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dellalyra · 9 months

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OMG I WAS JUST HAVING BRAINROT ABOUT GOJO AND Y/N IN THEIR TEEN YEARS AND

imagine that back then they had to participate in a talent show or something and megumi and the rest watch the old video tape they found in the darkest corner of the library on campus.

the tape was in a box with a label reading "the best jujutsu tech students' and its just filled with memories of their teen years.

they decide to watch the talent show one and its just chaotic as hell. mid way through megumi, nobara and yuuji get caught watching it lmao

𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨, 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖, 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣! 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴

A/N: this request. came in last night - and it’s all I’ve done today because it was so perfect it’s all I could think about. ur amazing ily

CW: swearing, weed, suggestive stuff, mdni i stg shoo

“Itadori! Bring these to the garbage!” Nobara shouts.

“Why me?! Why can’t you do it?!” He retorts as Megumi just rolls his eyes at the two of them, he wonders how they turned into siblings so easily.

“Fushiguro! Tell your boyfriend to take this to the garbage. It’s heavy and he should use his freaky wall-breaking strength for something useful!” She shouts back.

“Eh?! Is exorcising cursed and carrying you like a sack of flour not useful?! Or always carrying all your dumb shopping?!” They’ve broken into an all out sibling squabble by now, Megumi just turns away and continues the task of clearing out the storeroom behind the dojo in the school. Pushing boxes of old files and reports out of the way, he finds a box covered in doodles and stickers, taped shut at the top. He goes to inspect the very out of place container and finds words among the doodles of weirdly shaped beings and flowers.

‘The Best Jujutsu Tech Students.’

“Will you two shut up for two minutes, come look at this.” He says over his shoulder to the two, with Nobara releasing Yuuji from the headlock she somehow got him in.

“Ancient treasure! I told you we’d find something cool.” Yuuji shouts, pumping his fist into the air.

“What is this, Pirates of the Caribbean?! We’re clearing out a high school storage room, dumbass.” The girls rolls her eyes.

They inspect the box, trying to figure out the doodles.

“It doesn’t look super old? Open it, Itadori.” Nobara says.

“Will you quit telling me what to do?!” He says, huffing.

While they resumed the bickering, Megumi took a knife he had hidden in the shadows and sliced through the lines of tape holding the box together. The sound alerted the other two who peered into the box alongside him.

“Wait, are they… DVD’s?” Megumi asks.

“Yeah - but they’re homemade ones. Is there a label on them?” His boyfriend says, leaning in to get a closer looks.

The box itself was filled with small DVD cases of many colours - all labelled in a scrawling handwriting the kids felt like they knew.

“There’s a DVD player in the room where I hung out when I was dead.” Yuuji says, and hauls the box up and begins to walk. None of them even needed to discuss whether or not they’d be watching them, like a hive mind - but with maybe two shared brain cells.

They all made their way across campus, to a room in the same building as their Sensei’s office.

Nobara insisted on grabbing snacks from the vending machine en route, and they sat down on the sofa while Yuuji loaded the first date labelled ‘2003, December.” Well, that’s what they think it’s said. The handwriting was such a chicken scratch it almost looked like a doctor’s unintelligible writing.

The screen came to life - sounds buzzing and voices echoing (albeit muffled) as the screen panned from looking at the floor - to the sky, the the floor again. Then - a face came on screen.

A very familiar one - but… a hell of a lot younger.

“Wait… is that -?” Nobara asks.

“Shoko-sensei?!” Yuuji exclaims.

“That’s kinda how she looked when I was a kid. She’s in her uniform, so this must be when she was in school.” Megumi adds.

The camera pulls away from the close up on her face as another figure enters the shot - a man with odd bangs, silky black hair tied up into a bun and piercing dark eyes. He had a lazy smile in his face as he looked into the camera, poking a finger into Shoko’s cheek.

“What the fuck, Suguru?!” She says as she flicks his hand away.

“That’s - that’s Geto Suguru.” Megumi says. Geto had always been a bittersweet topic in their house, only getting worse in the last year and a half since… since he died.

The next action causes a gasp to echo across the room. A smiling face pops up between both figures.

Dark, circular sunglasses perched on a slim, pale nose and a wide, toothy, cheeky smile sat under a mop of shocking white, messy hair.

“Holy shit! That’s -” Yuuji starts.

“Dad.” Megumi whispers, seeing Satoru so young, probably around his age was amazing to him.

“Wow! It’s working! Is it on? Is it filming?” 16 year old Gojo says, voice eerily familiar, but much younger.

The three faces were all staring into the lens of the camera, only visible from the shoulders up. On screen, Shoko looked down and moved her arm and another head popped up from the bottom of the screen, trying to squeeze in.

The head of H/C hair and shiny eyes wiggled their way into the shot between Suguru and Shoko, and under Satoru.

“Did you say it’s on? It on recording right now?” The new figure pokes the camera.

“No fucking way… Fushiguro! That’s -” Nobara says, swirling to look at the taller boy.

“My mom.” He says, eyes fixed on screen. Your face was younger, hair the same as ever, eyes still full of excitement and curiosity and voice slightly higher than it is now. A hand pats the top of your head, a pale one - Satoru.

“Do a dance for the camera, Y/N.” Satoru says, smiling.

And you do a little wiggle in your spot squeezed between everyone as the other three burst out laughing.

The camera cuts off, and the screen changes to a view of the outside - all of them immediately recognising the training field.

In view is Geto and Gojo, sparring at such a ridiculously quick speed it’s barely visible. He could hear giggling behind the screen and recognised the voices of you and Shoko laughing about something that happened in class.

“They’re such show offs.” Your voice says.

“Geto genuinely wants to train, Gojo is just trying to impress you.” Shoko says, voice muffled by something - which he later sees as a lollipop, figuring it out when it gets launched across the field - presumably in retaliation for her comment by you.

“No way, Koko! That’s just dumb, he’s just a show off in general.” Your voice echoes.

“Whatever you say, Y/N.”

The camera cuts off again. The next thing they see is the night sky, and raucous laughter. The camera is being held by Shoko again, and she points it to a view of a rooftop - the flat part of the roof of the dorm building. The camera turns to one Suguru Geto, eyes hazy and smile even more languid than normal. In his hand was a smoking object - which he passed to Shoko.

They were both laughing together about Shoko saying she could see a constellation shaped like a penis, and the hysterical giggles and she rested her head on the boys shoulder told them that the joint in Shoko’s hand was very much affecting them.

There were clambering sounds.

“I can’t reach!” Came your voice, distant and off screen.

“C’mere shortstack, I’ll give you a boost.” The teasing lilt of Gojo’s voice came after.

“Thanks, Jack the Beanstalk.” Your retort sent the two original stars into another round of laughter before you and Gojo enter the frame, both holding a plastic bag of snacks.

Shoko gives you the joint as you sit, and you take a quick puff and pass it back to Suguru. Satoru declines it, saying it makes his eyes feel funny to which you all nod and say ‘makes sense’.

“Did you get me spicy chips?” Suguru asks, combing through the bags.

“Yes. But - you had to tell me you love me to get them.” Satoru says, smirking.

“Gojo Satoru - you are the light of my life, the centre of my world, the reason my heart beats, please, May I have my child you absolute fuckwad.” He says, as Satoru throws his head back laughing and throws a red bag of chips at him before tackling him to the ground demanding a kiss.

You laugh at the scene, turning to Shoko.

“See - that’s how Geto has at least one date every weekend.” You say, opening your chocolate.

“Man-whore.” She responds, sucking on a lollipop.

The screen flashes black. The same view is on the screen, but the atmosphere is much calmer. Suguru lay, head on Shoko’s lap and her deft fingers carding through his hair as he listens to whatever nonsense Gojo is spouting. The camera turns to a view that has Nobara and Yuuji cooing. Satoru is sitting, arm around your back to keep you upright with your head on his shoulder, eyes closed and clearly sleeping.

Suguru’s voice whispers into the camera.

“And these two say they’re not into each other.” Followed by a scoff from Shoko.

Next up is a view of the training field again, with a sight that made the three current first years laugh. Suguru was laying on the grass, and he was bench pressing you - his makeshift weight - as you lay relaxed horizontally reading a book, the casual nature made it clear this was a daily occurrence.

Once his reps are finished, he gently lets you down and you don’t even react, just laying on the grass continuing your book. He stands up and waves to Shoko, who he’s just noticed with her camera and proceeds to take off his shirt and let down his hair.

“Put your damn shirt back on!” Shoko shouts.

“God damn, maybe I should be a curse user.” Nobara utters, whistling and fanning herself.

The camera is next held up by Satoru - who smiles and puts a finger to his lips to symbolise silence, for some reason, like the camera would be unexpectedly loud. He turns the camera and in the backseat of a car is Shoko and you, both asleep and earphones split between you with a bright pink iPod on Shoko’s lap. Her head was resting in the crook of your neck, and you cheek rested on top of your head.

“They really have always been best friends, haven’t they?” Yuuji says. Megumi is reminded of last week, when Nobara and Yuuji fell asleep in the back of Ijichi’s car, in the exact same position.

The camera operator is back to Shoko now, who is filming the most beautiful scenery. Sakura petals are drifting through the air as throngs of people wander around what appears to be a festival. There’s food stalls and trinket stands and everyone around is in their finery.

“Suguru! Show the camera your best pose.” Shoko says, as Suguru appears on screen decked out in a black and grey kimono with his hair in a half up, half down style.

He throws a peace sign at the camera and then takes it so he can film Shoko who’s in a pretty red Yukata pattered with black and white koi. She smiles and then waves as she looks off camera.

“You’re late, Satoru. Where’s Y/N?” She says as Gojo comes on screen.

He’s wearing a dark blue and silver hakama which looks like it cost the same as a house, Suguru wolf whistles and Satoru pretends to fawn over him.

“She was having lunch with her mom, she’s probably going to be here - holy shit.” Satoru says, but cuts himself off halfway as his jaw drops open.

The camera pans messily as Suguru turns to where Satoru is looking.

You’re walking toward them, smile on your face and usually messy hair styled in a beautiful updo, make up making your skin glow in the afternoon sun. You were wearing a light pink, billowy, gauzy hanfu with tiny pale green flowers and leaves around the edges. You did truly look incredibly stunning. You had a little bag in your hand, and the camera flew back to look at Satoru who was gaping at your approaching figure. His usually pale skin flushed with a pink dusting.

His mouth moves, and it seems unconscious when he whispers to himself.

“Beautiful…”

You walk into the frame, smiling brightly and hugging Shoko and then freezing when you see Satoru, eyes widening at the strikingly handsome figure he makes, every inch a fairytale Prince. The pink on your cheek matches your outfit as you stammer out a breathy,

“Hi, Satoru.”

“Hey, Y/N.” He says, mouthing opening and closing as you look at him through fluttering lashes.

There’s a jolt as it seems Suguru holding the camera elbows his best friend and whispers in his ear, just audible to the camera.

“Bro, tell her she looks beautiful, damn it.”

“You… you look um - beautiful, Y/N.” He stammers out, and the three first years watching laugh at how their oh-so-smooth sensei was once such a mess he needed prompting to flirt from his friends.

You flush even deeper.

“Thank you, Satoru. You look really good too. The um… the blue really suits you. The restaurant I had lunch with my mom had Sakura mochi, so I - I got you some.” You say as you shove a small nicely wrapped box at him and Satoru seems to melt. Shoko appears on screen, making a circle with one hand and poking a finger through it repeatedly in a very lewd gesture that has Suguru cackling.

“Wait - they’re not even together yet. They didn’t get together until the end of their second year.” Megumi muses, smirking.

“So they’ve always been this whipped for each other.” Nobara laughs.

The DVD ends there, and Yuuji jumps up to put in the next one, labelled ‘second year’.

The video begins with you sprinting toward Shoko and her catching you in her arms.

“I missed you so much! A whole summer without you, it was torture. How was the medical camp?” You ask her, barely taking a breath between words.

“Did you not miss me, lil’ lady?” Came a smooth voice as one Geto Suguru wraps his arms around you too, and you squeal in excitement. The three standing are then abruptly tackled to the ground as a blur of white and black whizzes toward them.

“Satoru!” Came three scolding voices.

“How the fuck did you do that, you lanky - oh.” Shoko is stopped abruptly as they all stand up and the change in Satoru is clearly visible. Long gone is the beanstalk boy of their first year, all arms and legs at 16 and now at almost 18 - a broad shouldered, 6ft 3, sharper jawline and longer hair Gojo stands before them. You look like you might faint.

The video stops and then resumes looking at a very familiar blackboard, and a much younger Yaga beside it.

In front of the blackboard there’s two students in Jujutsu High uniforms - both in party hats and standing under a banners with ‘Welcome First Years!’ written in big bubble writing on it, the sounds of streamers and party poppers came through the room as the camera was set down on a desk.

Gojo comes on screen and waves his arms as if to show off the two students. One looked incredibly happy, a beaming smile full of excitement and the other looking absolutely miserable, but given how painfully 2005 emo he looked - it wasn’t surprising. Megumi smirked, seeing the blond boy on screen and knowing exactly who it was from photo albums you kept - but he waited to see when the other two would notice.

“Welcome to Yu Haibara! Please - introduce yourself!” Gojo says, pointing a bottle of cola at him like a microphone.

“Hi! I’m Yu! I’m 16 and I like rice and people!” He says, voice full of enthusiasm.

“Thank you! Next up, Gerard Way!” Satoru smiles and point the mock microphone to the other boy.

“Do I have to? This feels unnecessary.” He says, grimacing.

“Yes! You do!”

“Fine. My name is Nanami Kento -”

Megumi didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as a chorus of ‘What the fuck!?’ Echoes from the two beside him.

“Nobara, rewind that - I think I heard it wrong, I thought the emo kid said his name was Nanami, hah!” Yuuji exclaims.

“No need. You heard right.” Megumi smirks.

“No fucking way! That’s Nanamin?!” Yuuji is smiling so wide at the sight of his mentor as a moody teen.

“Yup. I remember his hair like that, he had a lip ring and a nose ring too. Geto Suguru pierced his nose with Shoko’s med kit for him when they drank too much whiskey at my mom’s 18th. There’s a picture of them doing it framed in their room at home.” Megumi scoffs a laugh, the other two in shock at the revelation.

The camera stops again and next time is looking from an upstairs window as voices whisper.

“What is she doing?” Shoko asks.

“It looks like she’s talking?” Geto asks.

“There’s a tiny spike in her cursed energy - wait, I’ll try see if there’s someone around.” He says and the clink of his sunglasses hitting the windowsill breaks the quiet.

On screen, there’s you in a pair of fluffy blue pyjamas and a winter knitted hat as you seem to be kneeling and ushering something small out of a bush. Satoru seems to have gotten distracted and the camera pans to him - who’s just staring out the window with the most dopey, lovestruck smile on his face.

“Satoru.” Suguru says, flicking his ear.

He snarls, but blushes.

“I - I can’t tell but, it kinda seems like? She is trying to talk to something.” He says, as they all crane their necks as you pull something into your arms and stand up, taking off your hat and tucking whatever you found into it and scurrying back inside.

An obnoxious ringtone of crazy frog blasts through the room and Satoru flips open his phone and answers it.

Since it’s you, he puts it on speaker.

“Hey, Satoru - are you still at the store? I - kinda need something, urgently.” Your voice asks.

“Eh - yeah, I’m at the store. What do you need?” He says, trying to hush the two sniggering traitors beside him who are fully aware that he came back from the store an hour ago and is sitting in Suguru’s dorm with them.

“I - um, I need kitten milk.” Your voice says, just as the camera cuts off.

The next few videos are just videos on videos on you and a tiny, tiny kitten, feeding it from a small bottle and it sleeping on your chest, or Satoru playing with it and a ball of wool in hysterical laughter. One video is taken by Shoko with Suguru in the frame playing with the kitten who is trying to catch his bangs and on the sofa, is you sitting on Satoru’s lap, as he looks at you adoringly and you giggle and place a kiss on his lips. Given that it’s about 3/4 of the way through your second year, it means you’re freshly together after torturing your friends with mutual pining.

Megumi looks closer at the kitten, and the tabby is very recognisable to him - given that to this day, the hairs of that kitten, now 13 years old and still thriving due to your unwavering spoiling, still decorate any black fabric in your home.

“Is that baby grumpy George?!” Nobara asks, hitting the nail on the head.

The video fades again, and then the screen is illuminated by a makeshift stage in the school sports hall. Another large banner is on the wall, with ‘Talent Show’ written in large writing, Megumi now noticed the big bubble writing was the same as had been on every ‘happy birthday’ banner he’d had every year.

The announcer, he recognises as a smiling principal Yaga - even though this is surely not a school organised or endorsed event, but probably the work of the couple he now calls his parents.

“Welcome to Jujutsu Talent Show! The rules of tonight are as follows a) no cursed techniques or cursed energy and absolutely no sabotaging! Panda! Do you want to say who’s going first?�� Yaga announced as he lifts up a baby panda and the voice of the baby says “Nanami and Yu!”.

Yu skips on stage, decked out in a cape patterned with stars and a large top hat, followed by a very sullen Nanami Kento, adorned with a nose and lip ring now.

“Ladies, gentlemen, cursed corpses! My name is Yu the Magic Man and this is my assistant, the Fantastical Nanamin! Does anyone here like rabbits?” He announced, and takes off his hat, revealing a stuffed rabbit on his head - commencing the world’s worst magic show. The highlight was definitely Yu asking Nanami to pull the scarf from his sleeve and after pulling and pulling and pulling, a very frustrated Kento growls ‘Fucking hell, Yu - how long is this thing?’ Completely breaking what little mysticism surrounded the performance. Geto didn’t help, when he muttered ‘that’s what she said’ after Nanami’s complaint, setting the second years off.

After a bow to his rapt audience, and lots of cheering and supportive clapping from you all - the first years leave and Yaga announces the next performance.

A loud bang echoes through the room,

“Holy shit!” Your voice, the 28 year old you, carries through the room as three heads spin around to see their sensei’s back, arms supporting the thighs around his waist, belonging to his wife who’s lipstick is smudged across her cheek and her husband’s face. The white haired man’s white shirt was partially unbuttoned and your sweater had fallen completely off you shoulder - combined with the position you entered the room and the ruined cosmetics it was quite clear why the teachers had stumbled into this forgotten room of jujutsu tech.

“Get a fucking room.” Megumi grumbles.

“We were! But you’re here! And just for that I’m gonna tell you that the sofa you’re sitting on was where Akio was conceived.” Gojo retorts, trying to fix himself as all the kids groan.

“Both of you, hush. ‘Toru - look at the screen.” You were transfixed on the paused screen.

“Wait! Is that - that’s our talent show! From second year! Where did you guys find this?” Satoru says, leaping over the back of the sofa and plopping down but not before turning around and picking you up by the waist and sitting you in his lap.

“I thought all the DVD’s were lost! Koko couldn’t find them after we graduated!” You say, as you keep staring at the screen.

“We were clearing out the storage room, like Ijichi asked and we found a funky box with DVD’s in it.” Yuuji says.

“Oh my god! Press play!” You say, clapping.

“Look at angry Nanamin!” Gojo says, smiling.

“Next up is Y/N and Shoko!” Screen Yaga announces.

You and Shoko are dressed in the most colourful outfits ever, you’re beaming and Shoko looks exhausted. Large headbands, crimped hair, tutu skirts, leggings, neon leg warmers and beads were the costume of choice as Geto stood on one side of the stage.

“Welcome to - Y/N and Shoko’s dance bonanza!” You both say, and Geto presses play so that Girl’s Just Wanna Have Fun plays to match the 80s Cyndi Lauper style outfits. Having danced ballet as a little girl, and being a big fan of Just Dance and Dance Dance Revolution - you decided that you and Shoko would do this for the show, exhausted and unenthusiastic - but endlessly loyal to her best friend and determined to not let Gojo win the show. You guys danced a perfectly in sync routine with 28 year old you shouting ‘Oh my god, I still remember the routine!’ Halfway through. Yuuji was hopping along on the sofa beside Megumi.

Before Shoko could collapse into a heap as the song finished, she was thrown over Suguru’s shoulder and hauled off stage with Gojo doing the same for you.

After a brief intermission, Geto and Gojo were welcomed on stage in matching black tuxedo’s, off camera your voice could be heard saying ‘ugh, I’m gonna climb that man like a tree later, suits are the best.’

“Ladies, gents - tonight welcome to The GS squared stand up comedy show, enjoy your night and Geto’s number is available after the show.” Gojo drawls into the mic.

Megumi didn’t expect the routine to be as funny as it was, everyone especially enjoyed the part where they did impressions of different Jujutsu Elders, including Naobito Zen’in and Principal Gakuganji - which were unnervingly accurate but highly offensive to them, especially when Gojo got on his knees to imitate how short the elder Kyoto principal was and Geto kept playing Looney Tunes on the projector to show Naobito’s ‘cursed technique’.

When the audience were thoroughly hysterically laughing, with the audience being Yaga, MeiMei, Panda, Y/N, Shoko, Yu, Kento and Utahime who was visiting Shoko for the weekend, the boys bowed, winked and walked off stage and the camera caught Gojo bending down to whisper something in his ear which had you looking at the sky and blushing - still getting used to openly loving each other.

The voting wasn’t recorded, but the winners announcement was and it was shown to be Yu and Nanami - who everyone, except for themselves had voted for.

“Oh my god, these are priceless! I can’t believe I got even funnier with age, and look at your cute little outfit, princess!” Satoru coos.

“There’s a whole box of them, we’ve only watched 2!” Yuuji says, bouncing and handing the box to you and Satoru.

“No way, it’s the whole box! I remember decorating it with Koko! Hold on, I’m gonna ring her to come here.” You say as you take out your phone, smiling at the lockscreen of Satoru, Megumi and your 6 month old son and pulling up Shoko’s contact to ring her to ‘get her ass down here for a surprise’.

“Oh, ‘toru! I bet our DVD of our trip together to Fiji in the summer of third year, Shoko lent us her came for it!” You say, wrapping your arms around him and settling in while Yuuji loads the next DVD.

“Classes are cancelled, I’ve decided it’s home movie day - do we have any popcorn?” Satoru says, smiling at how fondly Megumi is looking at the screen, a still pause screen of himself and you smiling in the training yard together - still looking as lovingly at each other 13 years later. Yuuji has his arm wrapped and Megumi’s shoulders and is leaning into him, as the dark haired boy rubs circles on his boyfriend’s knee - Nobara has her legs stretched across the laps of both boys as the newest video begins.

The door swings open, Shoko entering -

“No fucking way! You found them! Kids, move up - let Aunty Koko sit.” She says, plopping herself between the arm and her two best friends, her nephew and their bonus kids.

She’s glad she bought that camera.

#jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #anime #family formations extras #dad!gojo

3K notes · View notes

fairyysoup · 1 year

Text

western nights

♫︎ western nights - ethel cain ♫︎

pairing(s): eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: You're on a road trip to nowhere. Eddie wants to get the hell out of dodge. It's a match made in heaven- if only it were, actually, heaven.

words: 13k

cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), exhibitionism, light choking, spitting, eddie is 24, reader's age unspecified (over 21), illegal activities, theft, smoking, alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, bonnie & clyde type dynamic, mechanic!eddie, eddie's trying hard to be a good boy he's just got issues, pining, perv!reader, some slight dubcon/somno for a sec if you squint, there was only one bed, graphic depictions of violence, a drunk guy being nasty to both eddie and reader, bar fight, blood, arguments, angst, hurt/comfort, panic attacks, an overall janky relationship here, inspired by the song western nights by ethel cain

a/n: *slaps fic* this bad boy can be written with so many cold medicines in my head <3 ethel cain if you see this do NOT interact i have done zero justice to your song and also completely disregarded some key aspects of the themes of it lol this is loosely based at best

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

He’s never looked more beautiful on his Harley in the parking lot, breaking into the ATMs, sleeping naked when it gets too hot…

You’ve become something of a connoisseur of gas station coffee.

You know which chains have the best. Love’s always has the best and freshest, with the most options of flavors. Pilot is usually a crapshoot, depending on what area of the country you’re in. Occasionally, if you can find it, Bodega doesn’t disappoint. And the worst, by far, is always Shell. Shell coffee, you think, must come directly from the sewers of whatever backwater town you’re trundling through.

You’re somewhere in Indiana, you guess, judging by the state-shaped keychains on the rotating rack next to the cash register. You grab a state map from a magazine stand and toss it in with the rest of your purchase. You were lucky to have found a Love’s so you could finally afford yourself some proper dark roast coffee; all the watered down arabica stuff you’ve been getting since Cleveland has only been making your head ache.

“What’s the quickest way to Indianapolis?” You ask the dead-eyed attendant ringing you up, a 20-something year old guy with bags under his eyes and bad skin.

He chews his licorice like a camel chews straw, staring up at you blankly. “I dunno. Never been.”

You look from him, to the map, and back. “Cool. What town is this?”

“Hawkins.” His bored-by-you attitude is overwhelming.

“Thanks so much for the help.” You afford the attendant a tight smile as you grab your bag of snacks and head out. It’s going to be a long night.

The air outside is stifling, summer heat hanging in the muggy air like a fog. The humidity makes your hair stick uncomfortably to the back of your neck as you peel off your old green hunting jacket and tie it around your waist. You’ve parked your van under the fluorescent-lit gas pump overhang, providing the proper lighting for you to spread the map of Indiana across the hood and bend over it, using your full coffee as a paperweight. You rip open the singular Slim-Jim you could afford for dinner, and pore over it.

There’s commotion across the parking lot, which stirs you from your rumination over the map. You glance up; there are two guys loitering by a telephone booth in one corner of the lot, sharing a cigarette. Teenagers who have nowhere else to be on a Friday night, you suppose. Five yards away from them, a third crouches in front of a badly vandalized ATM, the cause of the commotion. He seems to be hacking at the wiring with a pocket knife.

You ignore it. So far, on this trip, you’ve seen far worse than a guy stealing petty cash from a gas station ATM. Tracing your fingers across the paper, it looks like if you take state route 13 to I-69, you’ll be in Indianapolis by midnight. Shouldn’t be too difficult, as long as you can find the 13, and then you can find a place to crash in the city.

Grabbing an old highlighter from your pocket, you mark your route in bright pink. The guy from the ATM seems to have gotten what he wanted, moving quickly across the parking lot with his head held high, like he has every right to be there. He approaches a motorcycle parked on the opposite side of the pump from you, and begins feeding dollar bills into the machine.

“Hey, do you know how to get to the 13 from here?” You can’t see much more than his leather-clad shoulder and hip jutting out from around the pump, the front tire of his Harley sticking out from behind his leg.

There’s a pause, and then his head pops out from around the pump. A curtain of unruly dark hair frames a long neck, big doe-like eyes and flushed lips pouting at you in confusion. It makes you freeze. “Sorry?”

“I, uh-” What were you trying to do? Get on the right course. Right. Of course. “State- uh- state route 13? I’m trying to get to, um, Indianapolis?” You cringe at your own stuttering, nails digging into the paper before you.

The man stares at you for a long time, dark eyes framed by thick, curling lashes sizing you up slowly. Then, he rounds the pump. “The highway’s just down the road- keep going west and you won’t miss it.”

“Great, thanks.” You grab up your coffee and the map, crunching it between your tense fingers. He hasn’t moved, still leaning against the gas pump, arms crossed, staring at you. It makes you nervous, in more ways than one.

“You won’t get far in that heap, though.”

You pause. Your knees threaten to wobble under you as you look up at him. Your hand is on the door, you could simply ignore him and get in, but something in his gaze makes you stop. Is that… genuine concern? Or is he just putting on a show for you?

“What do you mean?” The heat of the coffee burns through the paper cup and torches your fingers.

“Well, your fender’s bashed in and, I dunno if you noticed, but you have a crack in your windshield,” he gestures at the long crack running horizontally across the glass, just above where your line of sight usually is. “Probably got a lot more shit wrong with it, too, I could hear you coming a mile up the road. Junkyard find?”

“Something like that.” More like, sat in your parents’ garage for so long that you took a chance on the fucked up radiator and bailed. “She’s good, though. She’ll get me another 80 miles, easy.”

“Are you only going 80 miles?” The guy questions, “Or are you going way past that and only doing the 80 miles tonight?”

If he wasn’t so pretty, with a note of flirtation in his voice, you’d be hesitant as hell to tell him. “The second one.”

ATM guy sucks on his teeth, rocking back on heels that creak with the movement. Rubber soled work boots flash at you from beneath torn blue denim. “Dunno if I should let you go alone, then. You might bust your carburetor halfway there and be stranded.”

That puts alarm sirens in your head. You’d back away if your car wasn’t situated between the two of you. “Thanks, but, uh… I think I can handle myself.”

The teasing smile drops off his face quickly, replaced by a look of subtle desperation. “No, don’t get me wrong, I’m not- I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself. Obviously. Or you wouldn’t be trucking along by yourself through Nowheresville, Indiana,” he chuckles. “I just, ah… let me level with you?”

Your face screws up, but you lean your hip against the fender nearest you- the one that isn’t fucked up. What is it with this guy?

“I’m trying to jump ship. Anywhere’s better than here, but I really want to get to the west coast. I don’t know where you’re headed, but I’ve got my sights on San Francisco. And, uh, I have experience fixing cars, working in a garage,” he confesses. “But I don’t have a ride of my own- this isn’t even my bike, really. So, if you’re heading to the city, and you could use someone to make sure your car doesn’t kick it going over 75, I’m your man. Besides,” he bats his pretty lashes at you, his fingers fiddling with the end of his long hair as he brandishes a wad of ATM-stolen cash, “I have gas money.”

“You want to hitch a ride with me?”

“If you’re okay with it. Otherwise, I bid you fair and safe travels.” He bows dramatically, throwing his hand in the direction of the highway you’d asked about. “But if you ask me, I think you’d be doing both of us a favor in the long run if you let me come with. Just for insurance, y’know.”

“Insurance?” You parrot incredulously.

“Yeah,” he grins. He has dimples, a wide smile that stretches across his face and makes him even prettier than you can stand to look at directly. “Just insurance. No other reason.”

“Mhm,” you grunt, going over the positives and negatives in your head.

Positives- your car is a piece of shit and you’re sure he’s right, you’re working on borrowed time and you’re less than halfway to your desired destination. Plus, he’s unfairly nice to look at.

Negatives- you don’t know shit for fuck about him, other than the fact that he’s apparently trying to leave town and makes a hobby of breaking into ATMs. And, hell, even Ted Bundy was supposed to be charming and cute, at first. This guy could be a crazy ax murderer, could be a rapist, could be a junkie who’ll steal your car and leave you stranded, could be, could be-

“MUNSON!”

“Fuck.” ATM guy glances over his shoulder, then ducks quickly around the side of the gas pump as the station attendant comes storming out of the store. He crouches, pressing his hands to the glass window of the passenger’s side and peers through the cab at you on the other side with pleading eyes. “Can you get me a couple miles down the road, at least?”

“What about your bike?”

“Not my bike,” he tells you for a second time. “My buddy’ll pick it up when he hears about this, please.”

The station attendant is making his way across the parking lot now, looking miffed. It’s clearly the most energy he’s put into anything today, but he isn’t moving very fast.

You’ve made worse decisions in your life. You sigh. “Shit. Get in.”

“Thank you, thank you.” He pops open the passengers door as you slide into the driver’s seat, tossing the crumpled up map in the back. You guess you’ve found a GPS, for the time being.

“Does my insurance have a name?” you ask as you peel out of the gas station. The attendant hovers by the pump you’d been occupying, looking lamely at the abandoned motorcycle in your rearview.

“Eddie,” ATM guy says. A ring-clad hand lifts between you, hovering over the gear shift and waiting for your own to settle into it for a shake, “Eddie Munson.”

You eye his outstretched hand, your stomach doing flips, but you’re unsure if it’s because of him or the very situation he’s just put you in. You lift your hand and bat his with your knuckles, a half-hearted acknowledgement without the formality. “Pleasure doing business with you, Eddie.”

Eddie coughs, shifting up in his seat to peer behind you at the station. “Fuckin’ Keith. You can just drop me off at the next exit, it’s no biggie.”

“Hm? I thought you were coming with me to Indianapolis, hot stuff.”

Eddie whips his head around to look at you. “Seriously? You don’t- you don’t have to, I know it’s a big ask-”

“You want me to change my mind?”

“Not particularly.” He sinks down in his seat again. “Guess I figured you think I’m more of a liability than anything.”

“I do, but I need all that cash you swiped from the ATM,” you hum with a snarky grin on your face.

Eddie chuckles, wringing his hands in his lap. His knuckles tighten and relax beneath heavy steel rings. “Yeah, better I do it than you, huh?” There’s an awkward pause, and then he blurts, “Do you have any road music in this thing?”

You reach forward and hit the volume button for the stereo. You’d been halfway through Danzig’s self titled album- Mother kicks in with the chorus. In the darkness, you don’t see the way Eddie’s eyes sparkle with adoration as he looks at you.

“I think you and I are gonna get along great, sweetheart.”

You ignore how your thighs press in on themselves while you sip your coffee, and you turn onto highway 13, headed for Indianapolis.

When you step out of the bathroom in the motel room in Indianapolis, you find Eddie hunched over by the window, wearing nothing but a pair of blue plaid boxers. The chain on his wrist jingles as he smacks at the A/C unit beneath the drawn curtains.

“Everything okay?” You ask, pretty much knowing what the answer is. Your hair drips water down your back, but you can still feel the muggy summer heat in the room practically smothering your pores.

“Damn Motel 6 A/C,” he grumbles as he gives it one last smack on the side, to no avail. “The unit’s broken, there’s gonna be no cool air in the room.”

“That’s okay, we can crack a window.”

“In this part of the city?” Eddie scoffs, looking over at you. “Believe me, princess, I applaud your optimism- I would have just driven away from me there at the gas station, given the chance. But if we crack that window, we’re gonna get fucking robbed, first thing. Believe me.”

“I believe you,” you huff, clutching the itchy motel towel to your wet skin. Usually you would just pull on a tank and a pair of panties and call it a night, but there’s no such luck for you here. You have a backpack full of old, dirty clothes, and no clean underwear to speak of- you’ve been washing them in public bathroom sinks since Columbus. “Well, I’m just gonna sleep naked, then. You do what you’ve gotta do.”

“What- you’re gonna- what?” Eddie blathers, sitting back on his heels. You stare at him for a second- he’s a vision of flushed skin and a cloud of brunette hair cascading over his shoulders. Knobbly knees stick up at awkward angles, hairy thighs disappear into the hem of his boxers drawn tight across his skin. Your eyes glance over the ominous bulge in the crotch of them, not willing to think about those parts of a man you barely know. “You really think- I mean- is that wise?”

“Are you gonna get frisky with me, Eddie?” You ask with a teasing voice. You’d learned enough about him on the way to the city- 24 years old, no prospects, big dreams, ran a D&D club in high school, worked in a garage to help pay the bills- that you’re fairly certain he’s a good enough guy to keep his hands to himself. You just enjoy watching his big eyes go rounder at the insinuation.

“No, of course not. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Eddie looks mortified. He backtracks, “Unless- unless you wanted me to, I mean-”

“Don’t overanalyze it,” you tell him mildly, turning your back to him to rifle through your bag. “We’re both adults, it’s hot, there’s one bed and we’re both paying for it. Something tells me you’ve done worse things than lay next to someone without clothes on.”

Eddie blows a long breath out of pursed lips, not moving from his seat on the floor. He doesn’t deny your accusation, just mutters, “You put so much faith in me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

You drop the wet towel on the floor and round the bed to turn down the sheets. Eddie’s eyes trail you; you can feel them burning into your skin, lit by the dim yellow light on the bedside table. It takes a moment for him to finally move, a single trembling hand reaching up to swipe a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the table.

“You gonna sit there on the floor all night?” You muse as you lay back on the bed. It’s too fucking hot. The dampness from the shower hasn’t dried, but now it’s simply growing with the rate your body is perspiring. Your hair and skin stick to the white sheets, which feel pasty each time you move.

“Just getting my bearings,” Eddie says, his voice tight and hollow. “You smoke?”

“Not especially, but I won’t stop you.”

The smell of tobacco hangs in the heavy air more potently than you expected. The humidity dampens the vapor, making it sting your nose and leech into your mouth, even though you’re not the one directly breathing it. It strikes you as devastatingly intimate- the thought that you might be breathing the smoke that’s already touched his lungs.

“Do you mind if I strip down, too?” Eddie asks after a long time of deliberating as he smoked. “Not that- I mean, I don’t have any pajamas, so…”

“Do what you need to do, honey,” you murmur, repeating what you’d told him before. “We can find a laundromat in the morning. Maybe get you a change of clothes somewhere.”

“Right.” He doesn’t say much after that, but you listen to him rustling around, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray and flicking off the bedside light.

He straightens up, silhouette looming in the blue-dark from the curtained window. You watch from the corner of your eye while his backlit form hooks its thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, and drops them.

He clambers onto the bed beside you, careful not to bump any part of you. You refuse to look at him, scanning the asbestos popcorn on the ceiling above you with an overabundance of scrutiny, willing yourself to focus on anything but Eddie’s beautiful body, especially what he has below the belt. It’s a bad idea, no go. You don’t want to see it, don’t even want to think about it- what it looks like, how big it is, how it curves, what kind of hair surrounds it, if any-

You’re thinking about it.

And you told him not to overanalyze it. To be calm about it. What a fucking joke.

“You know, I’m not as easy as I might seem,” you blurt out suddenly, unaware of why you even do. You mostly come off sounding like you’re trying to convince yourself of it.

Eddie’s head rustles against the pillow as he glances at you in the dark. “I don’t think you are.”

“Okay. Just- just making sure,” you stutter out. “All evidence to the contrary, and all.”

“I’m not expecting to get lucky with you,” he tells you honestly, a little flatly, like he’s afraid of any inflection in his voice betraying him. “You know, beyond the ride west.”

“Right.”

You both regress into silence. You think you’ve both said your piece on the matter. You might not trust Eddie, not entirely, but you at least know he’s not gonna try anything stupid if you let yourself fall asleep. You actually think that he’s asleep after so many minutes, until he opens his mouth again.

“It’s really fucking hot, isn’t it?” He croaks. His hands twitch by his sides, feet jammed under the downturned covers, but everything else bare to the open room, like you. His pinkie brushes yours, and he nearly smacks himself jerking his hand back toward his stomach.

“Yeah, it’s not… it’s not good.” You blink into the darkness. “Sorry, you must be regretting coming with me all this way.”

“Nah, not a chance.” He brushes it off, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “I’ve been itching to get out of there since I graduated. Feel kinda bad that I didn’t leave a note for my uncle, but it’s not the first time I’ve bailed on him. I can always call him from a pay phone. Kinda wish I had my guitar, though.”

“You play guitar?” you ask dazedly. You don’t have a hard time imagining it, now that you think about it. He has that rocker look about him, the kind that could grace magazines and be on posters on teenage girls’ walls, if he played his cards right. If he got his lucky break.

“Yeah. Pretty good, too, I guess.” He sighs. There’s a wistfulness in it, like he’s reminiscing on something from his past. “It’s okay. I can pick up another one once I get to California. Dropped a mint on the one I had back home, but I guess Wayne can always pawn it. Maybe get himself a nicer place.”

You chuckle. “And you think I’m the optimist here.”

“I never said it was a bad thing,” Eddie scoffs, then deepens his voice quite suddenly. “Two optimists, both alike in dignity-”

A burst of laughter bubbles from your chest, making Eddie grin as you gesture at your bodies. “Or lack, thereof.”

“In fair Indianapolis, where we lay our scene.” He ends his recitation giggling, the flimsy bed frame jolting with the shaking of his chest. “Radiant Juliet, you never did tell me where your chariot is taking me.”

“I’m not sure, really,” you admit, mellowing your laughter into a quiet giggle. “I just wanted to leave home. I was suffocating there, I needed to get out. See what’s out there for me, if anything.”

“And have you seen much?”

“Not much,” you tell him quietly. “Mostly truck stops and shitty roadside attractions. But we’re in the midwest, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.” He lays his hand back down on the mattress beside you.

You turn your body towards him, damp sheets clinging to your skin as you move. “California might not be such a bad idea.”

Eddie turns his head and glances at you, dark eyes finding you in the dim moonlight. “No? I’ll have to fix your car, then.”

“You do that, and I’ll make sure to get you where you’re going,” you whisper.

“Deal.” His eyes linger on your face, just inches away from his on the pillow. Flickering in the moonlight, two voids that hold all the stars in the night sky seem to take you in like you’re more beautiful than they could ever be.

This time, when your fingers brush, he doesn’t jerk away. This time, you don’t avert your eyes when you look down at his cock, but you sure do regret it when you don’t reach out to touch it.

He’s so pretty. You want to.

I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue, starting fights at the bar across the street like you do…

Your underwear and his come out of the dryer wrapped around each other. You spend a minute disentangling them, a small heap of clothes in a rolling laundry basket in front of you. The closest laundromat to the Motel 6 had been a five minute drive down the street.

You’d woken up with your head on his chest, your arm draped across his bare stomach, despite how you’d fallen asleep barely touching him. As if your unconscious body had known more about your wants than you. His hand had been tangled in your hair, palm cradling your cheek and a bit of your neck, like his own unconscious wanted to keep you against him, too.

The morning had been easy- the easiest it’s been since you hit the road. Eddie seems to have given you a sense of purpose you didn’t have before, driving around aimlessly, only stopping for fast food every once in a while when you remembered to eat something other than beef jerky and coffee. Once you had extracted yourself from his grip, you’d gone to buy him clothes from the resale store next to the motel. It wasn’t hard to find a plain black shirt and jeans, but used underwear was something you didn’t want to mess with. You’d brought it back to the motel, along with some food from the Waffle House across the way, and you ate cross legged on the bed while he showered and put on his new-ish clothes.

But now, you can’t stop feeling his hand cradling your head. His hot, sweaty skin against your arm. Your fingernails raking lightly through the trail of hair on his stomach, dragging through his pubic hair, your knuckles just barely brushing up the side of his length- thick, uncut, and so so pretty. Then, stopping nervously when you’d gotten too bold, fingers skimming over sensitive skin too close to his groin, and he’d twitched in his sleep.

You want him. You don’t even know him, and you want him so badly you can feel it even now, an aching blush between your legs turning into a dull throb when you so much as think about him.

You toss all the freshly washed clothes into a plastic bag that you’d grabbed by the door to the laundromat, and haul it out to your van. He’d told you to meet him at the bar across the street when you were done, since he needed to make a few calls on their payphone- he’d even given you his weathered denim vest before he left.

“For insurance,” he winked. “Uh, don’t wash it, though… I stitched it by hand, it’ll fall apart.”

You don’t put it in with the clean clothes. It smells like smoke and alcohol and him, the edges frayed and yellowing a bit. You hold it in your lap for a second, plucking at the stringy bits around the arm holes. Maybe you can convince him to let you soak it in a sink somewhere, hand washed and dried carefully over a working A/C unit, wherever you can find one. You don’t know when he last washed the damn thing, if ever.

When you pull into the parking lot of the dive bar, and you clutch the denim vest in your hand as you step out of your van, something sharp prods your thumb. You hiss, slamming the car door shut and examining what it was. The sharp point of a pin on the vest- which reads Motörhead- had come loose and pricked your skin, which now threatens to ooze blood all over the aged denim.

“Fuck,” you murmur, bringing your thumb to your mouth as you lock the car. You struggle with the vest while you walk towards the door to the dive, trying to resituate the pin so it doesn’t go missing.

You find him loitering beside a billiards table, pool stick in hand, a cigarette in his mouth. When he sees you walk in, his eyes light up, and he nearly drops the stick prancing over to you.

“Told ya I’d still be here- hey, you okay?” His grin turns very readily into a frown when he sees you sucking your thumb like a child.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” you mutter clumsily, “your pin just nicked me s’all.”

“Oh, shit,” he curses, reaching for your hand. “Lemme see- no, let me see.” He forces your hand open when you try to close it, and scrutinizes the little pin prick as if it’s the worst battle wound he’s ever seen. “Should’a checked to make sure all the pins were right, this happens all the time. I’m so sorry, baby, my fault.”

Baby. Your brain tries to process it. He called you baby.

He’s also kissing your thumb, cradling your hand with excessive care. He’s tasting your blood, sucking a little on the pin prick like you had been, so your skin is wet with a mix of his and your spit. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of the way he touches you. Fleeting as his touches have been, anyways. You melt a little under his gaze as his round eyes blink up at you innocently.

“S’okay,” you tell him with a wobbly smile. “Did you make your calls?”

He looks at you softly, a reserved smile on his face. “I did. Wayne’s miffed, but he’ll live. Told him I’d send him a postcard.”

You giggle at that, thinking you’d sign it along with him. Sorry for stealing away your nephew; it will happen again. “Good. Buy me a drink, handsome?”

Eddie beams at you, and his dimples crease his cheeks as he turns to the bartender. There’s a sweet, boyish manner in the way he puffs out his chest and orders you a drink, his arm circling your waist as he moves you smoothly toward the bar. As soon as a whisky sour has been placed in front of you, he turns and squeezes your arm.

“Hey, I gotta finish this game,” he nods at the pool table he’d been stationed at. “I got some money on it. Y’okay with hanging out for a minute?”

“Sure,” you chirp, sipping your drink. “Wipe the floor with ‘em for me?”

“It’s in the bag,” he whispers at you conspiratorially. You push his vest at him, imagining he wants to take his insurance back now that you know he’s not taking off on you, but he shakes his head. “No, you wear it. It’ll look good on you.”

His eyes light up when you shrug the vest over your worn out white t-shirt. As you lift your drink, and he turns back to his game, you think you’d do anything to keep him looking at you like that.

Eddie wins. You don’t know how much he bet on the game, but there seems to be hurt feelings when he collects the money that had been placed on the table. You’ve never been much of a gambler, and he hadn’t struck you as one- but what do you know? He certainly bet on you getting him out of Hawkins, and you certainly took a chance on him.

You don’t think much of it. It’s late afternoon- the sun’s going down, and you figure you’d better get going, but Eddie wraps his arms around you and says, “Dance with me.” And you do.

The jukebox in the corner only plays country classics. Patsy Cline croons over the speakers, taking you back to a time in your far off childhood. Eddie sways with you to the music, and even though there’s barely any rhythm to his dancing, you find yourself falling into it with him. Your head on his shoulder, his curly hair tickling the side of your face. His breath on your neck, cool on your heated skin.

That is, until a hand wraps around Eddie’s shoulder and jerks him away from you. A man with blond hair, clearly a few too many drinks in, snarls at him, “That game was bullshit and you know it.”

Eddie blinks at him. “If by ‘bullshit’ you mean I beat you, then sure.”

“You di’int beat me, you cheated,” the man sneers. “I want my money back.”

“Yeah, no.” Eddie claps the man on the shoulder, trying to push him away. “I won the game, I get the money. That’s how gambling works.”

You step back when the man’s beady eyes fall on you, peering at him over Eddie’s shoulder. “What’re you lookin’ at?”

“You leave her out of this, buddy,” Eddie growls dangerously, still forcing the man back with one strong hand on his shoulder. He’s trying to put himself between you and the man, you know. Still, you feel the need to fist your hand in the back of Eddie’s shirt and pull him away.

“I ain’t your buddy. Whatcha lookin’ at, bitch?” The man reaches out and yanks roughly on your arm, making you yelp in alarm.

And that’s when Eddie’s fist connects with the man’s jaw.

There’s a sickening crack. In the chaos, it somehow occurs to you that Eddie’s wearing all those chunky rings. You wonder if they could be considered a deadly weapon, in the same vein as brass knuckles.

It takes you a second to get through the initial shock, finding it hard to focus on who’s doing what. Eddie and the man have barrelled through a couple of tables, knocking over chairs. Eddie has the man pinned to the edge of the pool table, a flurry of fists moving from all sides.

“You don’t touch my girl!” Eddie shouts at the man. “You don’t fuckin’ touch my girl!”

His girl.

They tumble to the floor. The man curses and spits blood at him from a cut lip. A strong fist hits the side of Eddie’s face once, twice-

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” The words are shouted by the bartender, finally intervening, pulling the blond man off of Eddie. As the bartender restrains the unruly man, a second pulls an equally enraged Eddie away from him, separating the two.

By the time you collect a bruised and bloodied Eddie into your arms, you’ve already tuned out the rest of the ruckus going on around you. Someone suggests that you should leave, but the words only barely register. You’re already pulling Eddie out the door and to the car.

You don’t even remember if you closed the tab.

Trouble’s always gonna find you, baby, but so will I. Crying only because I’m happy, hold me across every state line…

You don’t know when you started crying. Maybe it was around the time that Eddie fell unconscious.

Tears burn in your eyes like you’ve poured gasoline in them, but no matter how badly it stings you just keep sniffling and driving, tearing down the interstate away from Indianapolis, toward St. Louis. You hopped on I-70 as quickly as you could, and from there you’ve been lost in a world of your own.

He’d almost look peaceful, if it wasn’t for the blood on his jaw and the nasty shiner on his cheekbone. You keep telling yourself it’s not bad enough for him to need to be taken to a hospital. You can’t afford to go to a hospital, and even if you could, you’d have to explain how he got in this condition. It’s a recipe for jail time. You know that. You know.

You just want to keep him safe, that’s all.

He hadn’t instigated the fight, not really. He’d just swung first. He was just defending you.

His girl.

When it gets to be too much, you pull over. Headlights gleam bright and then pass by in the dark with a whoosh of air. You think you must have crossed over into Illinois by now, or you’re getting close to it. The traffic has lightened considerably.

You rest your head against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths, but the tears keep coming in streams. A while ago, you had a mattress in the back of this van. That was before it started having problems, and it sat in your family’s garage for a year and a half. You should have put a mattress in it when you took off, but you weren’t thinking that far ahead. You were having a breakdown, something like you’re having now, only worse. It was a manic, get-away-or-die-there kind of breakdown.

Breathe in. You’re not gonna die. Breathe out. He’s breathing.

Once Eddie cracks his eyes open, he flexes his jaw with a groan. You can tell he’s confused by the inquisitive noise he makes, but when he looks at you, all that disappears in a heartbeat.

“Hey, what’re you- oh, god. Sweetheart, don’t cry.”

As if that doesn’t make you want to cry harder. His hand lands tentatively on your shoulder, stiff fingered but light in touch. He shuffles closer to you, pulling you against him to sob into his secondhand shirt.

It’s pathetic, you’re sure of it. You feel pathetic, twisting the cheap cotton of his shirt in your hands and saturating it with tears, as he shushes you and soothes a hand over your hair.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers into your hair, pressing his aching lips to your scalp in an attempt to calm you down. “We’ll be okay. I’m right here. What can I do?”

For some reason, the question makes you mad. “You don’t fucking fight,” you sob at him, the anger in your voice making him freeze. “You don’t- you don’t get into fights. I can deal with a lot of shit, Eddie Munson, but I can’t deal with that.”

“Okay, honey. Okay.”

“No fighting.”

“No fighting,” he repeats affirmatively, petting your head. Then he adds, “No gambling.”

“No bars.”

“Well-”

“No bars.”

“All right,” Eddie resigns, resting his chin on top of your head. Once you’ve stopped crying, from what he can feel, he tells you softly, “I’m not… I’m not like that, you know. I want you to know. I don’t fight, not usually.”

“You did.”

“I did,” he agrees. “I just don’t like… I didn’t like him touching you. Disrespecting you like that- did he hurt you?”

“No,” you lie. The guy had yanked your arm a little too hard, your wrist still smarting a bit. Nothing near what Eddie had taken. “He hurt you, though.”

“I’ve had worse, trust me.” His tone is ominous, like you don’t really want to know the heavy details of it. “I’m not a fighter. Used to be if I saw danger, I’d just turn tail and run. I usually just take shit on the chin. But I never had anything to fight for before, really.”

You sniffle loudly, grossly. “I don’t want you to fight for me.”

“I’m gonna protect you, sweetheart. No matter what,” he insists. “Long as we’re together, I’m gonna do everything I can to protect you. Okay?”

Long as we’re together. Like you’re a couple, like you didn’t just meet by chance at a gas station a little more than 24 hours ago. Like you’re in love.

His girl.

“My dad’s in prison,” Eddie blurts out, raking a shaky hand through your hair. “He, uh… he was a fighter. And a thief. And a gambler. And a liar. He tried his best to make me be like him, but I don’t- I don’t wanna be like him.” Eddie sighs, a sad sound that rips through your already bleeding heart. “I thought maybe getting out of Hawkins would set me straight. Finally give me a chance to make something better of myself, prove I’m not like my old man. I tried, but after high school I got in some trouble, and Wayne had to sell my old van to pay for my bail. Now I’m here, and… Guess you just take yourself wherever you go, huh?”

“Yeah,” you agree. Your fingers curve against his hip, squeezing the skin there. “So we have to try to change ourselves in the meantime, while we get where we’re going.”

Eddie breathes in, and it sounds an awful lot like a sniffle.

“Eddie. Are you crying?”

“No.” He is.

You lift your head with a wet, coughing chuckle at his futile attempt to hide it. You look up at him, your fingers tucking a lock of unruly, dark hair behind his ear. He’s staring back at you with glassy eyes, the tip of his nose gone red with the tears he’s holding back. He just barely flinches when your knuckles brush the bruise on his cheekbone.

“Hey, handsome,” you coo at him softly, your touch featherlight on his skin. He blinks, a tear dropping from his lashes. “I’m gonna get you cleaned up, okay?”

“Okay.” His lip wobbles. “Let me hold you a little longer, first?”

“Of course, Eddie.” You fall into his grasping hands, yanking you to him like a child searching for the comfort of his favorite teddy bear. You’d let him hold you as long as he liked.

You wash his face in a dirty rest area just west of Terre Haute. In the middle of the night, no one is around to tell you not to, so you follow him into the men’s room and take your time wiping the blood from his jaw and his hands. You gingerly apply a bandage from your car’s console to his bruised cheek, while he sits in the front seat and brackets your hips with his knees.

He gazes up at you like a man seeing God.

The neighbors beat on the walls, while I'm face first in the bed. Show me how much I mean to you while I’m lying in these sheets undressed…

You sleep in the rest area that night, in the back of your van. No mattress, just your backs to the hard floor of the cab. With no A/C again, you shuck your clothes and spread a single white blanket over your bodies, more for modesty’s sake than anything else. Even though it’s unlikely that a cop is going to run you down in the middle of nowhere, you’d rather not get cited for public indecency.

He holds you all night long, his arms around you and his chest against your back giving you peace, but he doesn’t touch you in any of the ways that you desperately want him to.

It takes the better part of a day to drive to St. Louis. Eddie swallows a couple tylenol for his face with his truck stop coffee and eggs, smiling softly at you from across a bright yellow plywood table in a cafeteria. From the look on his face, you doubt that he regrets the fight that gave him his wounds.

By the time your old van rattles up to another Motel 6 at the outskirts of the city, Eddie’s shaking his head. “The car’s not gonna take much more than this. I need to give it a good look, maybe borrow a tool kit and give it a tune up.”

“Whatever you say, magic man,” you muse at him. “Let’s just sleep in a real bed tonight, huh?”

His head tilted back, he looks at you sideways with a lopsided smile. You can tell his face is still hurting, but he puts on a brave face and bats his eyelashes at you. “Sounds good to me, princess.”

His touch lingers on you more, now, than it did yesterday. His fingers grazing your forearm as you open the glass door to the motel office, his hand hovering over your lower back as you sign for the room. His arm slung over your shoulder as he follows you down to the room, twirling the key around his finger.

“You think the A/C will work this time?” He asks you lightheartedly as he turns the key in the lock.

“Only one way to find out,” you return with the same warmth in your voice. If you from two days ago could hear yourself, and that ooey-gooey note of lovesickness in your voice, your past self might keel over and die. When did this happen?

You drop your bag of clothes on the bench by the bathroom door. Eddie bangs around the A/C unit a bit, until something starts whirring, and he makes a gleeful noise.

“It’s aliiiiive!” He announces dramatically, emulating Dr. Frankenstein. You giggle as he leaps toward you, practically throwing you onto the bed in excitement. “We have cool air. We can actually wear clothes to bed tonight.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, not even trying to hide your disappointment at the thought. The best part of your last two mornings has been waking up to his naked body beside yours, warm and soft and littered with tattoos that you just can’t stop looking at.

You mean, I won’t get to wake up to your skin on mine tomorrow? I won’t be able to pretend like I’m not staring at your dick and imagining all the things I want to do to it? How will I be able to admire you for my own perverted gain?

You don’t even realize that you’re stroking your fingers across his bruised cheek until he leans into your touch. Then you take inventory of your current position- your back to the mattress, his body hovering over you, half covering you. Caging you in with his arms. His long hair creates a veil around your faces.

When he blinks his eyes open at you, you can tell where his mind is before he opens his mouth. “Did we have our first fight yesterday?”

You frown, a puff of air exiting your nose. “No, I think I’d call it laying ground rules.”

“Ground rules,” Eddie nods, his sore cheek rubbing against your hand. You’re starting to wonder if he likes the pain, since he won’t stop pushing into it. “I’m not great at remembering rules. What were they, again?”

“No fighting.”

“Right, and no gambling.”

“No bars.”

He squints. “Is that one still up for negotiation, or…?” He trails off, giggling as you smack your hand lightly against his shoulder. “Kidding! I’m kidding. No bars. Got it.”

“And that was it,” you tell him sweetly. “Unless there was another one you wanted to add?”

He stares at you for a long moment, his fingers twirling in the hair right beside your ear as he gets lost in thought. Say what you’re thinking, your mind practically screams at him. Please, god, say what we’re both thinking…

Eddie licks his lips and finally says, “No sleeping with clothes on?”

Gotcha. A creeping smile stretches your face, trying to play coy even when your heart’s beating a mile a minute. Eddie’s eyebrows raise at you, waiting for an answer.

“I’m not easy, Eddie.”

“I know,” he tells you, mirroring your smile. “I don’t expect to get lucky with you.”

“I know,” you hum. Your hand drifts up the side of his torso, a more firm and languorous touch than you’d previously been brave enough to give him. “But do you want to?”

Eddie shudders, and it’s the first honest to god evidence you have that you turn him on as much as he does you. The realization feels rapturous.

“God, yes.”

He kisses you then, open-mouthed and passionate, his hand cupping your jaw to keep you where he wants you. Your nails scratch up his back with a loud tearing sound against his shirt, and he chuckles as you frantically clutch at him with all your strength.

“I know, pretty girl,” he murmurs, pecking your lips briefly before descending to bite at your jaw. “You’ve been wanting this since that first night. Feelin’ me up in the morning, like I wouldn’t notice…”

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” you hiccup as his hand cups the crotch of your jeans, rocking the meat of his palm firmly where you’re dying for friction. “Oh, ffffuck Eddie, m’sorry…”

“And here you were, thinking I was the pervert,” he grunts. “‘Least I can keep my hands to myself, hm?”

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry,” you babble at him, hands shaking as they grip onto his shoulders. Now that the aching throb between your legs is back, and he’s finally giving it attention, you can’t seem to come up with a more coherent sentence. Your face grows hot, but not at the fact that you’d been caught in your lechery- just because he turns you on more than you can think to admit.

“Don’t be sorry, sweet thing,” Eddie whispers. His dark eyes are lined up with yours, the curtain of his hair shielding them from reflecting any of the light from the desk lamp- it’s just you and the starry voids of space, locked in your own little world. He rubs his hand back and forth with practiced pressure against the front of your jeans, your hips kicking up against him. “I want you to touch me. Want you to do whatever you want with me, baby.”

“Whatever I want?” Your fingers dragging up his lower back, under his shirt to feel the heat of his skin.

“Anything,” he insists, kissing you again. Wet and sloppy, teeth clacking as you grind up into his palm. Your thick denim jeans are about the most abominable things that have ever existed.

You feel like your head’s on sideways with how pent up you already are. “I want you to fuck me Eddie- jesus chr- can we do that? Right now? Please?”

Eddie laughs. A happy, whole-hearted, almost disbelieving laugh. “Thought I was gonna be the one begging you, after all this…” His breath hitches, the touch of his hand leaving you so that he can push himself back. “Lemme get you out of these clothes, yeah?”

You nod quickly, earning a pleased hum from him. The way he undresses you is touched by reverence; his fingers slow as they drag the cotton of your shirt over your head, grazing your skin all the way. His lips dancing across your collarbone as he undoes the front of your stupid fucking jeans. You just want them off, done with and laying in a pile to be forgotten about by the motel room door, but Eddie has other plans.

“Slow.” He grabs your hip to stop your wiggling, fingers curled around the back of the waistband of them as he pulls the denim down your thighs. “We’ve got all night, baby. I’m not leaving. Not going anywhere.”

“I want you,” you insist desperately, sounding like a broken record. Your distress is evident on your face, in the way you clench your thighs together to hide the obnoxious wet spot growing on your cotton panties. You wonder if he’d felt it when he was touching you over your jeans, if the heat and dampness had soaked through the denim as well. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“You have me, sweetheart,” Eddie ensures. “Don’t… I don’t want you to worry about it. M’gonna make sure there are no worries in that pretty head.”

He yanks his t-shirt off, the one you’d bought him from the resale store. A cloud of frizzy, dark hair obscures his pretty face for half a second, the shirt landing on the floor somewhere off to the side, and then Eddie’s eyes find you again, grinning at you widely with pointed teeth.

You grab for him, your fingers looping around the chain that hangs from his neck. Tugging him down, you press a gentle kiss to his lips. Then to his sore jaw, where a tiny scab has formed on the right side of his chin. Then to his bruised cheek, where he flutters his eyes shut and groans softly at the brush of your lips.

“My boy,” you whisper to him, and you don’t even know if he understands the significance of it to you. His girl. Your boy.

Eddie smiles against your skin. He peppers kisses everywhere he can reach, down onto your chest, dragging his sharp teeth every once in a while just to hear you keen. You’re certain you’ve ruined your underwear now, feeling the wetness grow cool against your skin.

What a fucking concept. Cool air.

Eddie seems to have the same thought as you, as he slips his fingers beneath the white cotton and peels them down your legs. Strings of your arousal stick to the wet fabric, dropping off in thick tendrils onto the sheets below you as he groans lowly.

“Fuck,” Eddie curses, shaking his head in chastisement as he settles between your legs at the end of the bed. He tsks, “Just look at you, poor thing. Should’a said something to me, can’t have you going around like this.”

You shiver as he trails his mouth up the inside of your thigh. His day-old stubble scrapes your sensitive skin, making you break out in a cold sweat. “M’not- I didn’t want you to think-”

“That you’re easy?” He coos with a condescending smile. “No, honey. I know, you’re a good girl.” He nips at the widest part of your thigh, plush flesh indenting with the imprint of his teeth. “But I’m no good. You should know that, better than anyone. No good for you.”

Eddie’s tongue burns and soothes at the same time, leaving your brain a scrambled mess on the mattress beneath you. He gathers all of your collected arousal into his mouth, groaning like he’s been desperate to taste it all this time. “Been dreaming of this since I saw you, pretty girl.”

Pulling your leg over his bare shoulder, he all but crushes you against his face, his sturdy hands wrapped around your hips to hold you still. Your back arched, your hips fully off the bed as he lifts your lower half into the air.

You choke out the first part of his name, your hands fisting in the comforter next to your head. There’s a twist of pleasure deep in your core that makes you whine far louder than necessary, a waterfall of words spilling from you before you can stop them, “Oh shit- Ed- I don’t- s’too good-”

“Too good?” Eddie snickers, eyes bright as he watches you from between your thighs. “Nothing's too good for you.”

Then he spits onto your already soaked and swollen pussy. You sob, positively crying from the feeling of it, drenched and dripping along your sensitive flesh. Eddie spreads the wetness around with his tongue, and your cunt clamps down hard at the lewd squelch of it, the mortifying slurp of his lips closing down and sucking on your labia.

“Oh fuck, what the fuck-” you whimper high to the ceiling, mouth hanging open in shock.

You could have been doing this for days. He could have fucked you like this the first night, when you lay next to him, naked in the dark. Your body aches at the thought of being deprived of this longer than necessary.

“That’s it, baby, just stay still. Let me ruin you, huh?” Eddie murmurs, letting your thigh rest heavy on his shoulder so that he can move one hand, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit in front of his face. He watches your cunt glisten and throb for him, listening to your desperate sobs echo through the otherwise silent room, and whispers, “Shit. Like my own little fuckin’ pornstar, sweetheart.”

Normally, you wouldn’t exactly take that as a compliment- but with the way he says it, with his voice thick and dark like that, and with the way the hot, slick velvet of his tongue dips into your channel and shoots electricity along your skin, you figure he must have meant it like one.

He goes slow, thrusting into you gently, taking his time to get familiar between your legs. Still, it doesn’t stop you from positively shrieking toward the ceiling when he licks you from hole to clit, the entire expanse of his tongue sweeping along nerve endings that are charged like live wires.

Eddie chuckles, hot breath spilling out over your feverish skin, and he pauses there. Lets you feel the warm press of his flattened tongue before he just barely rubs it back and forth, back and forth-

“Eddie-!?” You gasp, an erotically loud moan spilling out of your mouth right before you come all over his. You crumble, your hips threatening to buck out of his steady grip as searing euphoria rips through you. He scrambles, ringed fingers locking tight enough on your waist to bruise, keeping you against him as you thrash wildly.

He keeps you like that for a long time, purring into your spasming pussy while an array of unhinged noises pour from your body- your mouth, your hands tearing at the sheets and at your head, your cunt and all its wet filth drenching Eddie’s bruised face.

If it hurts him, he doesn’t let on. He just keeps going, and going.

Until something pounds against the wall behind your head. You hiccup, your dazed, post-orgasm brain unable to comprehend where the sound is coming from. That wasn’t- couldn’t have been me…

“Pretty sounds,” Eddie giggles as he finally pulls his mouth away from you. “Guess the neighbors agree.”

“Oh, god.” Your hands cover your face, hot and sticky with sweat. Your eyes feel heavy, fuck-drunk, your heart still pounding in your chest from the adrenaline of the orgasm Eddie gave you. You feel embarrassed, like you ought to be going over to apologize to whatever sorry person happens to be sharing a wall with you, now.

Eddie has other plans. “Think we should give the audience a good show, huh?”

It’s merely a suggestion- you know that you could always find a way to quiet yourself, stuff your mouth with cotton and stifle your moans- but the implication of it makes your toes curl. Your breath rattles in your chest when you inhale. “You… you want everyone in the building to hear you fucking me?”

Eddie crowds you on the bed, your legs still slung over his shoulders so that you’re bent nearly in half. He’s still too fucking clothed for your liking- his leather belt digs into the back of your thighs as he presses a sloppy kiss to your dry lips. “I want everyone here to know you’re mine, sweetheart.”

Your hands cradle his face, pulling him in for a deeper kiss as he slowly lowers your legs from his shoulders. Your over extended legs flop down onto the mattress, and you whine into his mouth as he massages his tongue with yours.

“I’m yours, Eddie,” you moan against his damp skin. “Oh god, I want it- want everyone to know.”

You take the initiative, with one last kiss turning in his grip. His hand slips, catching himself from toppling off the bed as you scoot onto your stomach, your knees planting on the mattress so that you can wiggle your hips up at him.

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, smoothing a gentle palm over your ass before he kisses your lower back. He pauses, drawing soft kisses up your spine until his breath sweeps your shoulder blade. “You’re so beautiful. How’d I get so fucking lucky?”

A quiet keen is the only answer you give him, shoving your hips backward to get him to just fucking touch you, but he pulls away too quickly. There’s the clink of a belt buckle, a zipper being pulled, and you tense, your hand closing into a fist around the pillow at the head of the bed. Following the rustle of clothes, you hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper- you hadn’t even realized he had one. It didn’t even occur to you, in your dizzying need to fuck him, like some loveblind idiot.

You almost berate yourself for it, but then you feel his cock press against your entrance, and all those thoughts die away. He rolls his hips, and every single muscle in you tightens.

Eddie chokes on air as pleasure positively tears through you. Your eyes roll back, your mouth wide open and threatening to drool onto the pillow you’ve been shoved face-first into.

“F-fuck, you’re so big.” It’s the only thing you can choke out around moans. He splits you so wide, dragging through your slick walls that are still so sensitive from your first orgasm.

“Holy shi- oh my god-” he gasps behind you. “M’so sorry- I can’t- Feels so fucking good-”

You groan, unable to form words to adequately answer him. All you can manage to do is jam your hips backward in an attempt to get him deeper, as far as he can fucking go inside you. Your body blazes, everything coming up smelling of sex and sweat as you wail hopelessly into the pillow.

Eddie snarls, a deep and dangerous noise in the back of his throat as he draws his hips back and presses into you again. There’s no time for you to adjust, each thrust a little more forceful than the last. His cock hits sharp heaven deep inside you, punching loud and guttural moans from you each time his hips impact your ass.

“That’s a good girl- so ffffucking wet, goddamnit,” Eddie praises you through clenched teeth, ringed fingers and bruised knuckles wrapping loosely around your neck to lift your head from the pillow. ��Let them hear all those pretty noises for me, baby.”

“Eddie…” You hiccup, your voice kicked up into a shrill whine. You swallow against the press of his fingers on your throat, holding your jaw into the air so there’s no place for your sounds to go but to the wall and through it.

Above your head, the banging on the wall starts back up. Eddie drops your chin and slams his hand on top of the headboard, gripping tightly at plywood that threatens to hit the wall as he ruts into you. Your face hits the pillow again, but your sobbing moans still come out loud and disruptive as Eddie speeds up his hips in retaliation.

“Doing so good f’me. Feel me, princess? So fucking deep,” Eddie groans. His cock licks up a sweet heat inside of you, and you know you’re going to come. He curses lowly, his hips pistoning into yours hard enough that you have to smack your hand into the headboard to keep from knocking into it. “Taking me so well. So perfect- s’like you were made for me, I know it, I just fucking know it…”

Eddie’s arm wraps around your waist from behind, and he hauls your back into his sweat-slick chest. You almost feel weightless, for a moment, before you’re settled back into his lap, your thighs bracketing his as he kneels beneath you, clutching you against him.

A gasp tears from your mouth with a loud, “Shit!” His cock hits a different spot inside you, bursting color behind your closed eyelids as you throw your head back against his shoulder.

Eddie’s breath fans across your neck, sweat-damp hair tickling the side of your face. His hand greedily palms at your breasts, bouncing you in his lap as his tongue traces a wet line along your shoulder.

“Just know you were made for me,” Eddie repeats quietly in your ear, his breath feeling like flames on your neck. “That’s why you found me, baby. You were meant to be mine, my girl.”

His girl.

“Yours, Eddie,” you blubber, reaching back to dig a fist into his hair as his hands squeeze your breasts. “M’all yours.”

“Yeah?” Eddie murmurs, his voice saccharine and velvety. He moans in your ear when your cunt clenches down, a threatening throb at the outskirts of your orgasm. “Say it again.”

A whimper, high and needy in your throat. “I’m yours. Your girl- oh, f-fuck, Eddie- I’m gonna-”

“That’s right. My good girl. Only easy when it comes to me, right?”

Eddie’s hand drags purposefully down, fingernails dragging just through your pubic hair, just barely grazing where you want him- just like you did to him, that first morning. The realization makes you seize up, all tense from head to toe.

“What’s it like, when I do it to you? You like it?” He whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. You suck in a sharp breath, a hiss through your teeth as you nod. His laugh is barely a ghost of a breath on your skin. “Yeah. I did, too.”

Eddie’s voice in your ear says, “Come for me,” and not even a fraction of you would deny him that.

His finger drags slowly your clit, calloused skin catching on the swollen bud, and you come. Your body slumps against him, and you’re so grateful for his arms around you to hold you through it. You’d swear he was splitting you in half with the sounds coming from your mouth. Your head tilted back on his shoulder, every breath is punctuated by a hoarse cry that breaks in your throat. Your hand clamps around his arm, which is still cradling you close to his chest as his own moans ring in your ear, his hips driving up into you as your cunt pulses around his cock. You know that he comes when his teeth wrap around the muscle of your shoulder and bite down.

Silence settles over your sweaty bodies, but thunderous banging is still furiously happening on the other side of the wall. You hear voices, words too muffled by the drywall to be intelligible, but they still sound angry.

Eddie won’t let you go, not yet. He’s clutching you, his mouth still wrapped around your shoulder, even though his teeth aren’t biting anymore. You pet his forearm, and lean forward just enough to knock lightly on the wall.

“We’re done!” Your voice cracks with the effort it takes to call out to the people on the other side.

“Fantastic show, my love. I think we deserve five stars.” Eddie laughs, nuzzling his face into your neck as he finally releases your shoulder from the trappings of his jaw. “I think I’m corrupting you, sweetheart.”

You hum, still petting his arm. “I think you already have, teddy.”

Eddie freezes, his grip on your waist tightening just a little. “No one’s called me that since I was a kid.”

“What, teddy?” He nods. Your fingernails drag dully down his arm, tracing over a tattoo of a swarm of bats, which breaks out in goosebumps under your touch. “Is that… Can I call you that?”

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah, you can- you can call me teddy.”

It’s quiet after that. He rocks you in his arms until you kiss his knuckles and lift yourself gingerly from his lap, earning a pacified grunt from him as his softened cock slides out of you. You watch him as he ties off the condom and tosses it in the wastebasket a few feet away, then flops backward onto the bed so that his head hits the pillows.

You chuckle, sliding forward to run your hands along his stomach. “Honey, you still have your pants on.”

He hadn’t taken them completely off, only pushed them down far enough to free his cock and have at you. What’s more, he still has his boots on, too- big, black motorcycle things that nearly hang off the end of the bed.

Eddie grunts dismissively. “C’n deal with it in the morning.”

“No sleeping with clothes on.”

He huffs petulantly, but the scowl he tries to give you turns into a lovesick grin pretty quick. He tucks his hand behind his head in mock-nonchalance. “Hey, pretty lady. You come here often?”

“Once or twice, so far.” You grin at him as he laughs, rolling your eyes as you move down the bed to finish undressing him. You untie his boots and let them fall with his jeans and boxers onto the floor at the end of the bed, glancing up at him once you’re finished.

His eyes are closed. You don’t think he’s sleeping yet, but he’s flushed, covered in sweat. He’s still so much of an enigma to you, but you adore him. You’re enamored with him.

You crawl slowly up the length of his body, feline-like in your movements. You appraise his tattoos, smoothing your hands over them as you go. You lean down and press featherlight kisses across his beautiful, bruised face.

Eddie cracks his eyes open at you with an inquisitive smirk, just barely puckering his lips to kiss you back when you land one on them. “Feeling me up again, sweetheart?”

You hum, kissing his chest. “You’re hot.” It’s the only explanation you afford him. And once he’s shut his eyes again, you carefully move down his body, peppering kisses across his naked torso.

“What’re you-?” He twitches when you drag your tongue over his cock, still wet and salty with his cum. He groans as you slowly lift it, suckling on the head gently. “Oh… Sweetheart, m’not… I don’t think I can-”

“I’m just cleaning you up, teddy,” you tell him gently. “S’okay. You can go to sleep.”

He hums tiredly, his hand lifting to run through your hair, stroking tenderly against the back of your head. “My girl just can’t keep her hands off, huh?”

“Not a chance,” you tell him, giving him another slow lick. “You’re just too fucking pretty, Eds.”

“And you’re too fuckin’ perfect.” Eddie only really falls asleep after he comes again.

I’m never gonna leave you, baby, even if you lose what’s left of your mind…

A few days later, the car breaks down in Colorado Springs.

It had been acting up for a while, of course. Even though you enjoyed watching Eddie when he was bent over the open hood, bare arms sweaty and streaked with grease in the afternoon heat, you knew it ultimately wasn’t going to end well.

Each time Eddie tinkered with it, more and more concerning things came to light. “One of your cylinders misfired,” he said one time, shaking his head. He’d insisted on driving it from that point on. Another, “The fucking spark plug has gone out. We have to get a new one.” That was $75 you didn’t have to spare.

You guess the car had just fucking had it when you got to Colorado. You went to start it up at a truck stop, and the whole thing just sputtered and coughed at you, and then you didn’t have an engine anymore.

After Eddie paced around and cursed about it for a couple minutes, you both crawled into the back of the van and locked the door. And now you sit cross-legged across from each other, with everything of value that you have to your name in a little pile in front of you.

When you left home, you’d saved up a couple thousand to live off of until you got somewhere you felt comfortable working and living in. Since then, you’ve squandered it on food and motels and gas, never staying put and now rambling along with Eddie.

From the ATM, Eddie had stolen around two thousand dollars. He’s in the same boat as you, now looking at only a couple hundred in between the two of you. Hardly enough to afford a hotel room or bus fare for the both of you. Certainly not enough to get you a new car, or even rent one.

He scrubs his hands down his face, dirty fingernails pressing into his skin. “You should take it.”

“What?” You squint at him.

“There’s enough here for bus fare for you, at least,” Eddie murmurs, his fingers poking at the pile and scooting it toward you. “Getcha where you want to go. Get a nice job at a tourist shop in Vegas or Santa Monica or something.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Eddie?” you snap. You swat his hand away from the pile, looking affronted. “I’m not taking the money, so cut it out. We’ll figure something else out.”

Eddie shakes his head, like he’s already made up his mind. “We had a deal. I fix your car, you take me with you. And I didn’t fix your car.”

“Yeah, but that was before…” you trail off, scrutinizing his expression. He won’t meet your gaze. He won’t look at you.

Eddie’s mouth opens and closes like he’s a fish out of water. Then, he says bitingly, “Before we fucked?”

You can feel all the emotion drain from your face, leaving you a blank, hollow screen with dead eyes just staring at him. It’s your best defense against bursting into tears at the very tone of his voice.

When he glances at you, you can tell that he wants to take it back immediately. His teeth worry his bottom lip, ripping at chapped shreds of skin. “Don’t do me any favors, sweetheart.”

“It’s not a fucking favor- I thought we were doing this together.”

Eddie talks over you. “You don’t need to keep dragging me around with you, okay? You’re off the hook.”

“Eddie, you’re being mean,” you croak at him. Not exactly the quick, biting wit that you can usually whip out- he’s shocked you.

He drops his eyes, his hands squeezing his knees. “Yeeeah,” he grumbles, his fingers tapping sporadically against his denim jeans. “Well, I told you, I’m no good for you. You didn’t listen.”

You told me that while your tongue was in my pussy. The words are balanced on the edge of your teeth, but they won’t fall out. Your hands itch to reach out for him, grab his chin and force him to look at you, somehow.

Instead, they snatch up the little bit of cash from your side of the pile in between you. You crumple it in your hand and shove the wad into your jacket pocket before you grab the strap of your weather-beaten backpack full of the last things you have to your name, and kick open the back door of the van.

It’s summer, but it’s windy in Colorado. It must be something about the mountains, you guess, and it being early morning. Condensation hangs in the air, making the air both heavy and cool as you breathe. Funny- if you slept naked, you’d probably have to curl up into each other for warmth, for a change.

You’re either vibrating from rage or from the abnormal chill in the air. Standing on the street corner with the gas station sign lit up in neon behind you, you kick the crosswalk pole with your dirty converse. You’re still arguing with him, in your head. We were in this together, motherfucker. I told you, I’m your girl. I put all my eggs in your basket. Whatever fucking martyr complex this is, you can shove it right up your stupid-

“I know.” Eddie’s tattooed arms wrap around your waist and pull you into his chest, his face buried in your hair as he whispers urgently into it. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

So, you weren’t arguing with him in your head. You were actually yelling everything you were thinking, and he chased you as you stormed off. Seems about par for the course.

“Fuck you, Eddie, did it even mean anything to you?” you blather at him, your voice thick with impending tears. “‘Cause it meant something to me.”

“Course it did,” he rasps at you, his arms squeezing you to him so tight that you’re running out of air to breathe. “I didn’t- I was being shitty. I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave.”

“Then don’t push me away.” The tears collect in your lashes, finally dripping down your cheeks. You turn in his arms and whack your hand flat against his chest. “Don’t treat me like some slut, don’t- I didn’t sleep with you just because I wanted you to fix my fucking car, you jerk.”

“I don’t think that,” Eddie insists quietly, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “C’mon, now.”

“You said-”

“I know what I said,” he cuts you off. “And I didn’t mean it. I have a bad habit of throwing away the good things in my life, ‘cause… ‘cause of that martyr complex, you said-” He jams his tongue against the roof of his mouth when you hiccup, staring up at him with a wobbly lip. “Don’t let me throw you away. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had, ‘n I don’t wanna lose you just because I’m an idiot.”

You sigh, your head falling neatly into the crook of his neck like it’s meant to be there. He’s too quiet, holding you against him at the street corner. Eddie breathes in deep and kisses the side of your head longingly.

“I can get us a car.”

You lift your head to look at him. He wears a disappointed expression. “But we don’t have any money.”

“It won’t take money,” Eddie mumbles as he strokes your back. “I, uh… I didn’t want to end up like my old man, but…” he shrugs, his eyes cast away from you. He chuckles sadly. “Nothin’ I can do about that, now, I guess. I mean, look how you met me.”

Oh. You can infer what he means by the far-off look on his face, like he’s resigned himself to his fate. You lift your hands to cradle his face; the bruise on his cheekbone has faded to yellow, the scab on his chin almost healed. He’s never looked more beautiful to you.

“You’re a good man, Eddie,” you tell him sternly.

Eddie’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be too sure of that. You might change your mind.”

‘Cause you know I’ll be right there beside you, riding through all these western nights…

The sedan isn’t exactly flashy, or new. It’s a tin can on wheels that’ll crumble into bits if you so much as side-swipe a trash can. You keep a lookout as Eddie jimmies an unwound wire coat hanger between the glass window and the door, and a second later the door is unlocked.

You’re unnervingly calm. How did you get to be so calm about all this? Stealing money, driving getaway cars, stealing other cars when those ones don’t work. Suddenly an accomplice to whatever illegal shit has to happen for you to get where you’re going.

What’s worse, you think, is how badly the sight of him hotwiring the car turns you on. It’s practically horrifying the way your skin crawls and your core burns as you watch his hands fiddle with the wires beneath the console, so quick that your mind can barely process it. You’re not sure if the adrenaline in your veins is from looking to see if anyone’s coming, or if it’s because you want to jump his bones.

"I swear to you," he's saying as he swipes at frayed wires, "I swear, when we get to San Francisco, I'll never- I'm gonna get an honest, real fuckin' job, I'm not gonna do anything to hurt yo-"

The car starts, and you leap into the front seat without giving it any more thought. “Eddie?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He looks up at you, his brows tilted up expectantly. He’s still tucking wires back under the dashboard, preparing to take off once he gets the door shut.

“I slept with you because I’m falling in love with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide as moons, glittering in the light of a fluorescent floodlight at the corner of the dark parking lot.

“You don’t have to love me back,” you tell him honestly. “I just wanted you to know. I’m with you. And I’m not gonna leave.”

You don’t know if he loves you back- not yet, anyways. He doesn’t say it to you. But he kisses you like he does.

I'll be screaming your name past the gas stations, trailing down the interstate. Please don’t love how I need you, and know that one day, you and I could be okay.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #roses*

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vinnoa-articles · 10 months

Text

The Cure from Sleep Insanity

[Image by Winter Mohn]

Rating: +18, meaning if you are under this age, do not read. You have been told.

Word count: 3,352

Type: Smut

Characters: reader (female), Law, Chopper and mentions of other Strawhats, Heart Pirates and other pirates.

Trigger warnings/content: choking, consent, some anger, swearing, teasing, restraints, multiple orgasms, fatigue, aftercare, a little rough.

Info: Some of it will be in italics, it is thoughts by another character. If it is Bold and Italics, then it is an ability.

“Why can’t I suture the wound closed when it’s-”

“Because the bleeding might start again, and it may cause more pain!” The little horned reindeer claimed, pointing his hoof at the irritated doctor of the Heart Pirates. Their hats sat side-by-side, in contrast to how they were sitting. He pointed across the books sprawled table, with a single candle flickering in between. The bags of restlessness was prominent under Law’s eyes. “Think about it, if we wait and let time go by, it may be better”. Law glanced at the furry creature, and usually he would have a soft spot for this creature, but when it comes to the right choice as to what to do in the heat of the moment; he fights it out. Whereas Chopper always thinks with his heart, trying to save people with his soul instead of fighting with his fists. “You could remove the bullet from their chest cavity with your abilities. Tra-guy”. The tired doctor grumbled and scratched his head, trying to comprehend this small creature. Chopper really does seem to go the more humane route, but then again, he typically doesn’t get his paws dirty out in the field in a fight, but rather helping those who need treatment. Where as for Law-

“Yes, but there are limitations to my abilities. Even your abilities have a limit, yes?” His right hand rested under his jaw now, glancing quickly at the fluff ball. “I just-”.

“You need to sleep Tra-guy. You haven’t slept. Thinking rationally is what you need right now, especially if you haven’t been spending a lot of time with your partner”. Sluggishly, Law’s eyes finally met Chopper’s. How long has it been? Granted, a lot of stuff was on his mind such as the Marines, Big Mom, Kaido, Don Flamingo, and many other rivals. Even Luffy and Eustass Kid kept his mind busy, but he even had to think about his pals Bepo and the rest of his crew. Shit, it has been a while hasn’t it. The more I have been fighting and been researching, the more I have been… He hates being wrong next to the reindeer. Rather, he hates more than ever that he is right, and that he does need more sleep and social interaction; over fighting and reading. Leaving an exasperated sigh, and an aggravated groan, he leans on his chair. His messy hair was now slowly being pushed into one direction with how many times his hands ran through his hair tonight.

“Ah! God dammit Chopper-ya. I hate it when you are right, but…” his voice trailed off. Law’s mind was in the clouds, it has been ages since he unwound, let alone rest on a soft surface. Sleeping in chairs, the wooden deck of Sunny, the metal floor of Polar Tang, heck the grass on Sunny was a little better, however a bed sounds divine. Maybe even some time with his partner, but the grogginess has been getting to him. Being up for forty-some hours, he did start seeing visions; Bepo in an Uta outfit, a cooked thing of meat with a straw-hat on top, and-

“Law?” There is no way he heard your voice. He stares at Chopper, whose head was turned to the entrance. Finally turning his head, he saw your figure. Standing against the doorframe. Your eyebrows raised, as you look at him up and down. “Up…again? I can at least tell you bathed today”. God, they really do give him little credit, but as a doctor, if duty calls he has to be somewhat clean right? His black and yellow robe adorned his body loosely, the belt nearly coming undone, with his bare feet propped up on the table, you just had to take in this sight.

“Well, I need to head to bed. I can’t be late to breakfast in the morning!” Chopper hops off the chair nearly twice his height. You can see he is wearing his cute little pig pajamas, and you couldn’t help but smile at his cuteness. Then again, who wouldn’t be chuckling at this cute little doctor. “Jya-na (Japanese: See Ya)”. As he is about to leave the room, you bend down and plant a small little kiss, then pat his head.

“Thanks Chopper. At least we have one responsible doctor that cares about both his patients and himself”. Chopper hopped past you and froze quick before turning to you and glancing up.

“W-w-well…that doesn’t make me happy, konoyaro! (Japanese: you idiot)”, as he did his little cute bashful dance. As his small feet carry him out of your sight, his cute little hooves pit-patting down the long hallway of Sunny-Go. Chuckling at his reaction, you look up to see Law still leaning back in his chair staring at you. His frown was still on his face. When it happened was not apparent since his resting-bitch-face is usually what his default is. However, you can tell he was annoyed by something. By what, you are not really sure. Sighing, you walk closer to him, the candle still flickering near the doctor’s headpieces. Law’s gaze did not falter as you got within a few paces in front of him. He looks irritated even. What could it have been? The lack of sleep? Or maybe…jealousy?

“Law, you do see me right?” He blinked once, then twice, then closed his eyes. A small exhale escaped his lips as he slicked his hair back again, as some hairs came back to place.

“I am surprised you came to see me, if you are really here to see me”. His words stung, yet you could understand why he said that. He hasn’t slept, he has been stuck in this room for a long time. Even Bepo and Chopper bring meals to the library here and there to make sure he isn’t starving himself. Sanji gave up because Law used to forget to eat and the fresh food almost would go wasted; until he force fed it to Law which caused him to do a personality-switch-operation with Zoro and Sanji. Which led to an all out fight that nearly had Nami, Robin, Bepo, Penguin and even Jimbei get involved in. It got resolved, but it nearly took a day for Franky to fix the ship, and a stern scolding from Nami and Luffy to get Law, Zoro and Sanji to get back on track.

“Law, it is me”, your outfit was a lot tighter on your body than you were used to, yet your skirt was flowing so not only would you look cute but at least elegant. You dressed up earlier and didn’t change yet because you were partying at the island before, and you were on nightwatch with Brook tonight. Brook knew that you needed your own version of romance, he has been alive long enough to know that. Brook knew what he was doing, well maybe. “Law, come on…listen to me. It is me, even Chopper talked to me today. Despite how busy he is too!” He was super confused now, he wasn’t sure if it was his dick was talking because he wanted your touch, your skin against his, the warmth of your flesh emanating close to his fingers, the scent of salt from the sea and your body penetrating the air, or if it was the sleepiness and the depravity of rest. “Please look at me when I talk to you”, as you raise your hands to touch his stubble and beard, He smelled so nice of cleaner, yet also musky. He always did smell nice, usually. You could feel his face rest slowly, softly into your palms. Basking in your touch, the soft skin that cradled his jaw, which his fingers were on calloused from using his knives, to his sword. His fingers crawled up to hold your right hand under his jaw, while massaging it gently. This is what he wanted, but God was he going crazy. A man of composure, even in battle, and even when Luffy tells him what to do irks him beyond belief. Right now though, he could smell your scent, his head was starting to get muddled with thoughts. He craved you, a drug that could cure his insanity at this moment.

“God, I need sleep. I can’t be going this dumb over you”, he gasped out. Now you were hurt, how could he say such a thing? He should be happy to see you, not disappointed. You snatch your hands back, but you couldn’t help and hesitate to almost reach back to grab him. He looked tired, yet hot. His sigh rang out into the quiet air, only the slight crackle of the candle could be heard. “Listen, y/n-ya”.

“Save your excuses, I guess if you didn’t want to see me, then you could have said it in the first place”. You were agitated now. There is no way he talked to you like that just now.

“Wait, y/n-ya, that’s not what I meant. You know what I meant-”, Law was fumbling with his words. His robe was withstanding the heat emanating from his body. He could feel his member twitch, but he put down his legs from the table and crossed his legs to hide his growth. “Please, look…you know I didn’t mean it like that dammit,” slicking his hair back again. It was irresistible when he did that normally, and yet you couldn’t care now. “Please listen to me, I just want to understand what else I can do to save those around me. If I can’t do that then…”

“Then what Law? You can’t neglect your social health for just your studies. Your connections are just as important!”

“I know that! God dammit!” He slammed his hand on the table, wishing that was you earlier. “Do you know how long I have wanted to get this done so I can focus on you? Just you?” You were upset, but you have heard enough talk from him; you wanted more action.

“Put your money where your mouth is. Your hands work well on patients, yet it seems you don’t know how to work them at all outside of a fight”. That did it for him. He got up and grabbed your shoulders, nearly slamming you down on the wooden table, snuffing out the candle as you landed. You could see his eyes darkening as he looked at you. His robe was hanging off his frame, his belt so loose you could poke it and it would come undone.

“Say it again. You don’t know how hard I have been working here” nearly shaking you on the table. God, you could feel his hands trembling, yet gripping your shoulders as he shook you.

“I said, you don’t know how to work your hands outside of a fight”, those words made him want to prove you wrong. He was told what to do by Luffy, Chopper was right earlier, and now he cannot let you be right too. Law was slipping more and more from who he was, becoming sloppy with his thoughts. His face gets super close to yours, while he puts his left hand under your head and lifts it up to crash his lips onto yours. Tugging your hair slightly so that he could get a response from you. He knows you love it when he tugs your hair. In this moment though, you were just as stubborn as he, and you tried to fight the urge; no matter how hard it was for you to not moan. His kisses got deeper, and deeper, his tongue was exploring yours and you let go fighting his tongue. Closing your eyes, his lips left yours. You open your eyes to see his eyebrows furrowed, perplexed that what he was doing wasn’t making you moan already “is that all you got?” This brat… Lips traveling down your jaw and to your neck, marking and sucking to make sure people know who you belonged to. Regardless of whether you were right or if he was by the end of this. He looks up, and takes a step back.

Room

You knew what might happen now, and as you saw the space change-

Shambles

You were now in the medical room, of course you were. He must have switched something with you two, and now here you were. His robe comes undone, and you just see him in his black boxers with a bulge that you have seen here and there. You didn’t realize your body was partially leaned back on the medical table, it was cold and yet the room was slightly lit due to the small emergency light plug-in, in case Chopper had to come in. Before you could take in everything, your body gets flipped over, your chest pressing on the cold table.

“I’ll show you how a doctor works, if you allow me-”

“Of course, you have my consent. Unless you really can’t work with your hands then-” He had heard enough of your back-talk. Room…Shambles Feeling the retrains popping into his hands, tying your hands behind your back. He already has to deal with you talking back, he doesn’t want to give you that power too. His hands gripping your tied hands, he hiked up your skirt so he could see your panties. You tried to stand up properly, but his grip was pushing you down firmly on the table.

“Now now, I can’t have my patient move around while I have to figure out what is wrong, now can I?” You can tell he was smirking based off his tone. His right hand was still gripping onto your wrists and you could feel his rough fingers slowly touching the outside of your panties. “I can tell my patient is aroused. Yet, the only medicine can only be administered by me.” You wanted his fingers in you, and he knew that. Your core ached, this is what you two have missed out on for awhile now. Heck, even the empty space next to you, day-in and day-out was making you restless. Shaking your ass, you waited for your reward for a response, but it never came. “What? You want these?” You felt his right hand loosen, yet his hand went up and on your neck. Subtly choking you, sticking his long fingers into your mouth. God, you wanted it his fingers, and how you longed for it. Subtly sucking on his fingers, you wanted to show him you were serious.

“P-puwase, ah need” Your words a mess, incoherent even to you.

“Need what? I can’t understand my patient.” He removed his fingers from your mouth and back under your neck, choking you slightly but not enough to even hurt. You could feel his other fingers tracing the outside of your wetness on your panties. You knew what was coming, but when? You gasped as you felt his fingers on your neck choke, then release, choke then release. He was a doctor, he knew what it would do to people if he did that.

“I need your fingers, Law!” You felt his fingers leave, only to dive into your panties, into your core. This is what you wanted, and finally you could feel this knot coming undone. His digits were moving in and out, then curling one he went in. He really did do his homework. Your moans and gasps kept emanating in rhythm, as you were grinding into his fingers. “Law- Law I am going to-” before you could finish, you came right onto his fingers. Your moan so loud, you could feel it reverberate through the room. Trembling as you rode out your high, as it has been so long since you felt this.

“So I don’t know how to use my hands, yes?” You couldn’t help it, you wanted to give in, he was right. If you denied it, you don’t even know what would happen, but you are a person of your word.

“Yes, yes you are right. God, now untie me”, you gasp out. Feeling the restraints go undone, he flips you back around, now you are on your back. He looks you up and down. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A tight shirt hugging your body, your skirt a mess, your underwear ajar. Whereas for you, what a sight to behold, his abs and tattoos. His hair was a mess from a little bit of sweat. It was as if you two were looking at each other for the first time again. Licking his fingers, he finally smiled. This was the smile you love, the one that makes you want to grab him and kiss him. To hug him and tell him that the One Piece is near for the taking.

“Y/n-ya…” he bends down to kiss your forehead, and smiles softly, “I don’t think my patient is fully done.” He grabbed a condom, and tore off the wrapper. Slowly pushing his boxers lower, and lower, seeing his v-line almost made you lose your mind. He knew what he was doing, and a doctor was observant.

“Please, Trafalgar…I love you,” you couldn’t help but laugh softly at his cute words. He was a doctor, and at moments you were his love patient. Your heart was robbed by this man, and yet it seemed you didn’t want it back. He pushes his boxers so it is off his waist and it falls to the floor. He peels off your underwear, and you could feel the cold air hit your pussy. Easily rolling the condom on, he lifts your legs up and onto his shoulders.

“I missed this, y/n. I love you”. Hearing your name fall from his lips without his cute little accent, made your heart skip a beat.

“I missed this too Law. I love you”. Slowly pushing his cock into you, he watched as your mouth formed an “O” shape. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he knew you were ready. Your moans were slipping past your lewd lips, as he kept going in deeper and deeper until his abs nearly touched your stomach. Going slowly, then picking up the pace, the room was full of moans and grunts. “Fuck, Law, yes right there!” His groans and grunts were picking up the pace, you can feel his cock twitching inside you. The pit in your stomach started to form, it coming again. The slaps of skin, the smell of sweat, the creaking of the medical table was ringing in both your ears. He bent down to capture your lips with his, and finally he said his words.

“I am cumming”.

You were too, and with both your release, he slowed down his pace. Gasping for air as his high was running down. You, on the other hand, were shaking. Second orgasm in one night and it was intense due to your emotions of love becoming more than lust from the last orgasm. He slicked his hair back, which now was staying in place. Law tidied up himself so he didn’t look as dissolved from the fuck session. Taking off your clothes gently, he put his robe on your making sure despite being warm from what just happened, the room was still cold. Lifting you up, you could hear him gently say room…shambles. Feeling the plushness of a mattress and sheets on you. Was he here with you? Or was he in the room still? Suddenly, you felt a hand softly go on top of your side. He was here, next to you, by your side.

“Sorry Law for making you so upset”, you whispered not to wake up Zoro, Luffy, Chopper and Usopp from their slumber. Law chuckled slightly, and kissed your neck where there were his love bites slowly deepening in color.

“Its okay, I think I can finally get some good nights rest. Thank you for being my doctor in need.”

And yet, Brook had been wondering where you had been all night, no matter to him. He could sing his heart out tonight without a care in the world.

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tonkatsubowl · 8 months

Note

I'm craving for blade x fem reader content 🤭

I just see your request is open so~

Can I get blade x fem reader x IL dan heng

Its a love triangle

Fem reader is a astral express crew too

She is innocent, kind, gentle and elegant

Younger than astral express crew too

Lets just say, she is meet blade when he got many injured on his body, she knew that blade is a criminal but, she didn't have a heart to just leave him like that so she heal him with her power and have a few minutes of talk with blade . And boom! He feel in love with fem reader reader

About dan heng, he is already fall in love with her before blade. So, after they meet again when he is still in his IL form, he have a talk with them right? He talk with fem reader too but feel a little shy, his face is a little red, fem reader think dan heng is sick so she just put her palm on his forehead, the result is his forehead feel hot not because of sick but because of embarrased.

At night dan heng and blade accidently meet, the astral express crew is not with him, he just want to be alone for a while, but he suddenly meet blade .

And they just talking about who will steal fem reader's heart while glaring at each other

(If I can have both why just one hehehe jk)

i wrote a love triangle and maybe something similar to what you said? hopefully this is ok!

in the dead of night, you remain peacefully asleep underneath your thick covers. the bed was warm, soft, almost welcoming you for an eternal slumber...that is, until your phone had woken you up. specifically enough, it was due to the constant vibrations and notification pings that constantly were setting off. your eyes stir awake, your arm weakly reaching forward to grab the device off your nightstand. squinting, almost decimated by the brightness of your phone, you were greeted from a text from a familiar name.

➜ yukong: hey, y/n. i apologize for texting you while you remain asleep. you can respond once you're awake, but if you're able to, can you run some errands for me if able? obviously, there will be payment involved.

➜ y/n: it's okay, i just woke up. i can do it rn if you want

➜ yukong: ahhh, you're awake? im sorry! go back to sleep

➜ y/n: no, it's okay. i don't mind helping you.

➜ yukong: okay, if you say so. just be sure to rest after, okay? i'll make sure you get an extra reward for this.

then, you would take a moment to spend your way too early morning getting ready. from washing your face, brushing your teeth, dressing up...and finally you were ready to head out.

stepping foot into xianzhou, you made your way towards the building that yukong frequently worked in. there, she assigned you with a task of delivering paperwork to a few clients. she was unable to do this work due to some personal stuff coming up within her life, thus allowing her to entrust you with these work-related tasks. but there was no surprise to this type of work whatsoever. himeko and welt often asked you to deliver and run errands for them, especially on the space station. this was no different, especially when this was one of the main ways of how you got your credits.

the client's location in particular was in a place that you were familiar with, and being in xianzhou long enough, you were able to find shortcuts and learn which routes to take to avoid confronting monsters and the like. so, you decide to take a route that was practically an alleyway. a bit scary when it's dark, but it always succeeded when it came to going to your destination site.

you hum to yourself, practically predicting that this would be a very easy-going day. just deliver a few thing and go back to the astral express and just hang out with march, right?

you were dead wrong.

the moment you continued down the alleyway path, you come across an individual in particular that seemed...slumped against the wall. the stench of blood filled your nose, but it was a smell you were quite accustomed to, being consistently in the battlefield and all. you immediately knew that this person was injured, perhaps lifeless, even.

though, the alleyway was still a bit dark, rendering your eyes to be useless to make out who the person was. nevertheless, you were here, and you were on the path of abundance. you would take this time to help this person, and...

"...blade?"

you stepped closer, your e/c hues taking a glimpse of his familiar hair, his signature weapon that was laid on the ground, decorated with the blossoming of someone's blood...and his eyes. those beautiful, golden and scarlet eyes you would admire. his eyes were beautiful as ever, but they remained...so dull. so solemn.

you stopped in place, unsure of what to do or how to truly act in this situation. this man―this man in front of you...he was your enemy. he was the enemy of your family―the astral express crew. and here he was, struggling to breathe, unable to defend himself. even with you here, and he didn't seem to care...as though he trusted that you wouldn't do anything to him.

"...gh," you could hear him grunt, his fingers clutching tightly at his side as his blood oozed inbetween his fingers. "what?"

your eyes peel to his injuries, and you set down the paperwork you were meant to deliver. at this very moment, you had the option to basically arrest the man, to take him as prisoner. you could do it and make your life easier...but something didn't seem right. surely, kafka would be on her way to assist him now, no? but you didn't have time to think―you needed to act, and blade's life was practically in your hands.

as you sat down, both of your hands emit a soft glow of turquoise, giving a visual indication that you were going to heal him. hovering your hands over his injuries, you watch carefully, observing the rest of his features. he was stabbed, he was hurt―but who? who did this?

"...uhn," he grunted again, a stubborn smirk appearing upon his visage, "why are you even here? you had the opportunity to kill me, to take me prisoner, and yet―"

"shh. save your breath, blade."

that's when he actually did listen to you, as though you possessed kafka's verbal skill and remained silent. the pain that he felt was now gone, only to be replaced by the soreness of his injuries. gritting his teeth, the man would laugh to himself. the pain, everything he felt through is injuries⸻he had missed it. he was quite the masochist, after all.

blade had limped, still clutching to the side. the soreness of his injuries would take some time to get used to. it had been a while since he's been this brutally stabbed before. "so, what?" he began, "you're gonna go run off and tell the others that i was here? you should've taken me captive and have gotten over it, y/n."

"...i can't do that to you," you murmured, "it's just⸻"

"just what?"

boldly enough, blade walks over to you, extending an arm towards you. his hand was already caressing the side of your face, the pad of his thumb was brushing against your skin. you gazed upon his features, admiring this scarlet gaze that looked upon you so...softly.

"you've taken many lives before, y/n. many lives you did to save a world. so, you can take mine. or even take me. why can't you?"

you frown, almost instinctively leaning into his touch, "don't say that," you murmur, "i just...i just can't."

your heart began to race. you loved blade, and you loved him dearly, but you just didn't know your choices at this very moment. you didn't know what you wanted. you pulled away, gently brushing his hand away as you turned your back to him, picking up the pieces of paper that you set to the side to assist him.

blade watched you in silence, admiring your physique and beauty as he eyed on the paperwork. errands, again. is the astral express making you do all the dirty work again? there he goes, assuming that the astral express crew is making you do shit for them/

"i have to go. i'll⸻i'll see you later, blade."

you definitely will see him later.

"..."

blade was silent, watching as you left the scene quickly. he did, however, made sure that you left safely as you had arrived to assist him⸻but you had left something behind, as it fell out of your pocket as you left the scene.

your phone.

you were gone for quite a while.

your disappearance left dan heng and the others of the astral express team to worry about you...you weren't responding either. they have tried to check your location, but they keep forgetting that it was nearly difficult to really find your approximate location when they were on the astral express versus you being in xianzhou.

"i think she's fine, really." himeko said, "but i can't help but actually worry about y/n."

"do you think she was kidnapped!?" march exclaimed, gasping dramatically.

"no, march," welt shook his head, "she might've taken off without us knowing. i am sure she's just fine. besides, our security system would've picked it up a while ago if we had an intruder."

"hm." dan heng shook his head, "i'll go find her."

then everyone's eyes casted over to dan heng. march blinked, "eh!? well, you know xianzhou better than any of us... would you like for me to come with you, dan heng?"

dan heng shook his head, dismissing the topic with a hand as he shoved his phone into his own pocket. "no. i have business there to attend to anyways, so i better just look for her myself."

march looked back to the crew before nodding with everyone else in unison. "alright...well, please let us know if something came up, okay? tell y/n she's a dummy for not telling us anything!"

dan heng shook his head again. "sure, i will. i'll be back."

when dan heng had arrived upon the world of xianzhou, he was greeted by the welcoming scent of his homeworld's air. the fresh breeze, the gentle autumn leaves that brushed through with the winds that fluttered gently. the beautiful, bright blue sky that now greeted the world with its morning glory...but you were nowhere to be seen.

he wondered where you were at, and it may not show, but he was worried about you deeply. everyone else trusted that you were fine, but dan heng had felt otherwise. after all, he had very strong feelings towards you, and never once did he spent a day without worrying about you.

➜ dan heng: where are you, y/n?

➜ dan heng: did your phone die?

➜ dan heng: hang on. i'm coming to look for you.

➜ dan heng: huh? hold on, it says you're online. why aren't you responding to any of us?

it was strange, wasn't it? that you were online⸻as it said on his phone⸻but you weren't responding to anyone. could it be that you left your phone somewhere and it just turned on? no, that's not how technology really worked, and dan heng wasn't that less intellectual when it came to technology and all that sort of stuff.

in truth, someone else that wasn't you was watching these messages. reading them. someone had your phone.

this worried dan heng even more, wondering why you are online and choosing not to text anyone. were you upset? did he do something wrong? something wasn't right. that was when⸻

his fighter instincts kicked in as he felt something, or someone, coming towards him at such incredible, unpredicting speed. oh, he already knew who it was. within a milisecond, dan heng took form of his vidyadhara form, greeting his rival with a deflection of his own attack. as his lance and the opponent's sword met, dan heng looked forward, observing the intruder that attacked him.

"⸻!?"

and at the corner of his eye, dan heng could see a familiar cellular device was in the intruder's free hand...

"⸻you." dan heng retrieved his attack and leaped back, watching as his opponent did the same, "why do you have y/n's phone? what did you do?"

blade had laughed, his faint smirk appearing on his features as he lifted your phone, displaying the conversation between her and dan heng...or well, dan heng ultimately blowing up her phone with how worried he is.

"oh, this? she dropped it. why, you want it?" blade looked down to your phone, reading the text messages. "you text her this often, huh? what's is it between you and her?"

oh, it was so obvious. the two of them were possessive of you. blade, especially, who would practically annihilate anyone to keep you as his. but for the sake of your happiness, he hasn't. he hasn't killed anyone...yet. and he's waiting for the perfect time to steal you away, however. and now wasn't the time, unfortunately.

"what?" dan heng raised a brow. "what is going on between her and i has nothing to do with you. what did you do to y/n?"

"don't worry a single thing about it, boy," blade said, glancing down to the phone once again.

how annoying, blade thought to himself. the two of you were texting like this? holding onto your device, he inputted his own contacts, allowing the two of you to actually have a form of contact. of course, you were nowhere in sight, and you wouldn't know about this at all.

the dragon gritted his teeth, "where is she."

blade could see that dan heng was getting more furious by the second, and it was quite the sight to behold. oh, he was amused by this. he was allured by the anger of his archenemy. oh, it was amazing alright.

"go find her yourself. if you're worried that i did something, then you must be more stupid than i truly thought you are." turning off your phone, blade tosses the device over to dan heng, then he sheathed his own signature weapon away. "she's running errands for someone named yukong. that's all that's to it. she dropped her phone, and i happened to retrieve it."

how he knew about this information? he read your conversations, of course!

dan heng continued to glare daggers at the stellaron hunter. his hand twitched, but he caught the phone that belonged to you. "if you had touched her⸻"

"i certainly wish i did," blade mocked, "but i didn't. now run along."

that was when blade turned his back towards dan heng, allowing him to make his exit freely and safety. for some reason, dan heng chose to believe his words...blade...wouldn't exactly lie about keeping someone alive, either. with a huff of his mouth, dan heng proceeded to make an exit.

but this quarrel alone was suspicious. why was blade possessive of you? why did he have your phone? did something happen between the two of you? were you both holding a secret relationship? each question sent an aching pain to his heartstrings, which pulled his organs violently...

he needed answers, but he didn't want to know. he was afraid that you and him were... no, no. don't even think about it, dan heng. ensure her safety first.

what felt like forever, he finally saw you walking through the bustling streets of aurum alley, catching a glimpse of your h/c hair from the distance. he ran after you, "y/n!" he called out.

that was when you turned around, your familiar e/c eyes falling to the sight of dan heng in his vidyadhara form. right, he was always so beautiful in that form. you always admired him. his beauty, his strength⸻his loyalty and passion to his friends. and you, especially.

in his hand, dan heng held your phone, lifting the device.

"dan heng!" you called out, taking a few steps towards him as he approached you. coming to a stop, you notice that dan heng had your phone. giving you your device, you look at it, seeing that there were no cracks, and it was safely taken care of.

"ah, my phone! sorry, i was just about to go back to look for it and⸻"

"what were you thinking, worrying us like that?" dan heng had cut you off with his constant worrying about you. he was the silent, cold type, but because of you, you opened up a bit more of his social side...where it shows that he's very protective and worrying of you.

"ah! i'm sorry, just something happened and yukong needed my help, and⸻"

he cut you off again, as he sighed with relief, pulling you into his arms. you blinked, embracing the scent that he had, and the warmth that resonated upon his physique. you slowly returned the embrace, feeling your phone buzz quietly.

"ah...sorry, dan heng. i should've told you guys i would be leaving. it was just a short errand. i'm sorry for worrying you so much."

dan heng shook his head, keeping the embrace. as you embraced each other, you could see that someone had texted you...

➜ ???: good thing you're safe. i would've killed someone.

ah?

you had an idea who it might be, but you didn't respond. you'll do so later.

dan heng pulled away, a look of relief washing his ethereal features as he checked you for injuries...but he stopped himself, knowing that you were well and fine. "the others are waiting for you. have you finished your errands, y/n?"

you blink, nodding. "yeah. yukong gave me my reward, so i was just on my way back the moment i found my phone. i guess we can head back together, dan heng."

dan heng nodded, almost reluctant to take your hand...but he can't do anything yet. he wasn't sure about your relationship with blade. they both wanted you...but they weren't sure of each other's relationship with you. everything was amiss, after all. hidden behind a fog, unseeable.

"yeah, let's head back, y/n."

after being escorted back home to the parlor car, you were in your room. you had finished showering, eating...and finally you had some time to rest after an eventful day.

...but you had forgotten something... the text that you had received a few hours ago. it's best that you respond.

➜ ???: good thing you're safe. i would've killed someone.

➜ y/n: blade? sorry. i just saw this.

➜ ???: who else would it be. are you hurt?

he texted back immediately, too. you decided to add him back through your contacts, sending him a friend request and he would accept. you couldn't feel it or see it, but he was satisfied with that. the man barely uses his phone but for mission comms only. but now, he has a reason to use his phone more.

but also, now you know which person will be texting you. silver wolf and kafka have history of using his phone constantly when they don't have theirs, anyway.

➜ y/n: no, i'm okay. thank you for getting my phone back. are you alright? i'm moreso worried about you

➜ blade: i'm fine. are you going to bed?

➜ y/n: yeah, i'm tired. you should rest too. your injuries were bad...what happened anyway??

➜ blade: don't concern yourself with my quarrels, y/n.

➜ y/n: okay. as long as you're alright. but i am...getting a bit sleepy. but

➜ blade: ?

➜ y/n: i want to talk to you more

➜ blade: lol. go sleep. you can always text me.

➜ y/n: but in person?

➜ blade: one day.

➜ y/n: okay...

➜ blade: rest.

you stopped responding after that.

blade knew you had been succumbed into the arms of slumber, but he didn't dare try to wake you up. this time, he kept this phone on himself securely. he would never let kafka and silver wolf see these conversations...they were his to see, and for his eyes alone.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail blade #hsr blade #hsr dan heng #blade x reader #dan heng #honkai star rail blade x reader #honkai star rail dan heng #hsr dan heng x reader #honkai star rail dan heng x reader #imbibitor lunae #il dan heng

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heliads · 11 months

Note

ok so… i’m totally obsessing over Newt from TMR rn but i’m not sure if u still write for him🤧 but if u do i was thinking maybe something like during bonfire night the reader has had too many special drinks from Gally, accidentally confesses to Newt and lists everything she loves about him and then Newt gets all flustered and stuff (he’s so cute omg) but the reader is too drunk to go back to their own hammock so then Newt carries reader to their hammock but ends up sharing a hammock and then the reader doesn’t remember anything the next morning and then i’ll let u decide the rest😭

gally's special brew as a plot device >> it will always be famous to me

masterlist

In roughly thirty seconds, you’re going to reach a milestone you never thought possible. You’ve been waiting for this for a while now, counting down the days and hours and minutes like you were going to find yourself anywhere other than right here when your self-imposed timer went off. All you’ve got to remember the date is a memory, but given the fact that you only recall so many of those, it was easier to place than one would expect.

An alarm goes off across the Glade, ear-piercing klaxons rattling off of the high stone walls surrounding you. The rest of the boys around you start to amble towards the source of the noise, the Box newly arrived from who knows where, but you stay put for the time being, just breathing in the moment.

One blond boy next to you, your closest friend and favorite person here, nudges you in the leg with his foot. You’re both sitting in the unruly grass, ignoring the press of the green strands against your arms and calves. You have a habit of always wanting to keep him within reach.

“Why aren’t you racing towards the Box?” He asks.

You tilt your head to the side, staring up at the sky. Robin’s egg blue dappled with clouds, it’s the only pocket of space outside the Walls that you’ll likely ever know. “Today marks one year since I showed up here for the first time.”

Newt whistles through his teeth. “Shoot, already? Feels like time has flown. I swore you came up just last month.”

“No, I’ve been keeping count. Twelve months and I’m still here.”

Newt winces. He made a promise to you at the very start that he would get you out in six months, then, when that deadline came and went, he lengthened it to a year. The oath was only sworn because you were nervous about this place when you were still a Greenie and unused to the idea of living and dying here in endless repetition. You’re no happier about that fact now, but you are more used to it, at least.

“Well,” he starts off, “maybe you’re still here, yeah, but Minho and the other Runners are getting closer to finding a way out, I swear. Minho says they’re this close to having mapped the whole thing, then we’ll have an escape route for certain. Just give it another year. You won’t even notice the time passing, I promise.”

It’s kind of Newt to try to distract you again, even though you both know by this point that it’s useless. Minho is getting closer to traveling every pathway of the Maze, yes, but what Newt isn’t mentioning is how little the Keeper of the Runners actually is to finding something useful. Whenever you ask Minho what he’s learned about how to get out of here, he only ever comes up with a blank slate.

Still, harping on that doesn’t exactly make for a good time, so you’ll let yourself play along with Newt’s idea of your inevitable escape from this place for now. He’s losing hope even faster than you, even if he doesn’t tell anyone. It would be good to keep up the pretense.

You eye his leg, the one with the limp, and nod. “Yeah, next year for sure.”

Newt sits in silence for a moment or two longer, then stands up carefully, offering a hand to you. “Come on, then. We’ve got a Greenie to stare at and stuff to unpack from the Box, no time for musing. Besides, we’ve all got to get ready for the bonfire later tonight.”

You accept his offer of help, and when you’re on your feet once more, your smile is back. “I forgot about the bonfire! Oh, that’ll make everything better. Always does.”

Newt grins. “You’re just saying that because it’s the one time a month Alby will let all of us get proper wasted and skip work for the afternoon.”

“Of course I am,” you laugh, “I want to have fun! Is that such a terrible thing?”

Newt slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side as the two of you walk lopsidedly over to the Box opening. The other Gladers have already crowded around the opening, but there’s enough space for the two of you to peer in at the befuddled newcomer inside if you squeeze past a few Track-Hoes.

“No,” he murmurs later, once you’ve almost forgotten what you were talking about, “I don’t think it is.”

Damn right. You’ve looked forward to each Bonfire Night of your full year here with just as much excitement as everyone else. The soaring flames, the delighted shrieks and shouts of your friends, plus Gally’s special brew, everything about the celebration is a joy to behold. You can watch Gally kick the asses of people who should have known better to challenge him, or observe the Greenie as he tries to figure out his name.

Or, better yet, you can sit in a circle of your friends and tell jokes that get progressively worse as the lot of you get progressively more tipsy and tired. The night wears on, the stars burn themselves out above you just trying to catch a glimpse of your magnificently roaring fire, and all is well, as much as it can be around here.

At some point, you look up and you’re sitting alone with Newt towards the outskirts of the gathering. You don’t remember quite when that happened, but you’ve refilled your glass enough times that the memory loss sort of makes sense. Does anything here, though? No, not at all. Not ever.

Newt’s grinning over at you, saying something that you have to focus extra hard to hear. “Are you lucid again?”

“Not entirely,” you beam up at him, “Have I had a lot to drink tonight?”

Newt grimaces. “Probably more than you should have. You’ll be regretting it tomorrow, I can promise you that. Sorry for not cutting you off earlier.”

You shake your head a little too wildly and have to pause for a moment to blink the stars out of your eyes before continuing. “No, that’s not your fault. You don’t have to watch out for me all the time.”

Something almost like hurt plays upon Newt’s features, mixing with the warm glow of the firelight, and it makes you rush to say something so he stops looking so unhappy. “Only if you don’t want to watch out for me, that is. I like having you around. Makes me feel better.”

“Really?” Newt asks, amused.

“Really,” you confirm happily. “You’re my favorite person here by far. Minho teases me about that a lot, actually. He says I should soldier up and just tell you that, but he can’t bully me anymore, because I’m talking about it right now, aren’t I? He’s right, though, I do like you. Oh– I was thinking, Newt, and– and I think I’m okay, staying in the Glade forever, if I’ve got you here with me. You’re the best thing about this place.”

You hadn’t meant to ramble on like that, but the words came easily enough from your throat, and Newt seemed like he really wanted to hear what you were saying, so you went ahead and let him.

Newt sits for a few minutes in stunned silence before clearing his throat a little too loudly. “Um. Well, I think you should get to bed. Like, now. I think you’re drunk.”

“No,” you protest, “well, I am drunk, yeah, but I’m not just saying that because I’m drunk. I mean it, Newt. I really do.”

Newt’s expression softens. “I know you did, sweetheart. Let’s go to bed anyway, though. I think some rest would be good for you.”

“Alright,” you decide.

Newt stands up. You try to start walking back with him, but your feet refuse to cooperate on the uneven ground and you end up tripping more than you should. Eventually, Newt laughs quietly and picks you up, easily carrying you back to your hammock. He tries to set you down but you’re seized by the overwhelming panic that he’ll leave you here alone and you complain vehemently.

He’s still in a good temper, though (is it not wonderful to be needed?) and instead shifts so he’s lying down in his hammock instead, you on his stomach. You whisper goodnight to him and he says goodnight back, then a beat and a half later, did you really mean what you said? About me, that is? About how you–

You can’t really pick up what he’s saying, though. He was right about you needing rest, because the gentle swaying of the hammock and the soft beat of his heart under your head is just enough to send you off to sleep. Darkness pulls you under in an instant, and you’re rocked away to the tune of the crickets chirping somewhere in the distance and Newt still mumbling questions against the top of your head.

You can sense your hangover looming like dark clouds on the horizon, signaling a true storm of a day about to wreck you for good, but for now it’s just in the distance, not quite yours, not yet. The terrible feeling is warded off by an odd sense of calm and quiet. It’s warm now, warm and comfortable in your hammock, which is strange. Usually, you wake up cold on mornings in the Glade, but not today. It makes you want to snuggle down further, push off consciousness just a little longer.

Then your hand connects with something that isn’t one of your few allotted threadbare blankets or the knots of your hammock, something soft, like skin. A hand, one that isn’t yours. Your eyes fly open and– well, you don’t remember this, but you’re not exactly going to complain.

Newt is lying next to you, still asleep. You are curled up beside him, must have fallen asleep with your head on his chest. One of his hands is just touching yours, the other is cupping the back of your head to pull you closer to him.

Immediately your brain splits into two warring factions. One half wants to run away quickly, figure out what happened and why you’re here. This isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing, you know. Shuck, Alby would have a fit if he saw the two of you like this. Probably enough to throw you in the Slammer for a couple of hours.

The other part of yourself wants to stay here forever, to close your eyes and make Newt wake up first and handle it. You haven’t felt peace like this in a while. It’s just the two of you, soft and sweet and mostly folded over in sleep. Why should you disturb this? Disturb him? He’ll just be unhappy if you wake him and force him to realize that you’re here. Probably. Unless he’s the one who let you sleep in his hammock, which is more likely and far more terrifying.

Your issue is solved when Newt shifts slightly, rocking the hammock, and wakes up at last. You quickly shut your eyes and feign sleep, but judging by the movement of his chest as he laughs, you were caught in the act.

“I know you’re awake, Y/N.” He says.

You reluctantly open your eyes. “Maybe. By any chance, do you know why I’m here and not in my own hammock?”

You might just be kidding yourself, but you swear something almost like disappointment crosses Newt’s face. “You were pretty drunk last night,” he says at last, “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

It’s a decent explanation, but that doesn’t explain why he’s looking at you like he really, really wants you to remember something about the events of the most recent Bonfire Night. “What did I do last night?” You ask slowly.

Newt shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything, trust me.”

“Then what did I say? You’re looking at me like you’re going crazy.”

Newt furrows his brows in a moment of indignation. “What? I’m not– I’m not looking at you like that. Anyway, you might have said a thing or two. Maybe.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Newt, if you keep withholding information from me, I’m going to rock the hammock so much you fall on the ground. What happened?”

He has the audacity to laugh at your threat, as if you weren’t completely serious about it. “Alright, alright. You might have told me that you liked me.”

Your sense of terror, which had faded briefly after Newt woke up, is back in full force. “I did what?”

“You told me you liked me,” Newt repeats, “and I thought– well, you were drunk, so I thought you didn’t mean it, but–”

“I did mean it,” you whisper.

Newt’s eyes are wide when you dare to risk a glance back up at him. “Oh.”

That’s a bad oh. Has to be. You move to get up and try to run away before he can look at you like that anymore, but Newt tightens his grip around your waist, forcing you to lie back down. “Wait, wait. Don’t go. I like you too.”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “Have for a while. Minho teases me about that too, by the way. No wonder he seems so frustrated about it, he has to listen to both of us moping around even though we both like each other.”

You laugh. “That would be annoying, yes. He has to be happy now, though, we finally told each other about it.”

“That we did,” Newt says, and you can feel the upturned crescent of his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Maybe you spent a whole year in the Glade without ever seeing rescue. Maybe another year will pass without anything, or maybe five, or ten. Maybe you’ll never leave at all. Still, you’ve got your reasons to be happy after all. They start with him.

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @w1shes43, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope, @fadedver

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collegetennisoriginstory · 2 months

Note

So, I was romancing Sam on every playthrough but decided to branch out finally, and now I have a tier list; ‼️Potential spoilers‼️

Tobin: By far my favorite RO. I typically don't like the archetype of "brooding ro and their charming ro counterpart" It just doesn't interest me as someone who has seen a lot of het romances employ this trope. But giving Tobin the chance they deserve and finding that I like how they respond to my MC's own flirtatious nature and then discovering how they feel about my MC being the same gender, just adds an extra layer of interest for me that I appreciated. They're kind, considerate, and very thoughtful of their friends. Very quickly blew the rest of the competition out of the water for me. I think their mindset when it comes to tennis explains why they're not the no.1 Seed despite being the captain of the team, and it honestly surprised me. I think the full weight of their route is explored best when MC is similarly looking to go pro as it parallels Rayyan nicely. Their kidness is the space they give you is born from experience and the fear of doing to MC what was done to them and I just eat that stuff up. Also it is very rare to have a black RO who is treated with any level of depth, and I just 🥹love that we Tobin.

Rayyan: In a surprise twist, Rayyan gets the second spot for similar reasons as Tobin. I think the enemies to friends to lovers(partners) arc that is presented in their story is intriguing. Like Sam, they have a level of history with the MC that makes them familiar when heading into the new space, so I made it a habit to stay near them when at all possible. Rayyan isn't particularly cold, or as cold as ppl might assume, I think they have a very good balance of being a sort of quiet and reserved person that still manages to be personable. I feel that playing like I do, my MC might've come off as flippant to them, which only adds to the anxiety that they feel going into this season. Their struggle of being visually Arab in a world and country that sees non whiteness as punishable is very felt. It's really special to me that the two most prominent ROs are dark skinned people of color. Sorry for being biased, but even when I wasn’t actively romancing them, they got major points for that.

Sam: My baby gets the third spot and I think that's fair. What i adored about Sam is the pining of a friends to lovers story. I never make the first move with Sam, despite playing very flirty, bc I see my MC with not having to put up a front with Sam. So the things they do or say that signify to others that my MC is looking for something physical aren't used with Sam; they believe MCs closeness with them is strictly platonic while my MC believes that Sam has been lightly rejecting this whole time. Just something about those missed connections get to me. (Also, the varcity jackets!? So cute) Now, Sam loses points due to being away at another university for a majority of the story thys far. Which made me wonder if placing them in a new environment with MC might change things for them. Everything IS different now; so, who is to say that their relationship hasn't run its course? Juicy, but due to lack of presence, I'll keep them at 3rd.

G: They're French. Automatically, a point is taken off. They're also very sexy as a woman (my MC is a they/them lesbian) so I felt that, to remain true to character, I would have to ignore that and see what G has going on. Ngl, they do sort of play out like a romance novel character in the most obvious way so far 😭 no hate though. I just couldn't not think about "Oh, you sexy French student." Whenever they said anything. Smoldering looks from across the room at a crowded college party, like okay 400 days of summer <3. I think they're rather perfect for players who are looking for some steam outside of the locker room. They have the same issue as Sam, as in, they're not present in the locker room. They're not our teammate, so we don't really get the same level of relationship building with them as u would a Rayyan or Tobin. And I don't think that's a bad thing necessarily. I feel that speaks to the amount of work put in to make the team feel real and not just thrown together characters. Once I started to romance my teammates, I found it hard to flirt with anyone else, as I felt that they just didn't understand my MC on the same level.

Felix: ngl, they'd have to get security to get me off them, I have this burning rage in my heart whenever they show up. "🤼‍♂️ This is for Tobin, Cakepop‼️" I am sure there is indeed depth to them as a character, I am sure it hurts to hear someone say "I can not love you the way you want me to." And we are only human, we don't always behave the way we want to. But Felix makes my nipple itch they just remind me of men who just hold this anger for their exes unreasonably. I think there is an interesting parallel to be found in a Tobin route MC and Felix. I just don't have the language to put it together bc I will never romance them and I don't think I ever will, personally just can't bring myself to do so. They are what I felt Rayyan would be, and I'm fine with meeting them with hostility.

All in all, I'm glad I branched out to see what the other ROs were like it's definitely a testament to ur hard work and is greatly appreciated. I will continue to be messy and kiss Tobin, Rayyan, and Sam because I am toxic aim to be a learning experience, not a lover 🫶🏽

Oh my god~ It was so interesting to see your gradual evolution / journey through pursuing the different ROs.

I think it's really interesting in particular to see how Tobin's character is sort of 'hidden' beneath multiple layers, and you have to really work at unpeeling those layers, and it's really rewarding as a writer to see that route 'give' readers so much unexpected joy.

And, of course — I have a soft spot for stoic / unexpressive, overly-competitive, serious characters who are secretly just a giant sap. For Rayyan in particular, I think their drive to excel at tennis is counter-balanced against their loyalty, their ride-or-die-ness with the people they love. I love the extra bit of psychoanalysis that you did regarding Rayyan's anxiety about MC not taking tennis seriously, which is fine on its own, but really becomes an issue if they're partnered.

Sam having less 'screen-time' than the others is totally fair, and I think (or hope) will be made up for by the sheer amount of history they share.

As for the whole "French sexy" stereotype, I actually do think this is a crucial part of G's arc. The idea that perhaps they both see each other as 'archetypes' at the start (the jock-fling during one's exchange year, the sexy french exchange student), and then as they start understanding each other as real people, and then as they start (possibly) falling in love with each other (with all the eccentricities, all the imperfections), the relationship takes on more depth and dimension.

Finally, thank you so much for taking the time to explore all these different routes, and I'm so glad that doing so was rewarding for you :) I absolutely loved reading this message, so thank you also for sharing! It's always so fun listening to how different MCs, or different MC choices, and just different readers in general — have different takes on the ROs!

#college tennis: origin story #if #ct:os #interactive fiction #asks #rayyan #sam #tobin #g

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kisscara · 1 year

Text

eat, sleep and be admired! [scaramouche x gn!reader] ⎯⎯ fluff, modern au, slight bullying

"hey, what's up with them?"

"seriously? this is the last period..."

scaramouche has been your deskmate in every class since the beginning of the second semester. he wouldn't mind sitting next to you if he had the right amount of patience to actually tolerate you. you should be considered lucky that you always sit in the back, since you spend most of your classtime sleeping anyways.

he muses as he rests his chin in his hand, taking delight in the way you doze off with your head down on the desk. if only you could realize how much the rest of your classmates have been poking fun at you, maybe then, scaramouche could get a good laugh out of it.

this is exactly why he can't bear with you at all. what's the joy in watching other people tease you when you're unconscious? it's practically useless if he doesn't get to see you grow absolutely red in embarrassment. and so, he always wakes you up. the complaints of his peers going, 'don't wake them up yet!' and, 'let's wait until the teacher notices,' slips past his ears as he reaches out to gently shake your shoulder.

scaramouche's pretty indigo eyes watch with amusement when you slowly sit up and rub your eyes. he glares back at the classmates who were teasing you just moments before, now cowering from beneath his cold stare. "oh, it's you again! thanks for waking me up," you sheepishly chuckle, not even noticing the way people whispered behind your back.

he scoffs and for a split second, you admire how beautiful his smile is. "what's your deal, anyways? do you have a job or something?" scaramouche asks, simultaneously spinning his pen in between his fingers. "no, why would i?" you say in response, completely oblivious as to why he asked such a question.

you start flipping through pages in your notebook and your eyes go wide the second you look at the board. "how long was i asleep for?" you quietly query, tugging on scaramouche's sleeve. he rubs his nape and looks down at his notes. "you can have mine. i don't need to study for this stuff; it's only for weak-minded people, much like you." scaramouche slides his notebook towards your side of the desk.

"really? thank-!" you pause when he gets up as soon as the bell rings and exits the classroom, leaving you all alone. "you?" you shake your head. 'what a weird guy,' you wonder within your mind, collecting your items to leave school as well.

as you walk to the bakery, you notice that weird guy taking the same route you do. it's strange because every single time you walk, you haven't crossed paths with him, not once. and for some reason, every single time he stops in his tracks, you do the same. it's not like you're sneaking up on him or anything so?...

then, when he continues to walk, you carry on as well. all is fine until the two of you reach a crosswalk and have to wait until the walking sign lights up from across the street. you have no choice but to be noticed by him either way. it's awkward, to say the least. you keep on moving from foot to foot while eating a chocolate cornet your friend got for you while scaramouche idly stands.

he's much too occupied counting how many cars pass by when you finally start talking to him. "how come you're taking this route today?" you ask, mouth full of your pastry. you watch the way his eyes shift side to side as they follow the cars' whereabouts.

"none of your business." he adjusts his schoolbag over his shoulder and walks as soon as the road is clear of any passing cars. you curiously tilt your head and take another bite into the cornet. you start walking forward when scaramouche reached the other side. you're on your way to your favourite bakery and dealing with him is the least of your worries at the moment.

but of course, the world isn't on your side today because he's also heading to the same bakery.

"hi, barbara!" you greet the blonde at the front counter with a soft voice, hoping to not look as awkward in scaramouche's presence. luckily for you, the blue haired male is immersed in looking for a pastry in other glass cases.

"if it isn't my favourite client." barbara places a paperbag on the counter; you've been here so many times that she already knows your usual.

she crosses her arms and her fine locks sway with her movements. "that'll be 6.50 but you have a lot of points on your card, are you sure you'd rather not get this for free?" barbara queries with a quizzical look. you shake your head, "i'm saving them up for something important. thanks!" you take the paperbag and turn to face scaramouche, whose back was facing you.

"you getting anything?" you peer over his shoulder and you see the way his hand hovers over the case with melon bread. scaramouche retracts his hand and turns his head to look at you. there's a pure smile on your lips and your gorgeous eyes are filled with delight.

scaramouche narrows his eyes, "what does it matter to you?" you put a finger to your chin and crouch down to meet the view of the melon bread. you glance back at him and suggest, "i can buy whatever you want anytime. think of it as a thanks for being my personal wake up call in class."

his pupils dilate in surprise but only for a quick moment. "no, i can very well buy things for myself." scaramouche digs in his pocket but tenses up when his hand feels around. "... it appears i might have to take you up on that offer." he sighs, instantly turning red. this was so embarrassing; how could he forget his wallet in his locker?

you clasp your hands together, "alright!" barbara watches with deep interest from behind the counter as you and scaramouche converse with each other.

"thanks, i guess." scaramouche murmurs as he bites into the plush dough of the bread. the two of you walk together, side by side, to your own houses. the beautiful orange and yellow that paints itself across the sky covers your home nation, inazuma, in a blanket of the sunset.

you munch on a chunk of your pink frosted donut, happily mumbling, "it's nothing! i got it for free, anyways. i have a lot of points stacked up on my card there." he gives you a side eye. "how often do you buy pastries there? i always see you eating them in class." scaramouche purses his lips when you glance at him.

"it's not like i look at you that much or anything..."

you giggle, "i visit the bakery before and after school; their pastries are completely irresistible. how come you went there today, of all days?" scaramouche shrugs, "seeing you eat so much of those pastries in class had me a bit hungry too. i normally don't like foods that are too sweet so i went with the melon bread."

your mouth hung agape, "ah, so that's why. i guess you never did strike me as the sugary type of person." you finish the last of your donut and lick off the frosting from your fingertips as scaramouche sneers. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"nothing. oh, there's my house! i'll see you tomorrow, scara!" you exclaim, running ahead. you leave him speechless and frozen on the spot. "scara?..." scaramouche's eyes are wide and his cheeks are tinted pink. he rapidly shakes his head to wear off the addicting trance you placed on him.

"well played." he smiles as he eats the rest of his pastry.

from that point on, he starts walking to the bakery with you, everyday, after school. the two of you become close and rather quickly in such a short amount of time. of course, scaramouche still has to wake you up every single time you fall asleep in class but this time, it's an action with affection behind it.

you began developing feelings slowly but surely for him and he to you as well. but there's one problem. scaramouche is the type of guy who will never face his true feelings no matter what, so someone has to take matters into their own hands, right?

"hey, hey, scara!" you poke at his shoulder as he has his head buried in his arms on his desk. he looks up at you and mumbles, "what?" you grin, "there's a new pastry at the bakery. you wanna check it out with me?" the bell rings and causes scaramouche to stand up and gather his things. "sure."

that single word had your heart doing somersaults in your chest. you felt so giddy the whole walk there, it made scaramouche feel queasy. plus, it didn't help that you were talking about the dessert since... "barbara told me that you should only give this dessert to someone you really admire and i have a special someone for that. what about you, scara?" you take a glimpse at him.

scaramouche felt his stomach drop. you, liking someone? impossible. he grumbles, "i don't get the idea of it anyways." you grab onto his sleeve, "why not?" scaramouche rolls his eyes, "who's this special someone of yours? you never mentioned you had one." you let go of him and the cold air hit his arm instead of your warm grip. "you'll see! 'cause i'll be giving it to them today. they should be at the bakery soon!"

your grin turns even brighter than before and scaramouche dryly gulps. how cruel must you be to drag him along just for this? barbara's head perks up when you and him enter. "good afternoon, (name), scaramouche," she greets. you excitedly exclaim, "hi, barbara! scara, you can find something you want, i'll go get the dessert."

you notice the way his lips downcurve into a cute frown, "fine." you rush to the front counter and barbara lowers herself to grab something from the side. she gives you an encouraging thumbs up, "good luck!" you take the packaged sweet from her. it's a pink and red frosted cupcake coated with sugar and perched inside the frosting is a ring with a purple heart gem.

you thank her again and the second you turn around, scaramouche is standing there. you nearly jump in surprise, "scara! did you find something you want to get?" he shakes his head but his gaze remains cold and distant. you smile, "i don't think the person's here yet. can we sit at one of the tables to wait?"

scaramouche nods, still silent. you place the cupcake on the table and sit across from him. he huffs, "you know, i should get going. it'll be awkward if i'm just here." you wave your hands around, "it's fine! i want you to meet him." you find it hard not to menacingly giggle like a maniac!... or something.

scaramouche doesn't reply any further but sinks into his spot. a whole hour passes and the two of you talk and play video games together. however, scaramouche feels as though you've been stood up.

he feels bad, surprisingly. but he doesn't know how you remain as happy and cheerful as ever when you're with him. you look out the window next to you. "look, scara! the sun is setting." your eyes watch in awe and scaramouche deadpans. "(name)..."

you sigh. it's been fun toying with him for a while but you suppose it's time to put it to rest. you stand up and push the dessert towards him. "will you accept this from me?" your cheeks turn pink as you meekly grin and he finally gets the hint. 'what a pretty sight,' he thinks to himself. scaramouche walks over to you and you turn to him.

he cups your face in his hands and your heart rate quickens by the second. "i don't like sweets... but the only one i'll be willing to taste is you." scaramouche's lips perfectly slot into yours and you return his gentle kiss with the same intentions. his lips are soft and warm and you smile at how lovely it felt.

scaramouche pulls away, still holding your face. he suddenly pinches your cheeks with a glare in his eyes, "it wasn't funny how you talked about confessing to another guy." you whine, "okay, okay! but in all honesty, your reactions were funny!" scaramouche leaves you be and takes the dessert.

"come on, let's go the park," he says, offering his hand. you rush to him and hold onto his arm instead. scaramouche smiles as you complain how much your face hurts and barbara muses with lovesick eyes as the two of you leave the bakery.

it's not the ideal first date; spending your time in a little kids' playground and eating a cupcake on the slide, though you wouldn't want it any other way. "what do you like about me?" you ask, slowly swinging next to him on the swing set. "that's a hard one to answer," he says in response, to which you gawk at.

"can't take a joke?" a smirk adorns his lips and you grumble under your breath. "hm... i like a lot about you. i like how kind you are. i like how you laze around and eat 24/7." scaramouche notices that the sky became darker than before. you pout, "is that what you're going to tell people if they ask you the same question about your (s/o)?"

scaramouche's grip tightens on the chain of the swing. calling you his (s/o) has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? speaking of a ring, the ring that was in the cupcake nicely wraps itself around his finger and each time he looks at it, a grin forms. "why not? what would you tell other people about me?" scaramouche gets off of his swing and walks behind you.

you rest your back against his torso when his arms snake around your waist, putting the swaying of your swing to a stop. you feel his lips against the back of your head and your heart is whole and content. "i have a lot to tell them about! i like your hair, your voice, your hands, your humor, your hugs, your kiss and-" you stop short when he disrupts your sentence.

"kiss? should we make it plural?" scaramouche smiles when you turn your head to face him. his eyelids are lowering as he leans in and finally pushes his lips into yours. the faint taste of the cupcake on your tongue would have made him grimace in normal circumstances, but you somehow make desserts taste so good to him.

#📼 — 　𝓦.𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒.#gender neutral reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #genshin imagines #genshin imagine #genshin fanfic #genshin fanfics #genshin fanfiction #genshin fanfictions #scaramouche #genshin fluff #scaramouche fluff

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pastanest · 1 year

Text

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

A/N: look at me going back to my roots! thank you ever so much to the lovely @noldorinpainter for giving me my first commission!! I really hope you love it! ♡

info on my commissions can be found here, or you can always drop me a message if you’re unsure of anything! :)

Fateful Night

The smile on your face would be considered contagious, were anyone else roaming the streets of Alexandria at this time of night. There’s a spring in your step as your hands tap idly against the strap of your satchel across your front, excitement bursting at the seams just a little more with every step you take towards your destination. The path you walk and your intended plans for the rest of the night are both routine practices for you by now, you’re almost certain you could walk this route with your eyes closed.

Though he isn’t close enough to you yet for you to hear him speak, the words you know he’d say if he were close enough to hear your thoughts float through your mind like a soft gust of wind.

“Try walkin’ anywhere with yer eyes closed ‘n’ ya’ll slam into yer own front door, ‘n’ then I’ll be the one carryin’ yer ass to the infirmary.”

Suddenly, you are walking even faster.

By the time your hand reaches to push the hatch above you at the very top of the watchtower, you’re convinced the smile on your face is a permanent fixture.The hand that reaches for yours to help you climb the last rungs of the ladder enters your vision first, then the stubbled cheeks either side of a shy smile that its holder is trying his very best to hide under the shadow of his shaggy hair, before his other hand reaches to steady you at your waist as you stand in front of him.

Beaming up at your heart’s destination, stationed very coincidentally in your duty’s destination, you breathe a deep sigh of relief at the sight of him. “Evenin’ handsome!”

Scoffing bashfully, Daryl drops your hand and waist, strolling over to the edge of the tower and slumping down to dangle his legs in the night sky. “Yer late.”

You roll your eyes at the perfect waves at the back of his head. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but for good reason!”

Practically skipping over to him, you drop to the floor and kick your legs over the edge beside his, bringing your satchel to your lap. Feeling his infamous side-eye on you, you open the bag slowly for dramatic effect, taking your time in revealing the tupperware filled with chocolate chip cookies. Continuing your theatrics, you make a grand gesture of dropping the box onto Daryl’s lap.

“Special delivery from Carol!”

Daryl huffs, feigning disapproval at your peace offering and already coming up with his next sassy remarks as he pops the lid of the tupperware and stuffs the first cookie in his mouth.

“Jus’ ‘cause I’m eatin’ this don’t mean I forgibe you.” He comments, crumbs flying from his lips with his slurred words.

At first, when you reach for a cookie, Daryl pretends to snatch the box from you, but the pretend-shock on your face brings that same soft smile back to his face as he offers you the tupperware.

Taking a cookie, your gaze stays locked with his, and you nudge his shoulder with yours. “Oh, little bird, I know you do.”

“...Shut up.” He grumbles shyly, voice gruff as ever but laced with a tenderness only you can detect.

Settling into the silence, the two of you stare out into the night, at the tree tops that neither of you can ever truly reach, but daydream about flying over together. Though it is yet to be determined whether Daryl Dixon truly is telepathic,, you are convinced that the moment you are close enough for him to see you, he can read your thoughts clearer than you can read the words behind his eyes that he never quite knows how to say.

Absentmindedly, your head falls against his shoulder. An echo of the grin that was previously on your face lingers between warm cheeks, unable to withhold the simultaneous giddiness and inner peace that your best friend’s presence provides. So often you find yourself itching to probe his mind, ask him what he thinks about anything and everything, the most random things in the world that don’t matter at all, but his opinion on them and the further insight into him that provides is worth its weight in gold to you.

Consequently, it’s never long before you break any silence you share.

“Do you ever think about the day we met?” You ask him, smile already widening at the thought. Despite how terrifying certain aspects of the ordeal were, his involvement covers even the worst in sugar.

“Sometimes.” Daryl answers. “D’you?”

You nod, brushing his shoulder. “Yeah, sometimes.” Hearing his gentle, unspoken question to elaborate, you continue. “I think about how crazy it is that you saved my life that day, a total stranger, and how that has led to moments like this. I can never wrap my head around that.”

Daryl laughs softly. “Is pretty crazy.”

You chuckle with him. “Yeah.” Another second of comfortable silence passes before you speak up again. “What do you think, when you think about the day we met?”

Daryl considers this question and his answer carefully. He debates whether to give a heartfelt, sincere response, or whether to poke the bear. Considering the smirk on his face that is just out of your line of sight, he already knows the answer.

“That yer the same short ass now as ya were then.”

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you meet his gaze with an expression that he treasures. Jaw dropped, pure mischief and shock etched in your every feature. You let it linger, lull him into a false sense of security, and then you strike. Tickling him mercilessly until he’s giggling like a schoolgirl, you end up leaning over him as he falls to his back on the watchtower floor, your legs and his still dangling in the open air, the tupperware of cookies safely pushed out of the warzone.

“Alright, alright- damn, woman! I surrender!” He pleads for his life in between gasps and the loudest laughs anyone could hope to bring from a man like Daryl Dixon.

Settling back into a calm, seated position, like you had not just offloaded a truly brutal attack on your favorite person, you clasp your hands out in front of you to click your fingers in a boastful gesture of your victory over a man that could kick your ass if he was blindfolded, handcuffed, shirtless, and- wait, where was this train of thought going?

“What’re you thinkin’ about, crazy girl?” Daryl asks as he catches his breath and sits up beside you.

And you have never been more grateful that he is not actually telepathic. “Tell me the truth: what do you really think, when you think about the day we met?”

He clears his throat, sitting up a little straighter and considering his answer carefully again. This time, he decides to be a little more honest with you, and himself.

“Guess I think most about bein’ glad I was there when I was.”

You nod slowly, understanding his sentiment and agreeing with him wholeheartedly. Had he not been there, you have no idea what would have happened to you that night.

Staring out at the trees ahead and below you, your mind so easily slots into the panicked memory of that very night, when you’d been on the ground in the dark just like this, running through forests that looked as dense and impossible to navigate as the ones the walls - and your favorite person - keep you safe from, now.

You were alone, had been for longer than you could remember. Too much time had passed since the world ended, you felt you were living borrowed time and something like guilt tugged at you for not being able to keep track of it. Birthdays were a thing forgotten, but so were the simpler guides that weekdays and weekends provided, the routine of mornings and evenings; you slept when you could and never had time to check whether the sun was rising or setting. Your complete lack of survival skills left you surprised to have lived as long as you had, but you knew how to run; something that the dead could not match you on, no matter their numbers. In the world before, being on the shorter side gifted you with playful - and overplayed - taunts, but in the decaying world you ran through, your very existence was discrete. Being alone was better, having nothing to lose was easy, and surviving was all you had.

You didn’t have time to eat full meals, to maintain a sleep schedule, or to think about what you were living such a life for; the person you were and the purposes your life had were ghosts that followed you wherever you went, much like the dead.

Despite the fact that interacting with the living would have, possibly, improved your quality of life, you avoided people more than you did the reanimated ones. If ever you heard someone speaking a single word, you would turn and run in the opposite direction as fast as you could, even if it meant going back the way you came. People without rules to keep them from doing what they wanted in an empty world were far scarier than sluggish corpses.

That night, you had stopped running to catch your breath, tiptoeing as best you could and using your hands to feel the trees as your guide. Drawing attention to yourself with any form of light was not an option. Unfortunately at the time, but fortunately in the long run, you crossed paths with a tracker skilled enough to feel the indents of your boots in the soil and know a living person was not far ahead. Aware of the group he was with and the rules they had enforced amongst themselves, the tracker distanced himself from the group to catch up with whoever was creating an individual trail through the woods at night.

Eventually, he caught up with you, managing to sneak around you to shine a torch in your face and stun you momentarily. If you had been able to focus, you would have seen the strangest expression flash across his features, before he looked behind you to the rest of the group that was fast approaching. Not wanting to partake in their way of doing things, but fearing your fate if he didn’t, he yelled out a single word.

“CLAIMED!”

While the others approached, he took a slow step towards you and lowered his torch slightly, holding your gaze. Something in his eyes calmed you, keeping you in place.

“‘m sorry, I had to, you don’ wanna know what they’d do if I didn’t. Jus’ stick with me, I’ll get you some place safe.” He whispered to you, and you nodded frantically, moving to his side before the rest of the group reached you.

To your horror, every other member of the group was a seedy looking man that shone their torches on you and stared at you with animalistic hunger in their eyes on discovering you were, in fact, a woman. You shrunk behind the one man that wasn’t treating you like a creature in a zoo with no means of hiding away from their greedy eyes, pressing their ugly faces against the glass that you wished truly stood between you and them, even if the barrier added very little protection for you, in reality.

“Damn, you got yourself a fine piece of ass there, new guy.” One of the men snickered, licking his lips as he tried to peak around the wall of a man that stood between you.

“Well, as she’s been claimed, we’d best find a place to set up camp for the night, give Daryl the time alone with his prize!” A grey haired man, who presented himself as the leader of the group, motioned around and the men split off in different directions, all laughing amongst themselves as they searched for a structure of some kind to spend the night in.

All, except for the man you had come to know as Daryl, who stood firmly in front of you. He stayed there, silent and motionless, eyes fixed on the leader of the group, who just grinned back at him.

Eventually, one of the group called out to the rest to alert them of an empty barn he’d found in a clearing that connected to some abandoned farm on the outskirts of the forest. You and Daryl trailed behind the rest as they headed inside, but the leader refused to enter unless you two went ahead. His breath on your neck still haunts your nightmares.

The men settled amongst themselves and didn’t bother you as much as you expected, as long as you tuned out their lines of sight, which burnt holes through every part of your body. You knew nothing of the group or the individuals, but you could read the dynamic clear as day: none of the men wanted to test Daryl, and you were certain you would be in a far worse position had one of them “claimed” you before he could. On that basis, and considering your instincts, you trusted him from the get go.

You didn’t know how long you would be stuck with that group, or with Daryl, so you absorbed every piece of information you could. Daryl was the silent type, that much was clear; you didn’t want to bother him with questions, so instead you just watched him. Watched as he “claimed” some bails of hay and placed them down in a corner and gestured for you to sit on them, before telling you that you could sleep, and you realized quite suddenly that despite his obvious disliking towards having to “claim” things and people to get by, he did so to provide you with a bed. A courtesy he did not stretch to himself as he stood in front of you, with his back to you.

Not wanting to come across as ungrateful and not knowing what else to do, you settled onto the bail of hay and made yourself as comfortable as you could, curling into yourself to conceal as much of your body as possible. Just as you closed your eyes, a man called over to you from the other side of the barn.

“HEY, PRETTY LADY, WANT A DRINK?”

Jumping out of your skin, you salt bolt upright and cleared your throat, managing a small, awkward smile. “N-No, thank you, I dont drink.”

The man on the other side of the barn laughed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, everybody drinks these days!”

Before you could answer, Daryl stepped forward. “She said she dont. Leave it, man.”

Though he didn’t raise his voice, his tone was firm enough to shut the man up where he stood, and you watched as he avoided Daryl’s scowling eyes. His words weren’t objectively a threat, but everything about the strength he radiated and his obvious lack of care towards whether a fight happened or not, could seemingly make any man opposite him shrink in their boots.

The small smile on your face changed then, fixing on the waves at the back of his head as you settled back into the hay.

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, you wondered if he had even heard you, until he replied a few seconds later.

“Don’ mention it.”

And for the rest of the night, he stood there in front of you, with his back to you. A human shield.

Chuckling lightly to yourself, you shake your head in disbelief, looking at the man beside you who hasn’t changed in the years you’ve known him, you just know him beyond that intimidating surface level by now.

“You defended me so fiercely when we’d only just met, I always wondered why.”

Daryl frowns down at you. “Ya never asked.”

You shrug. “I didn’t want to pry.”

Daryl scoffs, rolling his eyes at you. “Never stopped ya before.”

Gasping in mock-offence, you nudge his shoulder with yours again. “Shut up!”

The two of you share a lighthearted laugh at that, something that you would have thought was lost to the world before, had you never met Daryl.

“Seriously, though, why did you stick up for me so much on the drinking thing?” You question

“Ya tol’ me ya’d had a bad first experience drinkin’...”

“Yeah, but you didn’t know that then. Plus, you’re not exactly the type to jump to defend someone you’ve just met on something that was so minor- especially back then, before you’d grown into the softie you are now!” That last comment is a lighthearted one, one that you expect to bring another scoff or chuckle from the gruff sweetheart at your side, and usually it would.

Tonight, though, he stays silent, staring off into the night. You start to wonder if he even heard you, and his next question does little to reassure you on that.

“How old were you, firs’ time ya got drunk?”

You blink rapidly, processing a question you had definitely not been expecting.“19, why?”

At that, Daryl closes his eyes in a pained blink, lowering his head in shame and holding the edge of the platform with both hands. “‘m sorry.”

You frown, unable to decode your favourite person for the first time in longer than you can remember. “What for?”

His hair hangs over his eyes, hiding them from you and keeping the unsaid out of reach from you. “Not tellin’ you before.”

Trying to keep the conversation lighthearted, not wanting Daryl to get upset over something that you are certain is not worth feeling this bad about, you laugh airily. “Can you stop the cryptic-brooding shit for a second? What are you talking about?!”

Daryl sighs, lifting his head and tipping his nose up to the stars. You can see them reflecting in the stormy Georgia skies within his eyes, and he parts his lips to speak.

Alcohol had not been kind to you, that was what you had thought that night. On reflection, when out with a group of school friends, all of you having purchased fake ID’s and arrived at a bar outside of town to avoid being recognised as the 19 year olds you were, eight shots deep of straight vodka was, perhaps, not the best idea for your first experience with alcohol.

No building had ever felt more cramped in your life, all of your senses were completely overwhelmed. You couldn’t hear yourself think, not that you were capable of a coherent thought at the time, but everyone was talking so loudly and it was like your ears couldn’t understand your own language anymore. The song playing was one you recognised, but when you tried to bob your head to the beat, you were horribly out of time, your brain delayed because it was swimming in vodka. It was all too much, so to the best of your ability, you took hold of a friend’s shoulder and told her you were going outside to get some air. Whether you actually managed to speak a word of that is yet to be confirmed, none of your friends were sober enough to even notice you’d left the bar.

You didn’t see anyone else as you stumbled out into the parking lot, you were focussing all of your energy on the ground beneath you, because your shoes were not reaching it in the speed you expected and you were determined not to trip over your own feet. Only a few paces from the door, a man’s voice called out to you.

“Hey there, pretty lady, you comin’ my way?” He had asked sleazily, but the time it took for you

to process his question was apparently long enough for him to assume your answer.

He swaggered over to you and swung an arm around your waist, tugging you to his side. Frowning in confusion and discomfort, you conjured every ounce of strength you had and smacked your palms against his chest in an effort to get away from him. His grip on your waist tightened.

“‘EY, THE HELL YOU DOIN’?” Another voice reached your ears then, sounding miles away and possibly underwater at first, but eventually making sense as you pieced together his words.

“Easy, man, I’m just taking my girl home.” The grip on your waist replied, and you frowned harder, lifting your hand to point accusingly.

“I am NOT yours, sunshine! I, am a FREE WOMAN!” You declared, words slurring together, but you hoped you got your point across regardless.

Much to your relief, the voice in front of you seemed to understand the situation perfectly. “Like she said, she aint yers, and she’s barely standin’, so the hell you think yer doin’ with ‘er?” His accent was thicker than the grip on your waist’s was, you noticed.

You couldn’t process what happened next, it was all too quick. The grip on your waist was gone and the two men argued, raising their voices at each other, until suddenly one of them punched the other, forcing him to the ground. Without the grip on your waist, you collapsed onto the tarmac, landing on your side and smacking your head against the ground, hard.

The accent reached your ears again, but it was much more difficult to understand.

“Hey, hey, ya alright? C’mon, we gotta get you sittin’ up at least.”

One hand held yours, while the other steadied you at the small of your back, both of them were so gentle you could hardly feel them, but they were strong enough to catch you if you were to fall again.

He led you over to a bench outside the bar and sat you down on it, then crouched down in front of you. The pain in your head suddenly pulsed.

“Ow!”

The accent, much softer then, was quick to apologize for touching the wound on your head too harshly when checking it. “Sorry, didnt mean t’ hurt you. Anyone inside that knows you, can take ya home?”

Everything was spinning and nodding in response to his question made it a lot worse. “My friends are in there, I think.”

The accent spoke again, you tried as hard as you could to retain his words and piece together the sentence. “Alrigh’, I’m gonna go get ‘em, wha’s yer name?”

You had to think about it for a second. “(Y/N)...who’re you?”

The gentle hand was on your shoulder for just a second. “Don’ matter. You stay here, I’ll be back in jus’-”

A third voice entered the conversation, not the one belonging to the grip on your waist from before, which made the whole ordeal far too confusing for you to comprehend.

“THE FUCK YOU THINK YER DOIN’?” His accent was the thickest of all.

And then, it was another blur. All you remember is the man turning his back to you, acting as your huma shield while another man fought the grip on your waist.

Police sirens and lights overwhelmed your senses after that.

The accents yelled at each other, before the softer voice turned back to you.

“I gotta go, but you take care o’ yerself, alright?”

With that, he was gone. Your friends had to fill in the blank of the rest of the night for you the next day, explaining that they had grabbed you before the cops came and you all got out of there before they arrived, narrowly avoiding being caught out with your fake ID’s, but completely losing track of the man that had saved you in the process.

“Merle ‘n’ me were movin’ from place to place then, had a habit of pullin’ up to any bars we could find an’ I’d sit outside while he went in and stole bottles from anyone too drunk to notice ‘em disappearin. He’d bring ‘em back outside, we’d drink ‘em, then do it again ‘til he got drunk an’ sloppy an’ I’d have to pull him out of some fight with whoever caught him stealin’.” Daryl explains. “I was standin’ outside that bar, watchin’ that door, waitin’ for ‘im when you stumbled out, an’ I could see you were too drunk to be by yerself. When that asshole tried t’...” He trails off, feeling his blood boil in his veins at the memory. “Merle came out o’ the bar right as that prick got up and was gonna come at me from behin’, so Merle tackled him, smashed the bottle in his hand against the guy’s head. Bar owner called the cops, there was blood everywhere- the guy lived, we saw him aroun’ a month or so later at the same bar- but Merle was wanted for a whole list o’ shit and couldn’t risk the cops catchin’ him again, so we had t’ run.”

You stare at him, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, or like they were the first night you thought you’d met when he shone a torch in your face.

“It was you.”

The words passing your lips sound impossible, even after he has perfectly recalled a story you never told him with details you couldn’t recall, a memory you never knew you shared.

“‘m sorry.” He mumbles, unable to look at you for fear of the betrayal on your face for keeping this a secret from you for so long.

But you are still in disbelief, trying to wrap your head around the fact that the end of the world brought you back to your hero.

“This whole time, you never said.”

Daryl shrugs. “Always sorta hoped you’d forget the whole night. The guy, most of all.” He confesses, having thought of you a few times in between that night and the night he found you again, always hoping that you had forgotten and been able to move on. Whether you chose to drink again after that, he always hoped you were able to live without fear and enjoy each night as it came. He didn’t have any reason to consider that you deserved any less.

“Regrettably, that was the main part that stuck with me.” You admit, feeling your own shame consume you.

Daryl nods. “I know.”

You shake your head, swallowed by the guilt. “I’m so sorry I didn’t remember you, everything was such a blur that night- I can remember the guy grabbing me, but even his face I wouldn’t recognise if he was in front of me. By the time you spoke to me close enough for me to see and hear you, my head was pounding. God, I’m so sorry that I’ve never remembered you!”

Only then, can Daryl bring himself to look at you, and it’s to frown at you in total confusion.

“Don’ gotta apologize for nothin’, aint yer fault.”

You rub your face with your hands, knowing that he’s right but still feeling terrible about it and knowing that, in your own way, you’ll make it up to him. You have to. How many times has he wanted to tell you? How many times has he thought about that night? What does he think of, when he remembers it? Has he sat alone with his thoughts and felt sad that you haven’t ever recognised him, have never pieced that it was his face right in front of you that night? What if-

“‘ey, stop that.” Those same gentle hands, feeling more familiar than ever, take yours away from your face and bring them to your lap, but don’t let them go.

Meeting your eyes, he calms the sea of overwhelming thoughts that had been swallowing your mind. In the midst of peace returning, a moment of clarity finds you, and you smile at him.

“Now that I know who my hero was that night, I can say what I always wanted to say!”

Seeing your spirits visibly left, Daryl smiles back at you. “Wha’s that?”

Leaning forward, you plant a soft kiss on his left cheek. Instead of pulling away immediately, you linger there to whisper the words your heart has been singing to him since the day you met, and the day you met again.

“Thank you.”

The moonlight prevents you from being able to see the dusting of pink that covers Daryl’s cheeks in the wake of your kiss, the first kiss you’ve ever given him.

“Sweet girl, ya’ve never gotta thank me for nothin’.”

Resting your head back on his shoulder and releasing a deep breath, you smile out into the night and squeeze his hands.

“You know as well as I do, that’ll never stop me.”

__________

taglist:

@ruinedbythehobbit @iamburdened @evilbabyelf @of-storms-and-sadness @crossbowking @spidergirla5 @jodiereedus22 @thanossexual @captain-shannon-becker @cordialgargoyle @romanoffs-bitch @daryldixonandfrogs @just-always-tired @pillowjj @the-musical-doodle @likeablevillain @irrelevantyettopicalusername @notquitecannon @alyisdead @polkadottedpillowcase @twdeadfanfic @wishingtobeforeveryoung1994 @sigynlokiem @courtnytrash04 @thatwrestlingfan91 @buttsology @prettylittleblog13 @milariskanavasi @whatanicepanohthatsjustme @your-new-mom @daryls-angell @lilzebub @amaroho @bakedcrispss @yes-sir-hotchner @wasted-years @kpopandharry @madshelily @datidixon @dumandbass @savageneversaw

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead imagine #x reader #imagine #imagines #headcannon #headcannons #fanfic #fanfiction

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cazzyf1 · 2 months

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Quotes about the 1982 Drivers Strike that I found funny/interesting (from a pdf of a book I accidentally downloaded)

So, if you haven't seen from my Twitter stream this morning when trying to research something about Niki Lauda for a friend, I came across a pdf link. Thinking it would just be a small article potentially with the answer I was looking for, I downloaded it. I did not notice the fact that it was 154 pages... to my surprise; it turned out to be a whole book about the 1982 season, specifically focusing on Keke Rosberg.

I've read through the chapter about the driver's strike and taken down some quotes that I found interesting. There isn't a lot of detail into what they all got up to that isn't already known, but there is a lot of useful information. Hope you enjoy :)

'You might imagine all this was just like every season, but 1982 was already very different. The Rat, you see, had smelt a rat.'

'Herr Andres Nikolaus Lauda of Vienna had furtive eyes which didn't miss much and a suspicious mind. On 24th December 1981, he sniffed the form from Paris the postman had just delivered and didn't like it at all.'

'The form was the product of events in 1981 when Prost, making his debut in Grand Prix racing with Mclaren, became convinced the car was not safe and refused to drive for the team again regardless of the fact he had a contract to do so. Prost told Teddy Mayer that, if necessary, he would simply walk away from motor sport altogether. Renault approached Prost, he joined them, and Mayer (by training a lawyer) discovered how problematic the law was if you tried to prevent someone from gaining their livelihood. The super licence form represented an attempt to prevent such situation recurring.'

'Lauda claims Pironi made phone calls and was able to prevent 'most of the other drivers' from signing, but in fact 24 did, leaving six refuseniks: Pironi himself, Lauda of course, Villeneuve - who had seen something similar in Canadian ice hockey and didn't like it - Arnoux, Giacomelli, and de Cesaris'

'I was just listening because Didier Pironi did all the talking,' Lauda would say. 'Didier completely unemotional. The important thing was to keep on talking.'

'At 7:00 on the Thursday morning a bus, arranged by GPDA secretary Trevor Rowe, drew up not far from the paddock entrance with Pironi and Lauda in it. Most of the drivers stayed at the nearby Kyalami Ranch Hotel and they'd be arriving early for a GPDA meeting before the hour-long practice session at 10:20. As each arrived they were invited to park their cars and get onto the bus. Mass didn't show up (He's always late' someone said) and Ickx refused. In fact, Mass had been staying with friends of his South African-born wife and so had been out of touch. He knew nothing about the bus but it wouldn't have made any difference.'

'The drivers were, as Lauda recounts is, going for a drive. With Lauda hanging out of the back waving, the bus set off, but as it left the bottom gate of the circuit John McDonald of the March team tried to block it. Laffite and some other drivers got out and pushed McDonald's car clear. Then the bus proceeded to the scenic route to Johannesburg some 15 miles away pursued by 'a whole convoy' of TV cameras, journalists and photographers. The bus went to the Sunnyside Park Hotel in the suburbs. It offered full amenities including a swimming pool.'

'At 10:19 the track opened for practice. The race organisers threatened to impound the cars if the race didn't happen and Ecclestone threatened the drivers that they would be sued for recompense if the cars were impounded. Throughout, Ecclestone adopted a hard line and at one point, in a remarkable interview questioned the value of drivers, "Nobody came up to me at Kyalami and asked where Jones or Andretti were. Already they're not missed. Why should any of the rest of them be missed? If it had suited Carlos not to come back, he wouldn't have given a stuff about F1 now, or whether the crowds came now or didn't. He couldn't give a dam if it suited him not to turn up. In the same way it suited Niki to walk out in the middle of a race. I think he said at the time 'I'm leaving because of policies, I just want to be a racing driver.' If you analyse it, the drivers just don't make any sense."'

'Pironi arrived from the circuit and explained that if they didn't return and drive immediately, they faced life bans. There seems to have been a distinctive mood at the hotel with very real concerns about what they were doing 'camouflaged by high jinks and laughter.' Lauda knew that the older drivers understood what the consequences might be. Ecclestone had already fired Piquet and Patrese. Lauda realised how difficult it was for the young drivers, facing the reaction of their sponsors. Lauda concluded that maintaining solidarity was crucial. Each driver had a great deal to lose.'

'At the Kyalami Ranch, during dinner, drivers' wives and girlfriends threw bread rolls and plates at Balestre.'

'The drivers in Hannesburg inhabited the conference room. "We ended up barricaded in it" Warwick says, "You know what was fantastic? I got to know my colleagues for the first time because, being a non-qualifier at the back of the grid, you don't get a chance to speak to the guys at the front. That was good. The other things that were massive when we were in that compound - we were there for 24 hours - was Bruno Giacomelli standing with a chart and dissecting an AK47 machine gun. He drew these magnificent drawings of how to take the gun to bits and so on. It was very, very funny because in the normal Bruno Giacomelli way he was very, very funny anyway. I think it was a big shock for everybody in authority because they thought they could control the drivers but, to be quite honest, I don't know that half of them in the room knew what we were striking for." Lauda kept their spirits up by telling jokes and, a piano brought, Villeneuve played light music and de Angelis classical pieces. "What really blew me away," Warwick says, "was that we had a piano in the room and Elio de Angelis started playing it. Apparently, he could have been a concert pianist and it astonished me - the other talents that some of these guys had. Then Gilles played Scott Joplin.'

'Many remember the performance by de Angelis. "Believe it or not," Derek Daly says, "the most vivid memory I have of being stuck in the hotel was Elio de Angelis playing the piano like a concert pianist. Remarkable. Definitely, definitely that was a gift, a talent of his.' Jarier points out that "it was a big room and Elio de Angelis played classical music and Gilles played. Very sympa. In that era virtually all the drivers stayed in the same hotels - Kyalami Ranch in South America, the Glen Motorhome in Watkins Glen and so on. A formula one team was 15, 20 people. There were far few journalists, far fewer television people and everybody knew each other." In other words, many of the drivers in the big room were not strangers to each other, however much those at the back of the grid had to be. Alex Hawkridge arrived to try and reach Fabi and Warwick. Fabi was easy to reach because, as it seems, he was already staying in the hotel and had his own room. "Teo we didn't threaten as such, we told him he was contracted to drive. He came out and I was able to speak to him. We reminded him he had signed a contract to drive, and the idea of solidarity wouldn't help him if he was without a drive and think where his best interest lay. Elio was playing the piano - astonishing - and I could hear him. He was a proper concert pianist.'

'The room was barricaded. An associate of mine pushed the door open and shouted their names, "Come and talk to us and we'll resolve this" Of course, as happens when you do that, someone pushed the other way and there was a bit of a pushing and shoving session - by a friend of mine called Douglas Norden, who is known to be a little aggressive when challenged. He was nothing to do with the team, just a friend along trying to help and it turned into a bit of a scuffle, the the door shut." Niki and the others saw it as a further restriction on the drivers' power and they wanted to stop it, and that is always the difficulty with change, isn't it? We were to have another example at Imola when the FOCA went on strike against the FIA. Through the history of human struggle there have been instances involving union. Lauda made sure the piano blocked the door so there would be no further scuffles, giving the police reason to enter. Mo Nunn at the Ensign tried to get Guerrero to come out by taking his girlfriend. When they saw each other they dissolved into tears and Lauda allowed him out to see her providing he - Lauda - came too. Jean Sage of Renault tried to get Prost and Arnoux but was beaten off.'

'The drivers ordered a room big enough to put 30 mattresses onto the carpet - that provoked prolonged ribaldry. At 11:00 pm they moved from the conference room to this dormitory and settled down for the night, having worked out an elaborate way of getting to the toilet across the hallway. It was conducted on the honour system with a key on a plate in the middle of the room. Lauda would remember, "I was sharing a bed with Patrese, someone next to Rosberg was snoring until Villeneuve put a blanket over him in the middle of the night, but all the time we stood together." Warwick would remember, "The drivers spent time with me and we spent a lot of time together - I was sleeping with them, exactly, yes! I haven't slept on the same mattress as Carlos Reutemann ever since, mind you..." To which Derek Daly says, "The funny thing is think I was on the other side because I have a picture of me beside Reutemann. I don't know if he snored. I do think he was still dressed in his driver's suit." Pironi said at the time, "We will see it through, FISA had too much to lose to let the Grand Prix be called off. I'm confident they will relent." "We'd had a lot of pressure because you had people like Jackie Oliver and Alex Hawkridge coming to the hotel," Warwick says, "We were threatened with our jobs if you don't get back there and that, of course, if why Fabi crawled out of the toilet window. He was the only one who broke ranks. He did the dirty on me. Everybody said they understood if I had to go back, I was explaining to people like Lauda, 'It's okay for you guys, you're going to have a job , you're some of the best drivers around but I'm the new kid on the block, my team mate's just jumped ship and I am very vulnerable' and every one of them said, 'We guarantee you will not be fired' In other words, if one is fired everyone goes. That gave me a little bit more confidence to stay there."'

'"It wasn't the strike which made me say, I don't want Formula One," Tambay says, "I enjoyed the strike! It was the best time I ever had with all my friends, although it was a very costly reunion with them. WHat I didn't like was Teo Fabi sneaking out behind our backs to try and get back into the car, and what I didn't like was that I knew we had been screwed - they (Balestre & co) had said "Come back out to the circuit and everything's going to be all right" and I knew we were all screwed"'

'And there, grinning broadly (he usually did), stood the strong, square figure of Brian Henton - available for selection as of this second, Jackie Oliver gave Henton the Tambay drive, but that morning, Henton became embroiled in a tug-of-war between the arrows management and Herr Lauda. Arrows 'were bollocking me saying "Get in the car" and all the rest of it' Henton remembers, 'And I am just about to go out for practice and they needed my signature on their petition. I'd got the team shouting in one ear "Get in that car and get out there" and, just as I am sitting Niki Lauda - who been massaging me all the time and I'd been saying "No, no, no" - rushes up with this petition, he 'hit' me at the right time, "Just sign this, sign it, sign it" I thought I only want to get out onto the track.'

'Lauda records how, throughout the weekend, there had been rumours that once the drivers reached the airport to fly home they would be arrested, although on what grounds it is difficult to say, what happened was quite different. During the race the stewards issued a statement given to each team, saying the drivers Super Licences were being suspended. Three drivers, Fabi, Mass and Henton - were spared: Fabi because he'd gone to the track prepared to drive, Mass because he had driven, and Henton because he got the Arrows drive after Tambay withdrew following the strike. Francis Tucker, steward of the South African Grand Prix, said, "For the purpose of running a race, a temporary truce, was called in the disagreement between the drivers and the officials. The truce lasted until the end of the race. At the end of the race, the truce agreement position was terminated. This means that the position which existed prior to the agreement is effectively reinstated.' The drivers were suspended immediately and each paid 300 Rand to appeal the decision. Fisa said they supported the suspensions and Executive Committee would meet in Paris on the following Thursday, January 27.'

And that is all that I took down about the Driver's Strike of 1982. I hope that it was an enjoyable read for everyone!

I feel a bit bad that I accidentally got a free copy of this book, given that the author I've read other books from and it one that I like a lot, and that when looking the book up, it is rather expensive. But these things accidentally happen, and anyone could accidentally look up this exact search on google: Niki Lauda "snored" - and then see the first link that is a pdf of 154 pages titled 1982, which then they could click and get the full copy of the book. These accidents happen. And it is always good to have a virus scanner to check any file you download just in case, my phone seems safe but it's better safe than sorry.

Enjoy :)

#classic f1 #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #vintage f1 #1982 drivers strike

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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

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OP's post

As far as jobs go, this gig wasn't too bad. Eddie wouldn't call him a connoisseur of the fine arts by any measure, but he knew how to appreciate passion that went into every work. He wasn't there to gawk though. He was there to guard. A friend of Wayne's worked the night shift and had gotten Eddie the job during the day.

So he got to patrol a pretty swanky art museum and broaden his horizons. And the pay wasn't half bad either considering how cushy it was.

Like most art museums, the exhibits were divided by era and country of origin. Sometimes whole side rooms dedicated to a single artist. There were mostly paintings and statues housed here, with the occasional odd exhibit like masks or minature figures. There was an annex building across the street that held the collection of modern and post modern art.

Eddie typically preferred the kookier stuff there but he enjoyed being around the classics. Especially the statues. Especially Steve.

In the hall for marble statues, there were many the depicted the human form in all its beauty, but none were as beautiful as the one simply titled 'Steve'. That definitely seemed like an underwhelming name for such a magnificent piece. But in the couple of months he'd been here, Eddie had grown to love the simple name.

Steve was carved in a lounging position and when Eddie first saw him it looked like he was waiting for a lover. There was a cloth carved into him that draped in such a way to only just barely give him modesty, leaving the rest on display. Had it not been stone, it looked like the slightest breeze would expose him. Like most of his peers, Steve's body looked strong and sturdy. And yet the way he was posed and positioned made him look soft.

Eddie didn't notice the first time he looked but after passing through and looking enough (leering, gazing, obsessing) he realized Steve even had a glorious patch of hair on his chest. Now that was rare. All these bare chested figures and very few of them showed any body hair outside the one atop their heads.

And that mane of his. Thanks to policy, Eddie had to keep his own locks in a tight bun under his hat. Steve's hair, thick and luxurious flowed freely. Eddie thought more than once to touch it, sure that despite the marble it was as soft as it seemed.

Another eye catching feature was the scarring on Steve's back. To make something so exquisite and then put the suggestion of violence... Sometimes Eddie wanted to look up the history of Steve's creation.

So greeting Steve became a normal part of his guard route. Even when he technically wasn't supposed to be in that wing, who was gonna stop him?

"Morning gorgeous", he'd greet some mornings as he passed by, coffee in hand.

Sometimes, when the room was mostly clear, he really would just stand and stare, taking it all in. He could look at most of the art for only so long before he lost interest (except for some of the landscapes, some of them were breathtaking and literally took him to a different world) but Steve.... Steve was something he could look at for hours.

And he would've if the crowds didn't come by to get a gander as well. So he did his job, made his rounds, kept people from getting too close to the art and then clocked out around 4.

"Night Stevie", he said on his way out, even though Steve's pedestal was out of his way to the exit.

It was all pretty nice until they switched him to the night shift unexpectedly. Eddie was a night owl by nature, but he preferred to use that time leisurely. That and he was more likely to come across an actual thief at night.

And also museums were kinda creepy at night.

He took a deep breath and leaned on a statue of the goddess Nike.

"Let's make a deal. I do my job, you slice and dice anything that comes through those doors."

As he bargained with the stone goddess, he thought he heard voices down the hall. Must be the other guards. For sure. Besides Eddie, there were like, five other guys doing patrols or watching the cameras. They were all Wayne's age though, so not a lot in common.

Needing a balm for his nerves, he ventured towards Steve's way.

"Heya beautiful. I knew comin' to see you was the right choice." The moon came in through a sky light and made Steve glow. "I'll come back for you Stevie, probably more than once if I have a choice."

Eddie was walking past Steve when he heard a voice reply to him.

"I'm glad you came tonight."

Eddie froze, and carefully turned.

Steve was looking over his shoulder.

"You....you're...."

Steve got up from his lounging position to stretch his arms and back and it sounded like rock grinding gently on rock. Eddie could hear similar sounds all around him. All of the statues were moving. All of them.

Eddie was still frozen solid in place. Almost like he and Steve switched places. Steve was sitting upright on his stand, that cloth still just barely covering him.

"Did you mean all those things you said?", Steve asked.

Eddie didn't know what he meant but he never lied so he just nodded.

Steve curled in on himself, bashful looking and Eddie wanted to wrap him up.

"You really think I'm beautiful?"

Eddie found his voice because if there was one thing he could say right now it was what he thought of Steve.

"Like an angel. Like a vision. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." This time Eddie stepped closer to Steve, still in shock but not afraid. "So, I am in fact totally mesmerized by you and by what's happening, but what the hell is happening?"

Steve held out a hand and Eddie took it without question. It was still cold and the surface was hard like stone but somehow flexible like a real hand.

"I'll explain on the way", he said, stepping down so that he was on his feet. He was about the same height as Eddie.

Eddie had about a million questions. But Steve's voice was as attractive as the rest of him so he could listen all night.

#apo writes #fanfiction #stranger things #steddie

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miss-tc-nova · 6 months

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Hunted - Leona Kingscholar & "Yuu"

My piece for the Twst Horror Zine. I had a lot of fun thinking of the possible terror and re-watching one of my favorite horror movies.

Premise: Backpacking around Twisted Wonderland goes bad

Words: 2,962

Trigger Warnings: implied death, stalking, isolation

Art done by the incredibly gifted HoKeki on Twitter!

~~~~~

October 23, 20XX

I’m not sure how to start this, so here goes.

Welcome to my journal! Over the next several months, my friends and I will be backpacking across Twisted Wonderland, taking in the sights and cultures across the world. This is going to be my first excursion and I thought it would be fun to document it.

As anyone who knows me might guess, I’m bringing Ace and Deuce along, though I’m not sure how they came to agree on it when they never seem to agree on anything. Even right now, Ace is badgering Deuce about all the stuff he’s bringing. I agree Deuce might’ve overpacked a bit, but I don’t know how Ace thinks he’s going to be fine with just two sets of clothes and his pajamas. At least I don’t have to wear them. So I’ll be spending a lot more time with these dummies, but I’m excited it’s my best friends I get to share this adventure with.

Our first stop is going to be Sunrise City in the Sunset Savanna. From there, we’ll probably go east to the Shaftlands and then maybe up into the Kingdom of Heroes. The great thing is that we get to decide as we go. I was pretty adamant about starting in Sunrise City though. I’ve always wanted to visit since I learned about its culture and how intermingled it is with the wildlife. Also, being directly south of the Queendom of Roses made it an easy choice to start with.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. It’ll be a struggle to keep my excitement in check enough to get even an hour of sleep. Though I should probably finish packing first. Thank goodness Riddle isn’t here or I’d never hear the end of my unpreparedness. But that’s part of the fun, right? The spontaneity and not knowing what adventure the next day will bring. It’s the surprises on the horizon that I want to experience. Even the mishaps—because you know that’s gonna happen with the three of us.

I better cut it here. Ace is about to get punched in the face and I still gotta pack.

Peace!

~~~~~

October 24, 20XX

We finally made it! It took so long the sun is already starting to sink in the sky, but we’re here! Our plane was surprisingly small. In fact, the port here is more rural than I was expecting. It feels a lot more wild—like a safari.

Still, it’s absolutely breathtaking. Clear skies shine bright and the plains ripple like liquid gold in the breeze. Only the captivating local culture could stop me from staring at it for hours. The people are really kind. Most were obviously trying to make money off us, but even they were nice. And it all looked so amazing we had to drag Ace away from a shop selling “Bone Cookies.” This is literally our first day and the temptation to spend money is strong.

Right now, we’re in a cozy guest cabin. Some government officials questioned us about the purpose of our visit, where we’re going, all that stuff. When we told them we planned on taking the scenic route to the capital, the radio chatter started. They insisted we find another route, but the golden plains are one of the “Must See” views of the Sunset Savanna. Plus, we don’t have the money for fancy transportation. I’m sure we’ll be fine with a three-day walk, especially when there are rest stops that have some of the best hospitality.

In the end, our names, details, and contact information were taken. They even took pictures of us from different angles. It’s as if they’re expecting something to happen.

Some of the locals acted odd too, after we told them we were heading through the plains. Some gave us extra food, one gave us a discount, and one strangely gave us a compass—all with the same weird look. Still, I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Anyway, it was an exciting start but I can’t wait to get trekking. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

~~~~~

October 25, 20XX

Waking up to Ace and Deuce arguing is going to get old real fast, but I should probably get used to it. They are “best friends” after all.

After the commotion, we prepared to head out. The locals again reminded us not to get distracted. Explicit instructions told us that there were to be no detours and no delays. Honestly, it started to kill the excitement. However, it’s going to take three days to reach the capital—one day to get to the first camp, one to get to the second, and one to get to the city—so it’s probably just proper precaution.

A single step into the gold plains was all it took for the grass to dwarf us. Elephant grass is notoriously tall, but I couldn’t have prepared for just how small we were. It felt like being thrown into a maze; yellow grass, the dirt under our feet, and the blue sky above were all that could be seen. It became intimidating along with its wonder and beauty. Fortunately, there’s only one path.

Not long after we began, Ace started talking tales of some banished prince. He heard the story from a shop owner he bought cookies from after being kicked from the cabin earlier. The reason I hadn’t heard anything was because of how recent it had been. Supposedly, just days ago, he tried to overthrow the king and murder the heir. People called for his execution, but the king didn’t have the heart to kill his own brother. Instead, he was exiled. But while being transported out of the country, he was set free by his followers—his jailers’ bodies were found maimed beyond recognition. Now the rumors say he’s hiding out to the east in the Shadowlands.

I didn’t want to hear any more, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell Ace to stop. Instead, he just kept talking, probably trying to scare us. And yet I think he also scared himself. It didn’t help that we could hear things rustling in the grass. I thought I saw something once, but couldn’t say for sure. Even though the locals said most wildlife would ignore us, it’s unnerving not to see what we can hear.

Despite the spooky stories, we made good time. The rest stop was within reach well before the sun started to set. Camp guards ushered us inside the fence, demanding our names, birthdays, reasons for travel—the same information we provided at the outpost. It must’ve been to check that we were on the list of expected visitors, which is a little strange considering I noticed ours were the only names on it.

It’s a small campsite. There are a few cabins around the clearing. A massive ring circles the whole place, dotted with devices that appear newly installed. Deuce says they’re for magic defense. Nobody can use magic in the camp and magic can’t get in. For all the security, that’s probably why we were instructed to arrive before sundown.

Well, I better get some sleep. Another long day of walking awaits tomorrow.

~~~~~

October 26, 20XX

A member of the camp staff woke us early this morning—the sun hadn’t even broken the horizon. All color had forsaken his face as he rushed us to dress and pack. No answers were offered to our question, only echoes that we leave immediately.

And again, as we stepped foot into the wilderness, we were warned to stay on the path and stop for nothing.

On our way out, the ruckus could be heard. They found something unusual at one of the barrier projectors. It would make sense to get us out of the way so they could focus on repairs. Yet I can’t help wondering if the hole being dug on the outskirts of the campsite had something to do with it. What was it for? What happened last night while we were all asleep? Did something get in? Where was it now?

That must be my imagination talking. It was early so it would be easy to misunderstand the whole thing. Besides, we needed to leave earlier since today’s trek was longer than yesterday. The sun would be long gone before we reached the next camp otherwise.

If only the boys could’ve kept their mouths shut. They argued the whole way. Ace sulked about not getting to sleep in and Deuce’s phone was missing. He demanded that Ace give it back, but Ace denied having it. The accusations probably come from last night’s teasing over Deuce messaging his mom, but I think he misplaced it in a different pocket. Hopefully he finds it soon or he’ll have to spend some of that souvenir money on a replacement.

Their fighting slowed us down, delaying our arrival at the second camp until just after sundown. Our reception by the staff was rough. After being jerked inside and held under duress, the interrogation went on until they could confirm we were the names on the list of travelers. So much for the hospitality.

There were no apologies as they put us in a cabin for the night. That’s where everything in Ace’s pack got dumped out and it still wasn’t enough to convince Deuce about his phone. So the arguing continued, even as I left to get a break from it all.

This second rest stop is much like the first. Cabins and staff equipment are scattered around. Though people are quiet at night, I could hear animals beyond the barrier. I think I even saw one. It was big, maybe the size of an antelope. It’s crazy how comfortable the wildlife is so close to settlements like this.

Well, I’m tucked in now and Deuce and Ace are pouting in their own beds. We’ll set out again in the morning and, by sunset tomorrow, we’ll be in Sunrise City.

~~~~~

October 27, 20XX

We messed up.

Ace really didn’t have Deuce’s phone. But neither did Deuce.

Like the day before, we were woken up early and sent on our way. Camp staff barely gave us time to pack before shoving us out. There was no time to question the hasty behavior and it left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth. Still, we went on our way as planned.

After noon, Deuce made us stop, yelling at us to be quiet. I thought he was crazy, but then I heard it too.

It was his mom’s ringtone.

Coming from the elephant grass.

We couldn’t stop him. He just took off. It was a blind run as Ace and I tried to keep up. We never would’ve caught up if he hadn’t stopped. In his hand was his phone, still ringing yet entirely useless. The screen was shattered and the frame bent. It was a miracle it could still even ring. How it got there and how it got destroyed is a mystery—one made worse by the fact that we couldn’t find the path again.

No one could say for sure which way we ran and the grass gave us nothing to find our bearings. Our phones were just handy clocks with no service in the middle of nowhere. Only the compass gave us any consolation. Surely heading south will get us out of here.

To make matters worse, night fell sooner than we anticipated. Making camp was the only sensible solution, no matter how badly we want to get out of here.

Now here I sit, in our little tent, listening to things creeping all around us. I have this nagging feeling that, whatever they are, they’ve been following us and I don’t know if it makes me feel better or worse that I can’t see them.

It’s probably just my paranoia. If we keep going south, we’ll make it out of here tomorrow. By now the savanna guides must realize we’re missing and be looking for us. We’ll be laughing about this whole thing in Sunrise City by lunch, except Deuce who will have to buy a new phone. Because of course this is the kind of trouble we would get ourselves into.

Everything will be fine.

~~~~~

October 28, 20XX

Maybe my paranoia last night wasn’t just paranoia.

None of us got any sleep at all. Whatever was sneaking through the grass lingered all night, getting louder and louder with their cackling and snarling. When we finally ventured out of the tent this morning, we were greeted with the destruction of our supplies. Everything was scattered, either destroyed or altogether missing. Here and there were pieces of the map, unsalvageable, and the compass was gone. Our bags were placed right outside the tent because keeping food inside is frowned upon for this reason, but now we have no food, no directions, and maybe half our belongings.

There was nothing to do but pick up what we could and continue walking.

Ace’s pessimism didn’t help. He’s convinced it was the banished prince at our camp, but all we could tell from the flattened grass was that they were large creatures. Still, the constant talk of our doom began to bother me and Deuce. I just hope whatever they are, they realize we don’t have anything else and leave us alone.

I don’t know how, but we must’ve gotten turned around somewhere. We tried to follow the sun, but each step was just more and more grass, hiding the unknown, letting us hope that the end is just one more step. Now the sky is black and we’re still here. We’re exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally. So we set up camp to spend another night in this place.

~~~~~

October 29, 20XX

I’m getting really scared now.

Our tent was shaken by a fight just outside last night, but we were all too scared to make a sound. In the morning, not a word was said as we walked. Only this time, we knew the noises in the grass were them. They are following us. No, stalking is more accurate. I can hear them snicker and growl. I’m sure if I reached into the grass, I would touch one.

But they have nothing on the banished prince.

I’m not sure how, but I always knew it wasn’t him stalking us but his hyena henchmen. They’re destructive and menacing, but he’s a monster hiding in the shadows. He’s behind this.

I don’t remember when I spotted him, but I could feel his gaze on me, different from the other beasts. His growl shot through my heart and it felt like I had his claws at my throat. Barely veiled by grass, he wanted me to see him. Fangs eager to tear gleamed in that grin. Behind his gaze was nothing but malice, highlighted by the ink dripping across his skin. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t even breathe. I was so certain that those bloodthirsty green eyes would be the last thing I ever saw.

And then he was gone. He wasn’t really gone, only gone from sight. There’s no doubt that he and his pack are watching us even now. We’ve been sentenced to death and they’re just toying with us.

We’re never getting out of here. Even if it weren’t for the monsters hunting us, we have no food and no more water. I don’t know if we can survive another night out here. I regret everything. I never should’ve suggested this trip. Because of me, we’re going to die out here. I’m sorry. I’m sorry to Ace and Deuce. I’m sorry to Deuce’s mom and Ace’s family. I’m so sorry I got your boys into this mess. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

I wish this nightmare would just end.

~~~~~

October 30, 20XX

We lost Ace today.

Tension was high. We’re being hunted. We know we’re going to die. The fear of what’s in store for us is sickening. Unlike yesterday, Ace and Deuce couldn’t stop arguing. A fight was inevitable. When Ace knocked Deuce to the ground, he took off. We tried to find him—spent hours calling his name. But we never found him.

Long after the sun had gone, the grass finally parted. At first, we were excited. I think I cried. Then I realized where we were.

Rocky, barren land laid before us. Towers of stone loomed above, colder and less forgiving than the grass we escaped. An eerie fog hovered, concealing both new and old monsters. It was bad. We found the Shadowlands. Sunrise City was meant to be south of the port we started at. Those beasts managed to manipulate our path away from our destination and far to the east. He led us here to be slaughtered.

This is where we found Ace’s magic pen.

Nothing else.

We considered our options. The grass gave us no visibility and muddled our sense of direction. On the other hand, the Shadowlands were the prince’s territory. Both were bad choices, but we chose not to go back. At least in the Shadowlands, we had a chance. We knew where we were and how to get to where we needed to. Maybe Deuce and I could still find our way to Sunrise City. Maybe we could send a search party back for Ace.

Maybe this terrible journey will be over soon.

~~~~~

October 31, 20XX

We were wrong! We should’ve gone back!

If anyone finds this, stay out of the Shadowlands!

They took Deuce! They dragged him out of the tent! I can’t hear him scream anymore!

If you see this RUN!

GET OUT OF HERE!

GET OUT BEFORE LEONA KINGSCHOLAR FIN

~~~~~

#twisted wonderland zine #zine feat nova #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #ace trappola #deuce spade #gender neutral reader #yes reposted because i jumped the gun

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