her dorm.

“Well isn’t she a charmer?” He was watching her walk away with a smirk on his face causing my mouth to turn into a disgusted sneer.

“Dad, really? I told you I had a rule about my friends, plus you’re like decades older than her.”

“I know, sweetheart. Come on, I found the perfect dress to match my suit. After your little interview stunt you’re going to need all the help you can get to stay in the top 10.”

“Yeah dad, I get it.”

I rubbed my temples as we made our way to one of the many cars that are in dad’s collection. This one was an Aston Martin DB5, the James Bond car. It was a wrap gift from one of Vought’s many rip off movies my dad starred in, he had gotten to play James Bond-type for 3 movies and somehow managed to still get roles.

My heels sunk into the plush of the red carpet, flashes of the many cameras seemed to permeate my eyes and kept me changing my poses. I was wearing a beautiful sleeveless dress that made me seem like I was floating. The folds of bluish gray mixed perfectly with the pearly white, even my gloves were designed specifically to complement this outfit.

Sometimes you had to give my dad some credit, he did have an eye for fashion. He stood next to me with an open white shirt and steely gray suit. Once I had done enough solo posing I skipped my way over to dad and gave him a one armed hug, painting on a cheerful smile for the cameras. I was careful not to let any exposed skin near his hand because that would be bad… not for me but for literally everyone else.

It was like the cameras exploded, so many flashes were now directed towards us that it was blinding. I endured it for another minute before thankfully dad dragged into the ball… where we were greeted by even more cameras. I adjusted the ribbon that dad insisted I wear and gave a little smirk to the cameras. Dad walked next to me until finally the cameras focused on Marie and the dean behind us. Now that was a weird pair.

“Good job sweetheart. You ready to mingle?”

“Are you?”

“Always.” He flashed me his politician smile and quickly grabbed two glasses of champagne before handing me one and moving towards a group of old white guys, the trustees probably.

I took a sip of champagne and looked around the room, spying quite a few familiar faces before I landed on Gemma’s, she was standing off to the side with a glass of water - staring out into the sea of people with a thoughtful look on her face.

I weaved my way through all the trustees and potential donors until I finally sidled up next to her and offered the glass of champagne in my hand.

“You look like you need this more than I do.” Gemma jumped slightly at the sound of my voice and turned to look at me.

“Shit you scared me. Ooo champagne thank you.” She passed me her water and then proceeded to down the entire flute in one go.

“Okay wow, what is going on?”

“Nothing. You look incredible by the way.”

“You do too,” I looked down at her impeccable suit, it had bubbled sleeves and a sheer patterned shirt under the white blazer, “but there is clearly something up. Come on, you know I’ll probably just ridicule you slightly and not actually judge you for it.”

“So you know how I slept with Emma…”

“Yes? I was there for like the first bit of it.” She cringed back for a second and took back her glass of water, taking a sip before she continued with her admission.

“I don’t think I can actually have a serious relationship with her.” Oh okay wow, heavy topics already and I had only had a sip of champagne.

“Okay do you mind if I ask why? You know I support you in anything you might choose.”

“Well… she’s really hot and sweet and so goddamn nice but I can only see us that way in the short term. I was able to help with the whole video thing and I’m actively trying to help her realize how fucking incredible she is but I don’t think we would be good together.”

“Gem, for the short time that I’ve known you, you are quite literally the most selfless person ever. That’s really fucking rare for people like us so if you feel like this is something that is going to help you then I think you need to choose it. Keep being friends with Emma and have fun but do what you need to do.”

“Yeah, I just don’t feel like I’m at a point in my life where I can be a serious girlfriend. I literally just made it to university and everything is already pretty fucking insane. We talked about it a lot... afterwards. Emma knew that I was happy to help her get through this and to learn to love herself - a bit literally I guess - but we both decided that she needed an actual partner and not a shapeshifting fuckbuddy therapist. She needs someone that is going to be there for her in ways I can’t. I just… I feel like I change too much. ”

“Woah hey, you’re perfect how you are but honestly I agree with you, getting into a serious relationship right now might actually mess up everything else so I’m glad that you actually know what is good for you. I’m so fucking proud of you Gem, and it’s good you talked about this with Emma so now you’re both on the same page and weird shit won’t go down.”

“Aww stop it. We’re going to make each other cry and our makeup will get all kinds of fucked up.” I laughed wetly and pulled her into a hug, gingerly maneuvering so none of my very exposed skin was touching hers. The single problem that this dress had was that I could literally kill anyone instantly.

“VICKY! Darling get over here, look who I found.” Gemma and I both turned to look in the direction of the voice that just shouted my name. My dad was standing next to Andre and his dad and was frantically waving me over.

“Your dad?”

“My dad. I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Yeah thanks for checking up on me. I think I really needed that.”

“Anytime.” I smiled at her and then started making my way over to the little group, dropping off the champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray.

“Hey dad, Mr. Anderson. Good to see you again.”

“You too Victoria. You look absolutely beautiful tonight, as always. Doesn’t she Andre?”

“Hmm yeah Vic, you look incredible. The color really looks good on you.”

“You have to thank dad for that one, he picked out the entire thing.”

“Aww Vicky you give too much credit to your old man, I have way too many designer friends that were happy to finally design something for you.”

“Right, Adrian - you and I have some catching up to do. Let’s leave the bright young heroes of tomorrow to mingle.”

“Yes, let’s see if they’re serving any of that top shelf whisky.” I heard their chuckles as the pair walked off towards the bar and I turned to Andre.

“So… you and Cate huh?”

“Fuck off.” He answered with a laugh clearly slipping into his voice as we started making rounds around the groups of trustees. Better to be a united front against these people.

I grabbed two glasses of champagne and made my way out of the main reception. There were too many people and everyone’s clothes kept brushing against my naked arms. All I wanted to do was grab someone’s exposed hand and take away every inch of their life force just to feel a little less staticky. So I thought that the next best thing was to absorb any and all of the plant life outside the building.

Sitting down on the stone steps I pulled off one of my gloves and eased my fingertips into the soil. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and focused. The little pulses of the underground root systems started to sing against my power, each cell produced enough energy that after a few minutes the static that filled my mind faded away. I dusted off my hand and pulled my glove back on and was about to head back into the hall when I heard some leaves rustling.

“Uh, is anyone out there?”

“You know if this was a horror movie you would definitely be dead right now.” Jordan’s unmistakable voice rang out into the night making let out a laugh.

“Aww don’t kill me Jordan, I want to make it to season 2.” Jordan walked out from behind one of the bushes and ran a hand through their hair. It made her look so fucking good that it should be a criminal offence.

“Of course you like Scream. What are you doing out here?” They asked as they took a seat next to me and grabbed one of the champagne glasses, shifting as their mouth made contact with the rim of the glass.

“Killing some plants and trying to get away from all the people. Why are you out here?” I took a sip from my own glass and leaned back so my elbows made contact with the cold concrete floor.

“Trying to get away from my parents. They’re just so fucking frustrating, like I know they’re trying but I’m not just their son. Fuck you really don’t want to hear this.” Just as they were about to get up, I extended my hand and grabbed her forearm.

“Hey look, I do want to hear about it. You don’t need to pretend everything is perfect all the fucking time cause it’s not.”

“I- yeah thanks. I just don’t want to be too much and we literally just met.”

“Hey! We got high and have gone through more trauma than most people have in their lifetimes. I think we’re bonded for life now.” He lets out a chuckle and traces a hand over my gloves. A giddy little smile appears on my face.

“Yeah I guess we are.” His eyes level up with mine and something softens in them, they are about to open their mouth again when I hear a loud shout from inside.

“Vicky!” Fucking hell not again.

“Seems like someone is calling you.”

“Yeah my dad is having fun showcasing me like a prize trophy to all the trustees. We’ll talk later?”

“Definitely.” They switch with a pop and extends their hand. My leather gloves stop the contact from feeling too intimate but it still felt like sparks were extending all over my body.

“Vicky!”

“Fuck, see you in a bit.” I blow them a kiss as I dash inside searching the crowd for my dad, once he sees me he points at the people next to him with a smile and mouths: ‘trustees’. Great, just perfect.

I leaned my head against the cold bar top, the dean’s speech had grated my already raw nerves and dad had almost started giving me an entire lecture on why I should have been up there with Marie. I was happy for her truly, but this whole situation was fucked.

“Oh wow you two look rough.” Cate’s voice made me look up from my position on the bar to see that Jordan had silently joined my side and was downing a glass of champagne.

“I hate this.”

“What happened to you?”

“Parents.”

“Dad.” I said at the same time as Jordan and we sent each other empathetic looks.

“Say no more.” Cate took off her glove in a swift move and pressed her fingers to the bartender’s hand. “Vodka. The expensive shit you save for the big swinging dicks. Oh and three glasses.”

I got up from my position and smiled gratefully, grabbing the extra glass I followed the duo over to one of the more secluded sections of the room. We spent the next few minutes, while everyone pretended to give a single fuck about Brink, steadily downing multiple shots of vodka and talking about campus gossip and the latest shitty show Vought had put out.

“Hey Moreau.” I turned to look in the direction that Jordan had directed her spiteful tone at, there stood Marie, looking stunning in that red dress. As their argument progressed I silently poured myself another shot (if you could even consider it a shot) of vodka.

“I didn’t know I had powers until my first period… I couldn’t control the blood so it sliced right through my mom’s body. My dad came, same deal.” My heart dropped, holy shit - and I thought my situation was bad.

“Fucking hell.” I said I took a sip of my glass.

“Yeah so if you can excuse me, I have just spent the entire night being dragged around like a fucking showpony.”

“Hey.” Cate pulls up one of the seats to the table and pats the cotton cushion.

“My family and I were on a camping trip, my little brother kept kicking at my shins. I didn’t know about my power so I grabbed him by the arm and told him to go away and never come back. He did just that - they sent out search parties and everything but… we never found him. My mom never touched me again. Neither did my dad.” I swallow dryly and move a drop of condensation along the rim of my glass. Why the hell would Vought do this to us? Greed probably. It’s always about greed and power.

“I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” Marie stuttered out and I cleared my throat.

“It’s not your fault. Your parents gave you a dangerous drug as a baby to make a buck off you-”

“No, no they weren’t like that.”

“Yes they were, they did this. You didn't, so don't you spend a second crying over them.”

“I- uh. I know the official story is that my mom died giving birth to me and that I got my powers much later but umm that didn’t exactly happen. I don’t remember it much because supposedly I was just a few days old but she touched my hand while singing me to sleep one night. My dad puts on a show for everyone most of the time. He expects perfection because that’s the only way he can cope with the literal murderer of his wife living under his roof.”

I felt a tear slip from my eyes and wiped it away quickly as the entire group just looked at with guilt in their eyes.

“So yeah there’s my little sob story. I still feel responsible even if dad gave me these godforsaken powers, which fucking sucks.” I laughed wetly and took a swig of vodka, letting the burning sensation cloud my thoughts.

“Vic, holy shit. I’m so fucking sorry.” Cate rubbed my shoulder and I smiled at the feeling of warmth that radiated from her gloves against my skin.

“You know… I killed my grandpa with my powers.” I turned to look at Jordan who was staring at me with a neutral expression on their face.

“No you didn’t.” Cate responded.

“Yeah I know… I was just feeling left out.” I let out a loud snort and covered my face with my glove as I continued to giggle. Jordan smirked at me and nudged their pinky against mine.

“Hey… umm guys - I fucked up.” Andre said as came up to the table, panic clearly showing in his eyes.

“Andre…” I started, a clearly annoyed tone seeping into my voice.

“What did you do?”

“It’s about her roommate.”

“Emma?”

“Who the fuck is Emma?”

“Andre…” I repeated as I realized what he had done. Oh no.

“I think she’s stuck.”

“You didn’t.”

“Where? Where is she stuck?”

“You know where.”

“Andre. You promised.”

“Andre, you fucking idiot.” I leaned back in my chair as I uttered the words and closed my eyes tightly. This nightmare seemed to be never-ending.

links to the outfits cause i was bored: vic's dress but greyer, vic's dad's suit, gemma's suit

lmk ur thoughts <3

taglist: @neapolitantoebeans @scorchedfangirl @losers-club6 @vvyuqi @bubblebuttwade @fix5idiots @ponypickle @nellyboosworld

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kaminocasey · 3 months

Text

Dream A Little Dream of Me: Part 3

Summary: You get into an accident and are transported to the Star Wars galaxy permanently... for the time being. In the meantime, you get closer to Rex.

Pairing: Captain Rex x f!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Angst, reader gets into an accident in the real world, Hardcase lives though!

WC: 4.2K

A/N: HELLO I know it's been a hot minute since I've updated most of my fics, BUT the good news is, I'm focusing on four of my big fics this year: Dream A Little, Sacred Woman, Bonsoir, and Loverboy. I'll also do small fics and try to update the smaller fics when I can! ANYWAY, I am really excited about this fix it fic <3 (pics from Pinterest) AND A HUGE shoutout to my girl @idledreams for reading over this COUNTLESS times and still hyping me up over it (Along with all my writing) You're the best! <3

Dream A Little Masterlist │ Playlist

Don’t panic.

DON’T. PANIC.

“I meant someone else. I’m not confident that I can-”

“Cut the osik. What’s going on?” Kix crosses his arms, his eyes still narrowed at you.

How are you supposed to get out of this? He clearly knows you well enough to know you’re lying. What if you just tell him the truth? He’ll more than likely think you’re crazy. You’re still not entirely convinced you’re not.

This is all just starting to feel too real for you, so you close your eyes and will yourself awake.

Wake up.

WAKE. UP. Goddammit. Why isn’t it working?

Kix sighs your name, making your eyes snap open again.

“Just talk to me.” Kix sighs, a pleading look in his eyes.

Clearly the two of you are good friends here in your dream or alternate reality, or whatever this is.

“Do you promise to not think I’m crazy or to not tell anyone if I tell you?” You ask him, your pleading look matching his own.

He nods. “Of course.”

As the two of you walk in silence to a more secluded spot, you try to figure out how to tell him the truth. Even though he promised to not think you’re crazy, that doesn’t mean he can stop the intruding thought from popping into his head. And you can’t really blame him. Would you believe you if you were in someone else’s shoes?

“Okay…” You breathe out as you find a closet and go inside. “Okay…”

Your hands start fidgeting, clenching and unclenching as you pace in the small space. Kix murmurs your name again, stopping you so that you look at him.

“It’s alright.” He assures you.

You nod, wanting to believe him.

God, why can’t you wake up?

“I’m not from here…” You start.

He laughs, confused. “Okay?”

“I’m not from this… reality?” You still struggle to find the words.

“What do you mean?” His brows furrow as he struggles to understand what you’re saying.

You shake your head, still trying to find the words.

“Do you know how when I first woke up yesterday, I woke up confused?”

He nods. “I heard about it.”

“That’s because I’d never been here before…”

You’re still timid to tell him this is all a tv show in your reality.

You continue anyway. “My ‘real’ life is somewhere that is different from this galaxy…”

Kix’s face goes from confused to disbelief rather quickly. You still can’t really believe it yourself.

“I go to sleep at night there and then I’m somehow transported here…”

“Okay…” He murmurs. “I mean, I’ve heard and seen way stranger things happen.”

“Y-you believe me?”

“I have no reason not to. I know for a fact that you’re not crazy.” He smiles softly and you let out a huge sigh of relief. “Unless you’re having some sort of mental breakdown…”

You give him a pointed look and he puts his hands up in surrender.

“Okay. Not a mental breakdown. Got it.” He nods, smiling.

He believes you.

“Do you not think anyone else would believe you?” He asks.

You shrug. “Maybe Rex?”

It was only a few moments ago that you found yourself wanting to tell him everything. He’s easy to talk to. That still surprises you.

Kix smirks knowingly and you roll your eyes.

“Focus please.” You try to hide the flustered expression that is inevitably on your face right now.

“I’m just saying-”

All of a sudden, you and Kix are interrupted by a random 501st trooper as the door slides open and he looks between you and Kix, clearly embarrassed and thinking he walked in on something going on.

“I was looking for towels-” The trooper explains, apologetically.

“It’s alright. I was just leaving…” You look at Kix. “I’ve gotta find Rex.”

A bad feeling settles in your stomach as you quickly walk out of the closet, finding the exit to the building with the only thing on your mind being saving Hardcase.

The moment you wake up, you groan into your pillow with frustration and try to will yourself back to sleep. To no avail, of course. “Goddammit.” You murmur, concern automatically coursing through your body.

All this stuff that’s going on in your “dream world” is starting to take a toll on your body. As you sit up, you feel tense, as if you’d been nervous all night. Stretching your aching limbs, you look over at your clock and realize it’s almost noon. Which means you’re running late for your lunch with your mother.

With a quick restless groan and one last stretch, you practically throw yourself out of the comfort of your bed and race around your room, throwing new clothes on and then running to the bathroom to brush your teeth and hair. You very quickly pull it back and then grab your coat and bag and head out.

Debating whether or not it would be quicker to walk or catch a cab. It’s only a couple of blocks away, and knowing noon traffic in New York, it probably has to be quicker to walk/run.

Your phone starts ringing the moment you get into the elevator. When you pull it out of your bag, you see that your mom is calling. Knowing you’re about to get an earful for being late, you debate on sending it to voicemail and just texting her an apology. But then you’ll have to hear about that when you get there. So you answer.

“Hello, mother. I’m so sorry-”

“Should we just reschedule when it's convenient for you?” She snips.

“No, mom… I’m sorry, I just overslept is all…”

“I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes. There are people staring at me, probably thinking I’ve been stood up. By my own daughter, no less.”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t stand you up, mother. I’m literally on my way.”

“How far away are you?”

This angry, irritable version of your mother is completely different than the one who had been singing to you the last couple nights. If you weren’t used to it, perhaps you’d have whiplash. But nope, this has been your whole life.

“Maybe 10 minutes.” You tell her as you get out of the elevator and start walking out of your building.

Cool air practically whips you in the face and brings tears to your eyes as you see there’s still lingering snow on the sidewalk.

“Have a good day!” Your doorman, Frank, tells you.

“Thank you, Frank! You as well. Tell Marla I said hello!” You grin.

“Will do, sweetheart.” He kindly tips his hat toward you and you start practically sprinting down the street.

“Who��s Frank?” Your mother demands.

“My doorman.”

“And Marla is?”

“Frank’s wife, mother.”

“He seemed a little too friendly with you.”

“Oh good grief, mom… He’s been the doorman for my building for longer than I’ve been alive. His wife bakes me cakes for my birthday.”

“Oh good, your father just got here.” She doesn’t even listen to you, which gives you a premonition on how lunch is going to go. “We’ll see you when you get here.”

She hangs up on you and you shake your head, putting your phone back into your bag and then walking briskly the rest of the way there.

When the restaurant comes into sight, you see your mother and father in the corner window and start to wave, thinking they see you. Luckily the pedestrian sign turns green and you start booking it across the crosswalk.

Unfortunately, the last thing you hear is “LOOK OUT!” from someone behind you and when you turn to look, a car is speeding through their red light.

And then you squeeze your eyes shut.

You’re hyper aware of your shut eyes, of the darkness. Everything feels fuzzy. Are you breathing? You take a breath. It doesn’t feel quite necessary though… You need to wake up. You can tell that much.

So wake up.

You open your eyes but it's immediately too bright. Like a bright white light.

Oh great… I’m dead. Wonderful… You think to yourself. What happened?

You rub your eyes until you can stand the light again, finding that you’re standing.

Weird, but okay.

There’s a white end table that looks like the one beside your couch at your apartment. On it sits a single picture frame. You stare at it, inspecting the silver frame. It’s a picture of you, your mom, and your dad on your fifth birthday. You look genuinely happy and excited, smiling wildly at the large birthday cake in front of you lined with at least a hundred candles.

Who makes a little kid blow out a hundred candles? Your mother who had to make sure you had the best birthday in your entire pre-k class.

Raising your hand to pick it up, something stops you.

No… not something.

Someone. Someone’s deep, soothing voice.

Rex.

You’d know that voice literally anywhere. It sounds like he’s right next to you, and you can’t quite understand what he’s saying, but a deep ache fills your veins. You miss him terribly.

You turn around to throw your arms around him, but find that you’re standing in a familiar, yet unfamiliar doorway. You’d recognize a medbay a mile away.

“Come back to me, cyar’ika…” Rex’s soft voice pleads. “There’s so much I need to say to you… so much I didn’t get to tell you.”

You look at your vitals up on the screen beside the bed you’re lying unconsciously in, confused. Did something happen here to you? You turn back around and no longer see the picture frame.

Instead, you see yourself in a hospital bed, your parents next to you and then it all comes back to you.

The crosswalk… The car.

You don’t understand… How are you looking at two versions of yourself? Where are you? Why are you seeing two versions of yourself?

But deep down, you think you know…

You have to choose right now. You don’t exactly know for sure what that entails. If you choose one, would you eventually be able to go back to the other?

There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?

You take one last look at your mother and father asleep in a couple chairs next to your hospital bed and then walk the other way.

When you wake up, the lights are still a little bright. But you can see Rex’s face perfectly next to yours.

“Rex.” You murmur, taking his hand.

His eyes widen with relief and he swiftly stands up, over you, hugging you to him. You can’t help the warmth that spreads from head to toe at the touch of this man as you notice that he’s not wearing his upper plastoid armor. His chest is so warm and firm that you can’t stop yourself from placing your hand over where his heart is and breathing in his familiar vanilla and warm ocean breeze scent.

“What happened?” You ask, you look up at him.

He pulls away, slightly, his brows still furrowed with concern.

“Kix said that the two of you had a conversation and then you went to go find me… You passed out again. But this time, you weren’t waking up at all. And then you started to crash, but Kix got you stabilized. That was three days ago…” You can see that it's difficult for him to talk about it.

It’s beyond clear to you that he really cares about you and you’d be lying if you said your entire heart doesn’t do a somersault at the realization.

“I’m not going anywhere for a while now… okay?” You try to assure him.

“See… what does that mean?” He scoots down to the chair so he can fully look at you.

“You’ll think I’m crazy if I tell you.” You murmur, noticing the way his thumb is brushing over your knuckles.

It's almost intoxicating, the effect he has on you. An effect no man has ever had on you.

“I could never think you’re crazy.” He flashes a soft, amused, smile and your chest tightens at the sight.

And with a smile like that, how could you deny him? So, you tell him everything that you told Kix. Every detail, aside from the tv show bit.

After a few moments, Rex lets out a breath. “Wow…”

You expect him to pull away, call you crazy, and leave. But he doesn’t. He continues brushing his thumb back and forth across your knuckles in an almost hypnotizing manner.

“I know…” You murmur. “So, you don’t think I’m crazy?”

He lets out a soft, amused snort. “We live in a world where a certain type of people have powers and run around with laser swords. I don’t think anything is outside the realm of possibility anymore.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips. “Okay, good point.”

It’s quiet for a moment before you look around and see that you’re in a medbay somewhere.

“So, where are we?” You ask him.

“We’re back on the Jedi cruiser.” He looks toward the doors.

“And Umbara…?”

“We won. Krell is imprisoned.” He smiles.

“And Hardcase?”

His soft smile widens a bit. “Hardcase is okay. He has a few burns and bruises, but he’s expected to make a full recovery.”

Relief floods your entire body.

“And the 212th?”

“All perfectly fine.” He promises you.

You let out a relieved sigh and close your eyes, bringing your hand to your chest.

“You’re sweet to care so much, you know… It’s one of my favorite things about you.” He admits and your chest tightens.

“Rex, I-” You smile, but are interrupted by Kix’s cheery voice.

“She’s alive!” Kix comes to your bedside, opposite his brother.

“I’m alive.” You nod, a smile still on your lips.

At least you think you’re alive. You’re still not quite sure, yet.

“The boys have been hounding me about seeing you. I told them not until you woke up and only if you felt like it. I can make them go away, just say the word.” Kix tells you.

You let out a playful sigh. “Send ‘em in.”

Kix nods with a playful smirk and turns to walk out.

“I’ll let you visit.” Rex tells you and you start to protest, not wanting him to go. “I’ll see you tonight, I promise.”

He smirks down at you as he brushes your hair off your forehead. And before you have time to process that, he kisses you on the forehead, making your eyes flutter closed for a moment.

A simple, yet meaningful enough gesture that your chest tightens. You’ll never forget it.

He throws you a quick wink and makes his way out of the medbay just as four large men in 501st blue armor come filing in, already rowdy and clearly excited to see you.

“Look at you!” Fives’ voice booms, making himself comfortable next to you as he slings an arm around the top of the bed. Hardcase and Tup sit on either side of your feet while Jesse stands at the foot of the bed, checking your chart on the data pad.

“How are you really?” Jesse asks you, concern laced in his tone.

“I’m fine.” You assure him, a wide grin unable to leave your lips.

You still can’t believe that this is your new life.

“Thank the Maker.” Tup pats your foot.

As you look around at the four men, you’re overcome with so many emotions and feelings, with acceptance and belonging coming in right at the top of the list. You feel like you’ve finally found a place you belong.

But at what cost?

“How’s your head?” Hardcase asks you, grinning.

“I should be asking you that.” You smile as you take in his patches that are covering his burns.

He chuckles. “My head is always loose, so nothing out of the ordinary here. In fact, I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.” He pats your foot, appreciatively.

“Yeah, how did you know about the droid and the missile?” Jesse asks you.

You shrug, nonchalantly. “Just had a feeling.”

“Well, lucky for us that you had feelings.” Fives ruffles your head and Kix throws his hands up in the air with exasperation.

“Be careful with her!” Kix tells him. “She’s gone through enough-”

“Aw, come on, Kix. She can handle a 501st boy, can’t ya?” Fives elbows you teasingly and you give him a playful glare, going absolutely warm in the face.

“Alright. Visitation is over.” Kix starts to usher out his brothers. “She needs some rest.”

“Yeah, she does!” Fives grins. “Especially for later.”

Fire creeps into your cheeks with thoughts of a certain captain and his promise of tonight. “Later?”

“Yeah, when we take ya to 79s to celebrate you not being dead.” Hardcase says, a little loudly.

79s. The clone bar. The bar you’ve thought about many times throughout your multiple watches, always wondering what it would be like to get to see the men you care about let loose after their endless days and nights on the battlefield. They deserve to have fun and be carefree, for however long that may be.

“Is that okay Doctor Kix?” You smile.

How easy it is to tease and joke with him, as if you’d been friends for a lifetime and not just a mere few days. Now whether or not it has to do with the fact that you’ve watched the show countless times or because you’ve apparently had a whole life here before you “arrived”, you’re not sure. All you can do is go along for the ride, right?

He rolls his eyes with his signature smirk. “Sure. As long as you get some rest now.”

“You heard him, boys.” You shrug, teasingly.

One by one, each man files out after giving you some sort of well wishes. It’s incredibly sweet how each man cares for you, making you feel like you truly belong. You never had this sort of connection with people in your other life.

When they leave, you lay there for a while, listening to the low hum of the cruiser, still unable to believe that you’re actually here.

You’re in Star Wars… Wow.

The urge to get up and explore is strong. But you promised Kix that you would rest. And you can only assume you’ll be back on Coruscant soon, so there’s no point in upsetting him.

But still… you’d be lying if you said a part of you wasn’t afraid to go to sleep here… Will you be transported back into your other life? Or perhaps worse?

You lay there for a while, staring up at the durasteel ceiling as Kix comes in with a data pad.

“Oh, you’re awake.” He comes to the edge of the bed.

You sit up, crossing your legs. “I’m afraid to go to sleep.”

He nods, understanding. He and Rex are the only ones who would. “I made up this data pad for you. Information about you before you kinda popped into your own life here. And, your bag of clothes. There should be some civies in there.”

“Civies?”

“Non military clothes.” He chuckles.

He hands you the data pad and the bag, and you take them, touched at the gesture.

“Thank you, Kix. This means a lot.”

“I just… I have one question.” He murmurs. “How do you know what’s going to happen? You never said.”

You sigh, knowing you weren’t going to be able to avoid this question forever. “This is all a television show where I’m from.”

“Television?” He looks confused.

“Um… I think they’d be called like holo-shows here?” You try to make him understand.

“Why would anyone want to watch a ‘show’ about us?” He laughs.

You laugh with him. “Lots of people do. Lots of people care about the clones in my reality.”

He sits next to you. “Thank you.”

You nod and the both of you are quiet for a moment.

“Would you like a tour?” He grins.

“I thought you’d never ask.” You clap your hands together, excitedly.

Kix lets you run to the bathroom, apparently they’re called freshers, so you can change. You put your bag up on the counter and look inside. Sure enough, there’s a couple pairs of nonmilitary clothes that are your size exactly.

It still all feels… surreal.

You try not to dwell on it too much, afraid that you could accidentally go into what Kix called a mental breakdown a few days ago.

A few days… that’s how long you’d been knocked out here. It had only felt like moments…

Snap out of it. Get dressed. Think about something else. Literally anything else.

Rex comes to mind instantly. Someone who’s given you a sense of calmness in this massive storm. You can’t wait to see him again, you think to yourself as you get dressed and then exit the fresher, finding Kix looking down at his own datapad.

“Ready.” You smile softly.

He looks up at you, his smile matching your own. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” You nod.

“Good. Come on.” He nods towards the door and you follow him out into the hall.

As you walk down the long halls of the cruiser, you can’t help but stare at almost everything in awe. Kix points out the barracks, the mess hall, and the other medbays.

“You know, it might help if you at least try to act like you’ve been here for the last couple years.” Kix teases.

“I know, I know. It’s just… I’ve dreamt of this moment for… so long.” You confess.

“So you were… what do they call them?” He snaps his fingers playfully. “A fan?”

You playfully bump your shoulder into his. “Shut up.”

“I would ask who’s your favorite but it’s pretty obvious.” He teases again.

“Yeah. Obviously Fives.” You shrug with a smirk as you look in each room in the hall.

Kix laughs and then looks down the hall. You follow his gaze and see Rex, Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano coming this way toward you and it takes everything in you to keep it cool.

You’d already seen Anakin the first day you were here, but now… it’s different. You know you’re not dreaming, and it feels more real.

It truly is like seeing a celebrity. You’ve looked up to these characters- people for so long. And now, here they are in front of you. Life truly did not prepare you for this moment.

“Generals. Commander.” Kix nods.

“Kix.” Anakin nods and then murmurs your name. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better.” You nod. “Uh- General.”

Kix and Rex share a knowing smirk.

“We owe you a thanks for figuring out that Master Krell was working against us.” Obi-Wan tells you.

You nod again. “No problem.”

“You know, you might be in the wrong profession.” Anakin chuckles.

“I agree, it seems like you could’ve made quite a career in espionage.” Obi-Wan compliments you with a half grin.

You laugh. “Well if there’s anything I can do for you… just let me know.”

“We will.” Obi-Wan nods and starts to walk away with Anakin.

Ahsoka gives you a wave and you wave back, still practically starstruck.

Rex stays behind and smiles down at you.

“I’ll see you guys tonight at 79s.” Kix grins and walks away.

For being told he was part of a tv show, he sure is handling the news well. Probably better than you would.

“Hi.” You smile up at Rex.

“Hey there.” He nods for you to follow him. “I want to show you something you’ve not seen yet… personally, at least.”

“Lead the way.” You follow beside him, unable to hide your smile.

Does he know you’d follow him no matter what? You chose this life not only to help save this galaxy from Palpatine, but also for Rex.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, softly, glancing down at you as you walk.

“I’m feeling a lot better.” You promise him.

It’s true. You don’t feel exhausted for the first time in a really long time. You feel more awake.

“I’m relieved to hear that.” He tells you.

You don’t realize where he’s taking you until you get to the flight deck. You look at all of the starships, gunships, and walkers, still unable to believe your eyes. When you walk up to one of the walkers, you feel along the side of it, the cool durasteel making you smile.

When you look back at Rex, he’s giving you an amused smile.

“What is it?” You ask, taking your hand away, self-consciously.

He shakes his head with a shrug. “You’re like a breath of fresh air.”

“Was I not before?” You tease.

He immediately becomes flustered, trying to figure out what to say.

“I’m just kidding.” You grin.

Rex lets out a sigh of relief and nods for you to follow him.

“This is what I wanted to show you.” He walks up to the ray shield and that’s when you see it.

The dancing blue hues of hyperspace. Your lips part and a small gasp escapes as you grab onto Rex’s arm, unable to look away from it. You're feeling something so profound that words just can't convey.

“Oh my god. It’s even better than I imagined it would be.” You think you practically have tears in your eyes. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Sure is.” Rex murmurs.

Except he’s not looking up at the hyperspace lights. He’s only looking at you.

TAGS: @twistedstitcher27 @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @idledreams @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms @wizardofrozz @burningfieldof-clover @rebelsriley

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #x reader #alternate realities

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stars-n-spice · 2 days

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no you don't understand. I need the Bad Batch to have a happy ending. I need them all to make it out alive. I need them to all be together. I need them to be a family once again. I need them all alive, happy, healthy, thriving. I need them safe and healing and growing.

I need Hunter to be able to be at peace. To become what he so clearly wanted to be at the start of the series; a father. For him to have what he fought so hard for. To know that he's more than a soldier. I need him to be able to relax knowing his brothers, that Omega is safe and will forever be safe. I need need need him to have that peace. To have that kind of life. The life he didn't think he'd get, that no clone ever thought that they would get, but yet...And I need him to grow and learn from these mistakes and be that older brother for all of them I know he can be. Seeing him want a life different than what he was essentially made for that badly for him not to get it is going to absolutely destroy me.

I want Tech to come back. I want it so bad. I know Star Wars can't keep getting away with "killing a character and bringing them back" but what's doing it one more time? Am I biased because Tech is my second favorite Batcher? Yes. But listen, I just need him to return and be reunited with his family. I need him to see Crosshair again. I need him to see and be with Phee again. Yes the build up to his death was great and the send off with his goggles was, in my opinion beautiful, but I just really want him back. I miss him so much. He means so much to so many people and I just want to see him alive and well again.

I need Echo to come back and I need him to stay. Wrecker and Tech might be my favorites, but when it really comes down to it? Echo is my comfort character. When I'm upset and really struggling, what usually brings me back is thinking about what would Echo do? What would Echo say to me to get me through this? Echo means so so much to me and it hurts so much to see him reduced to a background character. It makes me think what even was the point of bring him back just to reduce him to what he is now? And I'm so so scared they're going to kill him off for shock value or to "explain" why he isn't with Rex in Rebels, but that's just so fucking stupid to me after having done nothing with his character since like the middle of season 2 of the Bad Batch. Bring him back, please. And let him be at peace for once too!! Goddammit, all this shit he's had to go through; getting fucking exploded, being a prisoner of war, losing Fives, losing his brothers because his chip malfunctioned, having to see what becomes of clones after everything they sacrificed for the galaxy-Like you already "killed". him off once, there's no need to do it again. Just bring him back and reunite him with the others, please.

I need Wrecker to get to have his family all together. On top of that, I need him to get the recognition he deserves for all that he does and has done. Omega might be the heart and soul of the team but Wrecker's the glue and arguably just as much as the heart and soul too. He's the protector, I'm sure he feels it's his responsibility to keep them together, to keep them safe. I want him to continue living his life knowing that he succeeded in doing so and now doesn't have to worry about something like that because they are safe. They're all together again and they're happy and they're safe. He can relax and enjoy what they used to have before it all went to shit. It's so obvious that he cares so much about his brothers and Omega in his own unique ways. Each of the members of the Batch have their own unique dynamics within each other, but it really seems like Wrecker is the one who has one with each of them. And yeah, he's my favorite so I'm going to be biased and I want him to make it out alive and I want him to be happy goddammit.

I need Crosshair to stay the fuck alive. I need him to continue to heal and grow and be back with his family again. I need him to be reassured and to feel safe and loved again. I cannot take another instance of a character who used to be so lost and broken finally getting healing and some peace only to sacrifice themselves again. To have someone go through so much only start to heal and then rip that away from them? I need him to be at peace. I need him to enjoy all that he's missed out on. I need to see him okay and content and healing and living. I don't think I can deal with seeing all of that being ripped away from him. Please just let the man be at peace for once in his fucking life. I am begging. You don't understand, he's healing; mentally, physically, he's getting better and to just,, take all of that away? Can't just ONE character please get a happy ending?? Like if any one of them deserve to see it through the end, it's him.

I need Omega to get the childhood she was cheated out of. I don't know how many times I've sat and thought about Omega only for me to burst out into tears. She's been isolated for nearly all of her life. At the most, she was free for two years out of her FOURTEEN years of existence. She went through ALL of that before the age Ashoka and Padmé were when they were just STARTING to go through the horrors. Yet she's remained so brave and so strong and so determined. She's endured and survived and I want her to thrive. I want her to have all her brothers together once again. I want her to grow up alongside them. I want her to be able to be a child for once. To experience life through those lenses. I don't want her to have to endure another loss.

I need to see this group of individuals who never really fit in have their place in the galaxy. I need to see them, all created with clear intents and purposes to fight in a war as cannon fodder find new purposes. I need to see these burnt-out kids catch a damn break for once. This family of neurodivergents who spent their entire lives either isolated or distant from everyone else because they were "different" and "special" get that well-deserved ending where they're all safe and happy and have a purpose and a place in the galaxy because fucking hell. I wanna know there's hope for me too.

just AAGUUHHH. I've never wanted a happy ending for anyone more than I want it for the Bad Batch.

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beepborpdoodledorp · 1 year

Photo

IT'S ODYSSEY'S BIRTHDAY AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH

seriously holy shit I can't believe it's been a whole year since my favorite update(s) released. The Odyssey storyline is my favorite thing to come out of CRK, and considering I often prefer story-rich video games that honestly isn't that much of a surprise. Drawing this probably took a year off my life but I wanted to go all out with it so goddammit I’ll live with it.

It absolutely sucks that Odyssey is so divisive amongst the fanbase for either the missions you need to do or the length of the story itself. And what’s weirder is that I was...kind of one of those people? I didn’t necessarily have those complaints but I guess Odyssey just didn’t really click with me that much at first. I enjoyed the story well enough but it wasn’t until Chapter 2 and 3 released that I started appreciating it so much, both the story and the characters. Seriously, don't let complaints like that stop you from enjoying the single best story CRK has given us.

And of course happy birthday Wildberry Cookie!!! Like Odyssey itself I took a bit to warm up to him but damn I am I glad I did. He’s one of the most interesting and well-written characters in the game and the way he bounces off other characters (especially Crunchy Chip) is just top-notch stuff. And where would we be without Kamran Nikhad giving one of the best performances just. ever. Happy birthday Wildberry!

#crk #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie odyssey #wildberry cookie #crunchy chip cookie #clotted cream cookie #financier cookie #pure vanilla cookie #hollyberry cookie #dark cacao cookie #oyster cookie #espresso cookie #madeleine cookie #black raisin cookie #seaweed cookie #custard cookie #mille-feuille cookie #dark enchantress cookie

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unreliablesnake · 9 days

Text

Pairing: David “Deacon” Kay x f!reader

Note: I only saw like one season but goddammit... I had a brainrot and wrote a little something.

Warnings: age gap.

••••

“Just wait until you hear the end of the story because it gets crazier, I swear,” you said with a laugh before taking a sip of your wine.

Deacon loved the idea of just sitting there in the small restaurant near the apartment complex you both lived in and listening to you telling him those funny stories from the hospital. During these moments you were full of life and it was obvious you loved your job more than anything, so he always encouraged you to talk to him about your day.

It would have been a lie if he said he wasn't catching feelings. Because he was. And boy, did he wish you were feeling the same. Every time he saw you smile at him he wanted to pull you into a kiss, just a quick nonchalant kiss that would make him forget every problem he had. But you never showed any romantic interest in him, which soon made him realize he was dumb to assume you would ever love a divorced man his age.

He had seen your boyfriends, the young and successful titans who were ready to give you whatever your heart desired. He remembered that surgeon you dated for a while around the time he moved away from his family, the man who always gave you a ride home in his fancy Aston Martin, and the man who once yelled at you in the hallway during a nasty fight. That was the day he checked his license plate to see who he was and if he got into trouble before.

“Okay, I'll shut up now,” you said with your hands held up.

“Please, don't.” But you shook your head and took a bite of your pizza. “What's wrong?”

“You always do this. You know, asking me about my day, then watching me with this weird smile on your face, as if you were listening to the village idiot telling some funny story.”

Deacon let out a laugh while he took the glass of wine from you. “Okay, no more alcohol for you. I watch you with a smile because I love to listen to your stories.”

It was strange how he couldn’t remember when he reached out to take your hand, but when he saw your gaze move down to your hand, he immediately pulled it back with an apologetic look on his face. He could have sworn you were disappointed by the lack of contact, but he dismissed this thought immediately. If anything, you must have been relieved that he decided not to force this.

“There’s something we might need to talk about,” you suddenly said, your voice serious all of a sudden.

He let out a questioning hum to assure you he was listening, but before you could say anything, a man near the entrance began to yell at the couple sitting by the window and even pointed a gun at them. Deacon’s immediate reaction was to pull you down on the floor so you would be out of sight, then he pulled out his own weapon and told the man to drop his gun. Instead of doing that, the man pulled the trigger with shaking hands and the bullet grazed the innocent man’s arm. The woman screamed and Deacon shot the attacker without hesitation.

While he made a call to report the incident and call an ambulance, you slowly stood up and looked over at the two injured men not far from you. Even though he wanted to stop you, you sprung into action and asked the staff if they had a medical kit in the restaurant. Being a doctor meant you were ready to save whoever you could, including the attacker who was slowly bleeding out on the hardwood floor.

“Let me help,” he tried when he stopped behind you.

You turned to him with an angry look on your face before returning your attention back to your patient. “You did enough damage, Deac,” you spat.

With a sigh, he moved over to the other man and helped to bandage the wound until the ambulance arrived. His eyes wandered to you every once in a while, seeing the way you did your best to save him with the help of a waiter. He knew what bothered you. He knew you swore to save people, while his job often came with taking the life of someone. Maybe for you there was no way to get past that, and seeing him actually hurt another human being opened your eyes and made you see this contrast.

The ambulance soon arrived and the paramedics took over, leaving you standing in front of the restaurant and watching the others do their jobs. Deacon bit on his lower lip nervously as he stepped behind you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder to pull you against his chest, his face buried in your hair as he kissed your head. “Are you okay?” he asked you quietly.

You didn’t turn to look at him, you didn’t even respond to his question, but within a matter of seconds you said, “I need to wash the blood off my hands.”

He took the hint and let you go, his eyes not leaving you while you went back to the restaurant. You never returned to his side, instead you stayed inside, sitting by a table to wait for the cops to arrive and take your statement. Since he didn’t want to push you now, he kept his distance, hoping you would change your mind and talk to him about what happened.

But then a week passed and he hadn’t seen you. He briefly considered visiting you at the hospital you worked in, but he was quick to dismiss the idea. So when Hondo told him someone was looking for him, and he found you standing in the hallway, he had no idea what to say. Should he apologize? Was this what you wanted?

To his luck, you knew exactly what you wanted to say. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you away. It’s just… I know you wanted to protect the people there, I know that man shot another before you pulled the trigger, but you need to understand that I’m not comfortable with this. I knew what you do for a living, I heard the stories, but I guess you always tried to shelter me by keeping these parts to yourself,” you told him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” was all he said to you.

You took a step closer, your eyes fixed on him as you got ready to speak up again. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about before the shooting.” He nodded, encouraging you to go on. “Maybe I’m seeing more into things than I should and I need you to tell me whether I’m right or wrong. The way you’re looking at me and touching me makes me think that you might see me as more than a simple neighbor. Or friend.”

As he took a deep breath, Deacon carefully considered what to say. He didn’t want to risk losing you over feelings you might not even reciprocate, so he cleared his throat and decided to lie. “Look, I’m much older than you. I want to believe that you’re my friend and I want to make sure you’re safe. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

“Sure?”

He nodded and heard a relieved sigh leave your lips. Or was it a sigh of relief? Because the next moment you muttered something under your breath, maybe an apology, then before he could ask you what you meant by that, you put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer to kiss him. Your lips were soft as they moved in perfect sync with his, and his hands were resting on your waist when he moved you a little closer to him. Anything to close that almost nonexistent gap between you.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but duty calls,” Hondo said with a laugh when he passed by.

“We will have to talk about this,” he told you, unable to hide his smile. This was exactly what he’d been dying to do ever since that day he had his first proper conversation with you. When you nodded with a shy smile, he gave you a last quick kiss and said, “I’ll call you later, okay?”

#david deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #david kay #david deacon kay #swat #s.w.a.t.#deacon kay #deacon kay x reader #swat cbs

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steddio · 1 year

Text

steddie vegas au part 3

part 1; part 2

–

“YOU WHAT?” Robin shrieks, nearly smacking Steve in the shoulder with her water bottle as she whips around to face him. They’re about halfway through their morning hike, struggling uphill, and he’s impressed that she even has the energy for such an outburst. Steve is sweating like a pig and trying not to look like he’s gasping for breath.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “In my defense, I didn’t know who he was! And he looked kind of lost, and you know I have a tendency to adopt strays! He had these big, sad puppy eyes…”

“Eddie freaking Munson is not a stray, Steve! He’s a bona fide rockstar. Like, double platinum, Grammy-winning, cover of Rolling Stone rockstar. And you didn’t recognize him?!” Her voice is rising into a nearly inhuman register and Steve reaches out to try and calm her.

“Why would I recognize him, Robs? I never know who anyone famous is, and I like it that way. And, he seemed to kind of enjoy me not knowing. Like, his whole attitude changed once we walked past his billboard.”

Robin is gaping at him and Steve uses the opportunity to grab the water bottle out of her hand and take a swig. It’s a testament to her astonishment that she doesn’t even yell at him for it. He wipes his mouth with the neck of his t-shirt, and starts walking up the hill. He kind of regrets telling her about last night. After all, he had promised to keep Eddie’s secret. But telling Robin doesn’t really feel like telling another person. Just like having an internal conversation with the louder half of his brain.

“Besides,” he calls out over his shoulder, “it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s just another hotel guest. I’ll probably barely see him.”

Robin jogs to catch up and grabs the bottle back with a huff. “Steve. You escorted Eddie Munson to an AA meeting. That’s like, intimate.”

Steve shakes his head, “No, Rob, it wasn’t like that. I’m sure he just wants to forget about it. He probably flirts with everyone.”

“He was flirting with you?!” Robin is back to screeching.

“Well yeah, I think so,” he shrugs. “It was hard to tell, but he called me nicknames and complimented my arms.” Robin looks about ready to combust, and he tries to change the subject. “Did you see the photos of Max and Lucas from last night? I can’t believe how much she’s grown up.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do! We’re not done here!” But Robin’s eyes are soft, and she nudges his shoulder, “did you go all papa bear on Lucas?”

Steve laughs. “No, if anything I was trying to encourage Max to go for it. She called me in hysterics freaking out about whether Lucas liked her. As if that boy hasn’t been in love with her for half a decade.”

They spend the rest of the hike going over every detail he knows of his daughter’s romantic life. Robin is equally invested despite having never met Max, and he loves her for it. Even if he can’t be there every day, being a dad is the most important thing in his life. And he can’t help it, he likes to indulge in a little gossip and teenage love lives are nothing if not dramatic.

As they say goodbye in the parking lot, Robin sternly meets his gaze. “Don’t let me down, dingus. If Eddie Munson is flirting with you, you better flirt back, or I swear to god I’ll come down there and do it myself.”

“And lose your gold star status?” he teases, and then dodges her halfhearted punch to his arm.

“Alright, alright, Robs. If he talks to me, and I really don’t think he will after last night so that’s a big if, I’ll pull out the Harrington charm.” Robin gags a little at that and waves him away. He gets into his car, eager for a shower and maybe even a little bit eager to go to work.

–

When he gets into work at 2 pm, the concierge desk is a shitshow. Some beauty influencer retreat is happening in the hotel, and the person on the morning shift is completely incompetent (they’re new, Steve tries to be generous, everyone is new at some point, but goddammit he’s pretty sure Max could do the job better than this Tammy person), and so Steve spends most of the afternoon canceling and rescheduling incorrectly made spa appointments while reassuring a seemingly endless parade of 19-year-old blonde girls that yes, absolutely, they will be able to accommodate the new time, and he’s so sorry for the misunderstanding. As if that’s not enough, they all seem to be trying to one-up each other for the title of Most Ridiculous Flirt, and if Steve hears “he’s such a daddy” stage-whispered across the lobby one more time, he’s going to pull out baby pictures of Max and start waving them around.

Of course it’s in the midst of this chaos that Eddie happens to show up, leaning over the counter, finger hovering over the bell.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve whispers to him with a glare that quickly dissolves into a grin. Eddie reaches out and boops his nose instead, and Steve can’t help but laugh as he swats him away.

The spell is broken by the loud pop of gum and a whispered “holy shit, is that-?” The girls swarm to their shiny new toy, asking for autographs and selfies. Steve bemusedly watches as Eddie handles it all with grace, posing for pictures and signing t-shirts.

He extricates himself with a slight bow and an “excuse me, darlings” that nearly causes several teenagers to go into cardiac arrest, and comes back to Steve’s counter.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Steve replies. “What can I help you with today?”

“The question, Steve-o, is what I can help you with.” Eddie looks mischievous and before Steve can clarify what he means, Eddie is asking when his break is.

Steve replies without thinking. “It was supposed to be at 5.”

“Well, sugar, it’s 5:30 so I think you’re overdue. Can I buy you a coffee?”

Eddie is definitely flirting, Steve is certain of it. He momentarily debates whether he should refuse, but he already broke any semblance of a boundary last night, and today Eddie looks, well, delicious. His hair is pulled up in a messy bun and he’s wearing a cardigan thrown over a tight black sleeveless undershirt and joggers and… studded crocs, Steve realizes. Eddie must catch him staring because he raises one eyebrow and gestures behind him, towards the food court. Steve puts his trusty “Be right back” sign on the desk and ponders flipping the bird at the group of teenagers still staring open-mouthed at them, but decides that he can afford to take the moral high ground.

They weave their way past slot machines and several bars before getting in line at Starbucks. “I know this is basic,” Eddie whispers, his breath hot on Steve’s cheek. “But nothing hypes me up on performance days more than their cold brew. It’s better than cocaine.”

He pulls away with a wink, and Steve isn’t sure he should be laughing at that joke coming from someone who attends daily AA meetings, but he can’t help letting out a giggle. And it’s worth it for the brief look of joyful surprise on Eddie’s face.

They order their coffee and take a seat. Eddie is attracting a few stares, Steve notices, but Vegas is a live and let live kind of place and so people mostly leave them alone. Their knees touch under the small table, and Steve finds himself mirroring Eddie, leaning in close to talk.

Eddie asks Steve about his job, about living in Vegas, about who he was talking to on the phone yesterday. He listens patiently while Steve regales him with stories about Mad Max. Tells Steve about touring, about songwriting, about Chrissy, his childhood best friend-turned-manager.

Steve finds himself smiling more than he has in months. Eddie is magnetic, equal parts charismatic and attentive. Steve hasn’t had a date (is he allowed to call this a date?) go this well in years and twinges with regret when he glances at his watch and realizes that they’ve been talking for way longer than his allotted break time and he needs to get back.

Eddie escorts him to the lobby, and once again leans over the counter, chin on one hand. Steve meets his eyes and blushes at the intensity there.

“Thank you,” he tells Eddie. “I had… a lot of fun.”

“The pleasure was mine, sugar,” Eddie replies softly. Steve tries to think of anything other than the heat that curls low in his belly at the pet name. Eddie starts to walk away, but Steve calls him back.

“Eddie!”

Eddie turns, something earnest and eager in his face.

“Good luck tonight. Or, er, break a leg.” Steve blushes fully at that, feeling awkward under Eddie’s gaze.

Eddie nods, smiles, and then treats Steve to yet another view of his ass, and Steve is on fire, jittery from what he tells himself is the caffeine.

–

Eddie’s pre-show routine has been pretty much the same for a decade. He chugs a giant coffee—today’s had been extra delicious with its side of hunk—throws on eyeliner, and puts on whatever outfit he imagines would horrify his homophobic high school principal the most. Today it’s low rise leather pants with lacing on each hip and an unbuttoned black cowboy shirt. He hairsprays the shit out of his hair, back-combs it a little to get that sex-mussed look, and voila, he’s done.

From there he normally goes and bugs all the other guys. As the frontman, Eddie gets his own dressing room, which can come in handy for post-show escapades but normally leaves him a little lonely. So he wanders down the green room hallway until he finds the rest of the band. Jeff and Gareth greet him with a fist bump, and he nods politely to their new bassist Ray, who’s drawing on terrifyingly huge eyeliner wings.

They shoot the shit for a while, Gareth telling them about a cute girl who was totally hitting on him at the bar and who was definitely not a hooker. Eddie and Jeff are understandably skeptical, but Gareth doubles down until their increasingly agitated debate is settled by Ray, who calmly states that the girl was indeed a hooker because she saw her counting cash in the bathroom.

When the opener goes on, Chrissy swoops in and they run through their set list one last time before huddling up together in a tight circle. This little ritual has been their good luck charm since their first ever set in their hometown dive bar.

Eddie starts them off: “Come! This is the hour we draw swords together!”

Gareth continues: “For glory!”

Jeff adds: “For death!”

“For the babes,” Ray adds, getting a chuckle out of them all.

And Eddie finishes, solemnly, “For Frodo.” They press their foreheads together and jump back with a holler before running down the hallway and into the wings. As they step out onstage and the familiar adrenaline rush fills Eddie’s veins, he can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness, like someone who should be in the audience isn’t there.

–

For the next few weeks, Eddie makes a point of stopping by the concierge desk every day. Sometimes he brings Steve coffee or takes him out during his breaks. Sometimes he just stands there and flirts over the counter, making more and more of a fool of himself just to see Steve blush. He learns that Steve has Mondays and Thursdays off. That he hates cinnamon gum. That he’s an expert at being just bitchy enough to shut people down but not so bitchy that people realize what he’s doing. Eddie gets a secret thrill of satisfaction when he watches Steve very firmly decline outrageous requests and people who think that full service means more than it does.

He finds himself looking forward to their daily conversations, unexpectedly captivated by how ordinary Steve’s life is. Because Steve loves to complain. But his complaints are about someone taking forever in line at the grocery store, or the Audi driver who cut him off in traffic, or how he can’t stand the stay-at-home moms who clog up the trailhead parking lots. All these benign moments that Eddie never gets to experience, instead worrying about ticket sales and tour dates and, in his darker moments, whether anyone actually wants to be close to him or if they just want to be close to the spotlight.

Eddie feels like they’re on the cusp of something, waiting to be pushed off the edge. This routine of flirting is fun, and it’s safe, and Eddie’s enjoying it. Steve is hot, and he treats Eddie like a real person, and their banter is sexy but harmless. They could be suspended in this mutual attraction without consequence until the end of Eddie’s residency and that would be that. But the little demon on Eddie’s shoulder that always wants, needs, begs for more tells him to take the plunge, consequences be damned.

He’s mulling this over during breakfast one morning, sipping coffee across from Chrissy.

“What’s on your mind, Didi?” she asks quietly, always observant.

He sighs dramatically and throws one hand over his forehead. “I pine, Chrissy! I yearn!”

She chuckles. “Steve? Again? Why don’t you just ask him out already?”

“I have been!” Eddie insists. “I’ve bought him, like, a hundred coffees.” At her exasperated look, he gets more serious. “Can I, Chrissy? I don’t–. I can’t afford to crash and burn again. What if I ask him out for real and the worst happens? What if it’s Adrian all over again?”

He tries to avoid her eyes, not wanting to see the pity there, but when he finally looks up she’s hiding a grin behind her hand.

“Chrissy!” he admonishes. “It’s not funny!”

“Alright, alright,” she concedes, still smiling. “It’s not funny, but Eddie, hon, you have to put yourself out there sometime if you want something real. And from everything you’ve told me about Steve, I think he’s a good bet.”

Eddie takes a moment to ponder this. Unlike most of the people he’s courted, Steve is markedly unfazed by the whole famous rockstar thing. He’s been meticulously checking his Instagram follow requests every day and hasn’t seen one from Steve so he’s pretty sure the guy’s not on social media. Plus he has that dorky dad vibe going for him, and Eddie is a sucker for a DILF.

“But what do I do next, Chris? I’ve already been flirting my little ass off, and sure he flirts back but it’s not like he’s made any moves to get more serious. Where do I go from here?”

“Leave that to me,” she tells him, and reaches for her phone. A minute later he gets a text notification.

“Chrissy, doll, why are you sending me backstage passes to my own show?” She just looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Oh. Oh. You think he’d really go?”

“Eddie. Think about it. How many people throw their underwear on stage during your performances? He’ll go crazy.” She comes to stand behind him and throws her arm around his neck. “Plus, I think it’s time he sees you at work instead of the other way around.”

–

Steve is in the midst of his Wednesday evening routine of making weekend dinner reservations at every upscale restaurant in Vegas, held under the hotel’s name at first so they can offer them to guests who call at the last minute. He’s just hanging up with Koi when he makes eye contact with Eddie across the lobby. Steve leans onto the counter and watches Eddie’s approach, lets his gaze trace the man from head (curly hair loose and slightly damp from a shower) to toe (the studded crocs, again), and everything in between (slim waist tapering into slinky hips, white t-shirt that clings deliciously, low slung plaid trousers). He knows Eddie can see him staring, and his cheeks heat slightly, but he looks anyway.

This tension between them has only escalated since that first night. He can’t get Eddie out of his head, he wants him so badly, and even more dangerous, he honest-to-god likes spending time with him. He’s funny, and insightful, and he seems to genuinely care when Steve tells him about Max, and not in that fake way of so many of his dates who were clearly just trying to get in his pants and had no interest in a family man.

Part of him wants to throw caution to the wind and ask Eddie out to dinner. But who is he to ask a world famous rockstar out. He’s nobody. Just a divorced guy ostracized from his hometown working in the service industry.

He’s torn out of this morose line of thought by the familiar greeting of, “Hey sugar,” this time followed by “I got something for you.”

Steve meets Eddie’s eyes, and is surprised to see uncertainty there. But Eddie is smiling as he extends his arm, phone in hand. “Here, put your number in.”

Steve does. Wants to make a joke about Eddie finally asking for his digits after the tenth date but stops himself when he sees Eddie’s telltale signs of nerves (rocking on the balls of his feet, chewing his hair). He hands the phone back and waits while Eddie does something with it.

“Okay, sugar, there you go.”

Steve checks his phone, clicks on a text from an unknown number. “What–. Eddie, what are these?”

“VIP tickets to my show tomorrow.” Steve meets Eddie’s expectant gaze with wide eyes. “Will you come?”

Steve takes in a breath. As if he would ever, ever turn this down with the way Eddie is looking at him as if he’s just placed his heart in Steve’s hands.

“Yes. Yes, of course I’ll come! I’ll bring Rob.” Steve sees Eddie’s face fall, looking every bit a wounded puppy, and Steve hurries to correct himself. “Robin. I’ll bring Robin. My lesbian best friend. She’s kind of my platonic soulmate. Crazy, but you’ll like her.”

Eddie’s face brightens at the word “lesbian” and Steve feels his cheeks warm, pleased that Eddie is pleased that he’s not bringing a man.

Eddie “oohs” dramatically. “A lesbian? I’ll have to introduce her to Chrissy. Christ knows that girl needs to get laid.” Suddenly he leans in close, right in Steve’s space, mouth close to his ear. Steve can feel goosebumps where Eddie’s breath hits his neck, and he blushes even deeper.

“Those tickets include backstage passes. I expect to see you there after the show, big boy.” With that, he smacks a wet kiss on Steve’s cheek, turns, and walks away.

Steve is left standing there, red-faced, awestruck, slightly horny, and full of anticipation.

continue to part 4.

read on ao3.

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#steddie #stranger things #steddie vegas au #this is... a lot of exposition ha #i will try not to apologize for my gratuitous descriptions of eddies outfits #hes my barbie doll and im dressing him up #also i genuinely believe cc would have the cringiest pre show routine ever #theyre a bunch of nerds #this one is a combo of lotr book and movie lines #as always ur nice comments keep me going #also tumblr eats some of the tags sometime so if you see this and ur tag didnt go through im so sorry!#A writes

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