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tripleyeeet · 9 months

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I CARE FOR YOU (6)

SUMMARY: After an unexpected moment of intimacy, you admit your growing feelings for Astarion.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,768

WARNINGS: Fluff, cheesy gross rotten fluff filled with more realized feelings.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I can't tell whether or not I hate this chapter so uh, please be nice to me. I'm very tired and just :')

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

You’ve been drinking for a while now. Sharing a bottle of ale Astarion had nicked off a merchant outside the myconid colony. While speaking to her about the issue of her missing husband, he somehow managed to snag it unseen, along with a couple of potions and some coins that he shared with you.

At first, you were surprised. Sure, you and Astarion had become increasingly close over the last few days, spending practically all hours conversating or plotting —overall just enjoying each other’s company. But he’d always been firm about earning your keep. Typically for him, what you earned was solely yours alone and vice versa but when you asked him about the merchant theft he just smiled and pinched your cheek, thanking you for the distraction.

It made you blush —uncontrollably so. The feeling of his fingers taught against your skin before their disappearance. As you moved alongside him, making your way back to camp, you had to compose the need to squeal, feeling your stomach flip while your heart wreaked havoc against your chest.

Now that you were drunk such feelings had subdued. Lost to the clouded headspace of inebriation that has you lazily staring at the fire, a small grin plastered across your face as you continue to drink.

Against your tongue, it feels warm and bitter, forcing you to smack your lips in slight disgust every time you swallow it down. “Gods, this is rancid,” you say, and Astarion nods, reaching for the bottle.

He tips his head back to let it cascade down, cringing ever so slightly. “I swear I haven’t had a decent drink in months,” he complains, passing it back —letting the tips of his fingers brush against the base of your knuckles in the process.

You roll your eyes, feeling that nervous jump of nerves hit your stomach before shaking your head. “That tends to happen when you’re camping beneath the surface.”

“It was shit before then too, I’m afraid,” he sighs. “Even at that grove party they were basically serving up bottled piss.”

“At least it was free.”

He shrugs knowingly, agreeing as he watches you take another sip; scrunching up your face in disgust. It’s not good by any means but it’s the first drink you’ve had in days —and again it’s free— so you try not to complain too much.

“I miss wine.” Snatching the bottle back, he takes another sip and groans, immediately giving it back. “Good wine.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had good wine.”

Immediately, he looks at you like you’ve just slain his mother. His eyes are wide and full of pain before they narrow to a point, prompting him to lean in close, peeling the bottle from your hands. “I’m sorry, what do you mean you’ve never had good wine?”

You shrug, reaching for the bottle only to have him raise it into the air, gripping the neck tightly. “Hey!”

“You grew up in Baldur’s, did you not?”

Ignoring his question, you roll onto your knees, placing a hand on his shoulder as you reach for the drink, groaning when he raises it out of reach again.

“What’s the best wine you’ve had?”

You grumpily move in closer, maneuvering one of your knees to rest between his outstretched legs, feeling his arm snake around your waist when you inevitably stumble from the alcohol. Audibly you gasp and look down at him, watching his lips twitch into a smirk.

“Give the bottle back, you ass!”

His fingers fan across the fabric of your shirt, applying a bit of extra pressure that has you fighting. Resisting the urge to give in as he pouts at your words.

“Ass? And here I thought you and I were starting to become friends.”

That feeling from earlier returns. The one where your stomach tangles up and your chest begins to ache, longing for something you know you shouldn’t even think to entertain. “We are friends.”

His brow shoots up. “Are we?”

Despite the constant attention you’ve been offering one another, you realize then that you’ve never actually discussed what the two of you are. How he makes you feel happy and loved and, above all else, safe. On more than one occasion you’ve thought about letting it slip. During the night when you wake up from your nightmares only to find him already lying next to you, you’ve thought about opening up.

It’d be hard. Seeing as neither of you is the type to fully express how you feel, the idea of verbally admitting that you care for him far more than you should could be detrimental. The kind of conversation that could potentially ruin everything you have going, knowing that he’s…

Well, he’s him. He’s guarded and cautious and deceptive. A man so unwilling to trust that even the simplest of gestures have you questioning his intentions. Wondering whether or not the side of him you get to see is truly real or not.

You assume in some cases it is. Mostly because no one else has offered you that kind of courtesy. The others are nice. They care for you in their own little ways but something about Astarion’s kindness is different. More developed. It isn’t surface level in the way that Shadowheart heals you after a tough battle or how Lae’zel offers to help you cut vegetables at dinner. There’s something else that lingers. Something warm and tender that makes your ever-growing feelings fight through the ongoing suppression of your mind.

A suppression that dwindles the longer you look at him —the longer you kneel, half straddling his thigh while your hands sit awkwardly in the air, begging to be touched.

“I mean, acquaintances don’t do the things we do for each other.”

You see his throat bob as he swallows. “And what sort of things do we do for each other, hm?”

His voice, despite sounding as confident as it usually does, feels different. Instead of teasing, there’s a genuine curiosity that forms, hanging onto every breath that filters through your lungs.

“Nice things.”

He scoffs. “Care to provide some examples, my dear?”

Instead of responding, you let your hands fall to his shoulders, feeling the sudden tenseness underneath your fingertips as you slide them up toward his neck and move forward. After that, there are still no words that are spoken. Only breaths that catch in your respective throats as Astarion’s thigh shifts towards the innermost parts of yours, pushing against you gently.

Pressing your lips together, you ignore the feeling that presents itself when he does that, focusing on his face. On the way, his mouth opens up with bated breath —the way his eyes soften and his other hand drops the ale and moves throughout your vision to place an even softer touch against your cheek.

Without even thinking you return his gesture from the other night, letting your lips press against his thumb as you close your eyes, realizing you want this. Whatever it is that he’s willing to offer. Whether it’s strictly friendship or more or even something in between. At this point, he could offer you the dirt beneath his feet and you’d take it. Bottle it up as a reminder of all that he’s done for you. All the words he’s said to make you laugh. All the hands he’s held to calm you down during your most anxious moments.

He could take and take and give absolutely nothing in return and you’d accept it with open arms if it meant you could stay like this. If it meant you could feel the brush of his thumb gliding back to cup your head and pull you down.

“I know you’re not the most articulate friend I have but I’d still appreciate a bit more effort.”

The sudden presence of his breath makes you open your eyes. Your foreheads are practically touching and by now your arms have fully tightened around his neck, further supporting your hold.

“I don’t know. I, uh, I suppose you care.”

“Do I now?”

“I think so.”

He hums. “What makes you say that?”

You purse lips, trying to wrap your head around the closeness of it all. The intimate touches mixed with the potential confession rising up your throat. “You do things that the others don’t.”

The hand that rests against the back of your head runs through the roots of your hair, gripping them slightly as he laughs. “You really are bad at elaborating, aren’t you, darling?”

“Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes, fighting back a grin; not surprised that even in moments like this he still manages to withstand his arrogance. “I just mean that it feels like you actually care about me as a person rather than just another helping sword in a war.”

When he doesn’t respond right away you’re worried you’ve lost him. That you’ve scared him off somehow. Sometimes that happens when you’re in the middle of a conversation. Everything will be normal and somehow you’ll manage to fuck it up by asking something too personal, causing his retreat.

It hasn’t happened in a while. Not since that night, he held you in your tent but you still assume it’s coming based on the way his gaze shifts, moving from place to place —completely avoiding your eyes. Usually, that’s the first step when he separates. Either he’ll look away or his eyes will go out of focus, leaving you by yourself to wonder how to fix it.

Reluctantly you slip from his grasp, releasing his neck with shaky hands, feeling the way he tightens up but makes no effort to stop you.

“Sorry, I, uh, I know you’ve got your own… stuff going on.” You clear your throat, relaxing your hips against his thigh before you remember that you’re trying to give him space, prompting you to sit back up again. “Wouldn’t want to complicate that or anything.”

After that, there’s a nervous laugh that escapes your lips when you attempt to crawl off of him. One that grows the second the hand he still has on your back moves to grip your hip, pulling you back down with a rough tug. It forces the breath right out of you. Ripping through your lungs, it feels like instead of blood, Astarion’s taking your air, forcing your mouth to open in such a desperate way you almost whine out loud.

“I do care —for what it’s worth. Despite the complications.”

He says it so quietly you barely hear it against the crackling of the ongoing fire and the echoes of the Underdark. As it hits your ears, it sounds like the faintest whisper ever uttered. A quiet secret so safely tucked away that even the mention of its mere existence has you reaching for his face, cupping his cheeks with careful hands that wish to make sure he’s okay.

“You make me feel…” He trails off, letting out a frustrated sigh while closing his eyes.

You can tell then that he’s fighting the barrier. Allowing its presence to overthrow his thoughts, fearing what might happen if he’s honest. There’s a part of you that wants to tell him it’s okay —that anything he says will be cherished not exploited. Appreciated to the highest degree possible. But then there’s the other part. The one that knows that what you say doesn’t matter. That in the grand scheme of things, words are merely facades we tell each other to hide the truth.

You want to tell him the truth. More than anything you want to utter every hidden admiration over and over again until he believes you. Until he’s forced to hear the cadence in your voice breaking at the realization he believes that he’s untouchable.

“I care for you, Astarion.”

The words come out more broken than you intend. As it exits your lips, it’s coarse against your ears, making you internally cringe and close your eyes, taking a moment to breathe because you finally did it. You finally said something.

All you receive from it is a hum of acknowledgement. One that fails to give you any sort of relief.

At first, it shakes you. Makes you regret even thinking you could earn anything other than a snide remark. But then you open your eyes. And you see him. The way he’s staring at you with confused eyes and open lips, begging you for more.

“I don’t know what it all means yet. I just —I just wanted you to know that your friendship means more to me than you know.” You glide both thumbs across his cheeks, feeling the coolness of his skin wrap around the warmth of your own. “I know I don’t know a lot about your past. I don’t know how or what level it’s affected how you perceive your self-worth but I know you now. And I know that regardless of the shit you went through whether it was of your will or otherwise, that you deserve to be cared for.”

That you deserve to be loved.

By the time you’re done, you’re weightless. A feather of freedom dancing in the wind as it awaits its downfall.

Glancing between Astarion and the space behind him, you find there’s no regret in what you’ve just said. No fear of rejection. No shame for admittance. All that’s left is the feeling of relief. One that grows once you hear him clear his throat and pull you close, moving his forehead to yours.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says, but that doesn’t stop the smile that pulls at your cheeks.

“It’s okay. Neither do I.”

“I don’t know how to be what you want.”

You inhale heavily, looking down to see the worry grace his face. “Do you even know what I want?”

He opens his mouth but quickly stops, making you laugh.

“I want you, Astarion. That’s it. Whether it’s you at your best or you at your worst, I just want you.”

“Me.” He repeats it as a statement. As an affirmation that makes your stomach flip.

“I know you’re difficult to deal with. You’re stubborn and unforgiving and crass but I’m also incredibly patient.” You squeeze his cheeks, uttering patient through clenched teeth that make him snort.

“I’d argue that most of the time you’re not but—“

You shush him, earning yourself an eye roll. “I’ll wait for you. With you. If that’s what you want.”

And you do. Pressing yourself further into him, you breathe and wait, letting him piece together all the words you’ve just displayed. Letting him sit and process the weight of them all in the form of nervous fingers that tap your hips before they slowly begin to slide.

By the time they hit the centre of your back, he’s releasing his hold with one and snaking it beneath your outstretched arm to grab your face.

“Can I share something? With you?”

You nod your head and feel him pull you down, immediately slotting his lips over yours in a way you’ve never felt before.

Somehow it’s soft while still remaining hungry. Deep beneath the careful movements he inflicts, there’s a desperation that has both of you moving your arms to further wrap around the other, forcing your chests flush. Against your mouth, he breathes new life into your soul —ripping the old away as he nibbles the edge of your bottom lip, eliciting a moan that makes him grin.

“You taste better than I remember.”

Silencing him with another kiss, you move your hands to his hair, running your fingers along his scalp, feeling the way he shudders beneath your touch before pulling away.

Both of you are gasping for air then. Staring at one another with blown-out pupils that make you look away in embarrassment.

You’re not sure how to feel now. Before it was easy to pine —to think about the potentials and long for something more because it wasn’t real. It was merely a desire fuelled by curiosity so now that you have it, you have no idea what happens next.

“We should probably talk, right? About things?”

You can’t help but brush his curls from his face as he nods, giving you a knowing look that has you feeling worried he still might backtrack. “Things, as in?”

“The past. Both of ours. When you’re ready.”

Despite the reluctance you feel radiating off of him, there’s also a sliver of acceptance. An inkling of something new and warm that filters through as he nods his head, uttering a thank you before pulling you back in again.

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan @bluestuesday @bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon @sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama @venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes @ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer @girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03

(if you'd like to be added to the taglist fill out this form, also if your name isn't on here and it should be i couldn't tag you so message me and i'll try again next time!)

#i care for you #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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kingofbodyrolls · 8 months

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Namjoon fic recs 2023

Happy Joonie day! 💜🥳

In honor of Namjoon’s birthday, I want to share my ultimate favorite Namjoon fanfictions, that I’ve read this year 💜I haven’t read that much of Namjoon, just recently gotten into it, so the list might be small, but it contains some of the best stuff out there 💎 I want to thank each and every writer on this list for creating such wonderful stories and art - you are truly amazing ✨ All the fics on this list hold a dear place in my heart 🥹

❗Most of these fics are smutty as hell, so minors dni.❗

If you read anything on this list and you like it, please leave a comment to the writer or reblog the original fic’s post 💜And if you want more fic recs you can follow me to stay updated 🙂 A reblog on this post also helps, as it gets more exposure and seen by others, which in the end gives more love and exposure to the amazing writers on this list 🥰

BTS fic rec index → May | Jun | Jul | Aug | Sep (jjk)(💜) | Oct (pjm) | Nov (*) | Dec (ksj)(kth) |

Emoji meaning → angst = 🌩️, smut = 🥵, fluff = 🥰, comedy = 😂.

⭐The Interpretation of Dreams by @ppersonna // knj x f.reader // phd mentor!namjoon, university!au // 🥵🥰

📝 He’s the man of your dreams, the an you’ve spent over 6 years pining over. and he’s also your Ph.D. mentor and in charge of your very future.

🗨️ Looking for a smutty, slutty, funny and comforting fic? Well, look no further! 🌟 This really delivered 👏🏾 really, really good. The sexual tension between reader and Namjoon 💯 and then best friend Jimin, being the best chaotic slutty wingman EVER 🥵

⭐Deep End by @here2bbtstrash // knj x f.reader // established relationship, period!smut // 🥵🥰

📝 Your boyfriend suggests a new way to relieve your period cramps.

🗨️ Awww, this was so cute and sweet 🥺💖💯

⭐Baby Fever by @95rkives // knj x f.reader // established relationship // 🥰🥰🥰

📝 What was supposedly a peaceful morning stroll in the park, an unexpected encounter triggers namjoon’s intense desire for a baby, turning him into an adorable, baby fever-filled mess.

🗨️ Gosh this was cute - and wonderfully fluffy 😍

⭐All Night by @luaspersona // knj x f.reader // college!au, brother’s best friend!au, s2l // 🥵

📝 When your brother bails on you, you have to find another way to entertain yourself for the night and Kim Namjoon just so happens to be a great company.

🗨️ This was the most perfect, pure masterpiece of fucking gold writing 🤌🏾🥵 it is insanely filthy, so deliciously smutty!! Like I think my soul has left my body 🥵 the writing, story and the characters were brilliant ✨ this is hands down one of my new favorites and I WILL read this again soon, I promise you! Don’t sleep on this sweet bad boy Namjoon, okay 🥵 such an easy recommendation for me to make - do yourself a favor and read it if you haven’t (and if you have, then read it again!) ♥️💯

⭐Love Language by @rmnamjoons // knj x f.reader // soulmate!au // 🥵🥰

📝 Exactly one year before one meets their soulmate, their love’s first words spoken to them appear as a tattoo on their wrist. When Namjoon’s tattoo appears, however, it’s not of words, but of the most beautiful set of eyes he’s ever seen.

🗨️ I know that most of this was just pure smut, but damn it was cute 😭🥺💖

⭐Stretch You Out by @chateautae // knj x jjk x f.reader // college!au, s2f2l, gym employee!namjoon, gym employee!jungkook // 🥵🥰

📝 You have a plan for your crappy, diabolical ex who’s set on ruining your life; making him jealous by snagging a raunchy photo with two hot employees at the gym. what you didn’t have a plan for? befriending the mischievous pair to aid in your revenge and ending up underneath not just one, but both of them.

🗨️ Holy fucking shit 🥵 🫣 this was so exceptionally good! So deliciously filthy, it really delivered on every freaking aspect 💯 incredible 👏🏾 perfection 👏🏾 💎

⭐The Making of: Love by @inkjam-moon // kmj x f.reader // actor!au, s2l (not really strangers, ‘cuz they know of each other) // 🥰🥵😂

📝 When the movie you’re in requires to to film a risque scene with a world renowned sex symbol, your virginity is suddenly all you can focus on.

🗨️ I think this is funny, so I’ll tag it with comedy! Jimin is in it (he is readers manager) and he is just doing his best job of being a supporting character 👏 It’s good!

⭐All Aboard! (the passion express) by @ve1vetyoongi // knj x f.reader // office worker!namjoon // 🥵

📝 There were not many things that got your blood boiling in the same way that two simple words could. Kim Namjoon. The name of your irritating and (unfortunately enough, as the universe would have it) incredibly handsome co-worker. Which is exactly why you never expected to find your self on your knees for him on the train home.

🗨️ Holy fuck, fuck, fuck this was so incredibly filthy (in the best way possible) 🥵 the tension between reader and Namjoon was perfect, the build up was so satisfying 🌟 what’s not to like ✨😍

⭐The Wedding Arrangement by @sugaurora // knj x f.reader // ‘enemies’ to friends to lovers, wedding!au // 🥵🥰🌩️

📝 Unfortunately, he’s just gotten engaged to someone who isn’t you. Even more unfortunately, he expects you to help plan the wedding alongside Kim Namjoon, his other best friend and, based on your first meeting, just another judgmental jerk. Putting aside your distaste for the sake of your friend’s happiness, you both set about giving Seokjin the wedding of his dreams. Following a rough and satisfying affair at the caterer’s, you strike an unusual deal: you and Namjoon will be enemies with benefits until the wedding is over. And after six months of wedding planning, you both just might learn that weddings aren’t usually the end, but a brand new beginning.

🗨️ This was so amazing 🥹 the characters had so much depth and ugh! It was just so, so good. It was a pleasure reading their love unfolding 🥰 Aish, I’m soft! It’s filled with plenty of soft, slight heartbreaking angst at times, but oh so fluffy and smutty too! It was perfect 👌🏾 💯 please don’t sleep on this one, okay? 🥹

⭐Inside my Mind by @jimlingss // knj x f.reader // high school!au // 🥰🥵😂

📝 You’re safe in the confines of your mind. Free to think whatever, free to fantasize to your heart’s content. And your imagination tends to quite a wild turn when you’re dying from sheer boredom. But when some GUY IN YOUR CLASS CAN FUCKING READ MINDS - YOU’RE NOT SAFE ANYMORE! WHAT THE FUCKSKDKASDFGHJKL—

Borahae and happy birthday Joonie 💜 🥳 🎂

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strangersmunsons · 5 months

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christmas wrapping

“When what to my wondering eyes should appear in the line is that guy I’ve been chasing all year!” eddie munson x reader, ~1500 words

“I love the holidays, I love Christmas,” you mutter to yourself through gritted teeth as you wrestle with the roll of icy-blue paper. Cartoon snowmen and polar bears stare back at you with their unmoving little eyes, mocking your frustration.

Gift wrapping isn’t your strong suit. It’s like as soon as you pick up the scissors, you lose all motor function in your hands. The presents you hand out end up covered in more Scotch tape than they are actual paper.

Armed with a pair of big kitchen shears, you glide the blade as carefully as possible through the paper. The rectangle you’re trying to cut is almost free from the roll when the paper snags, and instead of following the clean line you were aiming for, it wrinkles and veers to the side, leaving you with a huge shred in the corner.

An angry squeal escapes from your lips and you set the scissors down on the plush living room rug. You close your eyes and count to five, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm yourself down.

You swear you’re not usually this grumpy during the holidays. But it seems like everything that you normally love doing in the buildup to Christmas has just been so terribly exhausting.

First, there was a new promotion at work. While the better pay was wonderful, you were slightly unprepared for the extra stress that came with your new position. Every day it felt like you were scrambling to stay on top of everything, putting in extra hours just to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks. It left you with hardly any time to get your shopping done, so you ended up having to take multiple trips to the department store — always just before it closed, God bless retail employees for having the restraint not to kill you right where you stood — wandering around to try and pick out suitable gifts for everyone. Not to mention that there are a few you ordered from a catalogue, which are still nowhere to be seen, despite the fact that it’s Christmas Eve and you needed them like, yesterday.

As if all this wasn’t hectic enough, you had been positively bombarded with invitations. Three separate work parties — office, departmental, and company-wide. Then dinner and drinks with the coworkers you actually like. White elephant with your buddies from college. Ornament exchange with the cousins from your Mom’s side, Secret Santa with the cousins from your Dad’s side. A Christmas movie night with your childhood friends.

The list went on.

Finally, you’d put your foot down. No more parties, no more “fun holiday activities” that were starting to give you more anxiety than joy — you needed a fucking break.

That’s how you ended up alone on Christmas Eve, finishing up the last of your gift-wrapping. Soon you would tuck the final present under your tree, then stick the world’s smallest turkey into the oven, and lay on the couch waiting for it to be done, all in beautiful solitude. You even took the phone off the hook, just in case.

After another brief struggle, you finally manage to cut a substantial amount of paper to cover this last gift. You fumble with the box and clumsily wrap it up, sealing it with copious amounts of tape. There’s a flood of relief that washes through you when it's finally under the tree; it’s as though a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

When that’s finished, you bustle about in the kitchen to make your dinner for one. Bing Crosby croons in the background as you make small portions of your favorite holiday foods, and the sweet fragrance of a cinnamon-scented candle helps boost your mood even further. Gentle snow flurries whirl outside the window.

The afternoon passes by in peace, until you hit one little roadblock: you forgot the cranberries. You lean with your hip against the kitchen counter, tapping a rhythm on the tile with your nails while you debate your next move. Dinner without them isn’t a huge deal, really, you suppose you could do without them, but…there does happen to be a 24-hour grocery store that should still be open. And it’s only a few minutes drive…

Hey, what the hell. You’re rather partial to cranberries.

So you grudgingly slip your feet into your boots, and get bundled up in your winter coat. You jam a woolly hat on your head, sling your purse over your shoulder, and head out the door.

In less than ten you’re at the store. It’s swamped with other last-minute shoppers like yourself, all looking to buy that last ingredient they forgot, eager to return home to their families and friends. There’s a pang in your heart as you watch them mill about; maybe you were being too rash when you decided to spend Christmas Eve alone. Maybe you shouldn’t have let the stress of the season get to you.

God, you feel like the Grinch. Or worse — Ebenezer Scrooge.

You sigh as you pluck a can of cranberries from the shelf, and then unenthusiastically make your way to the checkout aisle. The line is long, clogged up as the overworked cashiers try their best to deal with the onslaught of antsy customers as best they can.

You’re so busy internally sympathizing with the employees (and also feeling guilty for adding to their burden by being there yourself), you almost don’t feel the light tap on your shoulder.

You turn on your heel in surprise, and experience a squirm of pleasure when you see who it is: Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson, who you met about a year ago and liked immensely, but still somehow…failed to make something happen with.

It wasn’t for lack of trying! The two of you had met at a bar where his band had been playing a show; when it was over, he bought you a drink and you talked through the rest of the night, until the bartender all but kicked you out. He left you with his phone number and a kiss on the cheek. You wanted to find time for him, you really did, but it had been a busy year.

You played phone tag for months, always trying to set something up, but never managed to follow through. Life had a funny habit of getting in the way. Even when you two bumped into each other in person again — and it happened more than once — there never seemed to be a time when you were both free. The exception of course being last Halloween, when he was supposed to pick you up for a party, which you're sure would have been a blast...if his car hadn't broken down and derailed you yet again.

And then, when you got your promotion, your love life went on the back burner. Any prospects of going on a date with Eddie pretty much flew out the window.

But now here he is, in the flesh. And God, is he cute.

His hair is damp and a little disheveled, probably the result of snowflakes catching in the curls and melting. He’s not wearing a hat, but there’s a red knit scarf knotted around his neck, trailing down his big black overcoat.

“Hey, you,” he says, rosy cheeks dimpling as he gives you a huge smile.

“Hi,” you reply brightly, overwhelmed with sudden happiness. “Merry Christmas.”

“And you as well, sweetheart. Forgot the cranberries, I see,” he says, pointing at the lone can clutched in your gloved fingers.

“Guilty,” you shrug, unable to keep the silly grin off your face.

He laughs, and his chocolate-brown eyes crinkle at the corners. “Well, I can hardly tease you for that, now can I?” He fishes around in the plastic shopping basket hanging from the crook of his arm, and comes up with an identical can.

“Would you look at that? Great minds think alike. Or don’t think alike, I guess.”

“Truer words were never spoken.”

The two of you inch forward in the line.

“So, you got big plans this Christmas or what?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

“Actually, no,” you admit. “I’ll visit my family tomorrow, but for tonight it’s just me. I love the holidays, I do, but I just didn’t have it in me to go all-out this year.”

Eddie stops midstep. “You’re spending Christmas Eve alone?”

You shrug uncertainly, once again doubting your plans. “Yeah.”

He cocks his head to the side, playful smirk on his lips. “What a coincidence. So am I.” He shakes the grocery basket, contents rattling around inside. “S’why I came to get the goods. I’m fending for myself tonight.”

You’re a little taken aback by that. “Really? What about your uncle?”

“Wayne? Well, his, ah, lady friend invited him to her family dinner up near Indianapolis. They invited me to tag along, but I said no. Didn’t wanna impose.”

“Oh. I see.”

In a moment’s pause, some understanding passes between the two of you. Eddie busts out laughing again, and you don’t have to ask him what’s funny.

Giggling yourself now, you straighten up and look him square in the face. “Eddie,” you say, trying and failing to keep your tone serious, “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Eddie abandons his shopping basket. (You’ve no idea what he’d been planning on making, exactly; you glimpsed a package of hamburger helper and a jar of pickles, amongst other things.)

But he does insist on paying for your cranberries.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson christmas fic #eddie munson holiday fic

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daisynik7 · 8 months

Text

The Takada-Chan Mall Concert

Pairing: Aoi Todo x f!reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: ~2.1k

cw: explicit language, suggestive dialogue, switching POVs (reader is in 2nd person, Todo is in 3rd)

Summary: Your first ever Takada-Chan concert doesn't go as planned.

Author's Notes: Hello everybody, here's the first chapter! Just a few background details - Todo is 22, already graduated from Kyoto Jujutsu High, and is working as a full-fledged Jujutsu Sorcerer. Reader is also 22, graduated from university, taking the summer off before starting work in the fall. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading!

Masterlist | Next Chapter

The day has finally arrived: Your very first Takada-Chan concert! You’ve been dreaming of this ever since you started following the pop idol a few years ago, during the start of university. Although some would consider you a relatively new fan, your love and dedication to the Tall Idol is unmatched, you’re sure of it. You know her favorite food (goatfish), her favorite drink (room temperature sake), her favorite color (black), her blood type (AB negative)…The list goes on and on.

It’s the summer before you officially start your big girl job in the fall. College has kicked your ass the past 4 years, so you treat yourself with a well-deserved summer break. Now, you have the next three months to attend every possible Takada event near you, starting with this concert. She’s hosting a very exclusive performance at the mall in her hometown, which is conveniently only 15 minutes away from you. Tickets sold out online within minutes, but you managed to snag two for you and your best friend, Sara, who only agreed to go with you to keep you company. She understands that these types of events can be…well, as she puts it bluntly:

“A sausage-fest.”

She stares at you with her arms crossed as you pack your bag with binoculars and a mini sign with Takada’s face on it. “Ugh, binoculars? Really? The concert is in a mall, you’ll see her just fine!”

“You never know! I just want to be prepared.”

“I still don’t get why you’re so obsessed with this woman,” Sara says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like you’re in love with her or anything.”

You smile at your friend. “I know, but she’s just so cool. I love her confidence! And her music is so catchy, even you can’t deny that.”

She rolls her eyes again, chuckling. “Yeah okay, her music is pretty good. But I don’t think you’re fully prepared for how much of a sausage-fest this is gonna be.”

“I don’t care. No man is getting in my way today. Us girls are going to stick together. Women supporting women!”

‘Yeah yeah, I’m still bringing my brass knuckles though.”

~~~

The day has finally arrived: Todo’s first Takada-Chan concert of the summer. He’s been to 9 concerts already, including the 4 he’s imagined in his head. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s going to be the best one yet.

He bought an extra ticket for his bestie and brother, Yuji Itadori, who’s currently at the mall, saving a spot for him while he finishes getting ready. He inspects himself in the mirror, flexing his biceps smiling, very satisfied with his appearance. With one more quick armpit check, he heads out. At the mall, there’s already dozens of people surrounding the windows, trying to sneak a peek inside. “Ha, you dweebs didn’t get tickets in time,” Todo says smugly, waving his tickets in everyone’s face while he goes through the entrance.

The mall is packed with people waiting for the pop idol’s performance. He finds the area where the stage is and scans the crowd until he spots spiky pink hair near the front. “Brother!” he yells, making his way through the sea of people effortlessly, getting a few shouts of protest from some smaller randoms.

Yuji looks up from his phone, greeting him with a smile. “Hey Todo! Man, it’s packed! Didn’t think this many people liked Takada-Chan.”

“Brother, don’t say something so stupid like that again. Of course a lot of people like Takada-Chan.” He slaps Yuji’s back hard, causing the shorter boy to stumble forward slightly.

“Geez, okay, I get it! When is this thing supposed to start, anyways? I’m meeting Kugisaki to go shopping.”

Todo scrolls through his phone, checking Twitter. “Takada-Chan tweeted 20 minutes ago that she’s on her way. Look at her, so adorable.” He shows him his phone, playing a video of the idol doing her signature Taka-Tan Beam, gazing at it lovingly.

Yuji laughs. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go now before this thing gets too crazy. See ya!” He squeezes himself through the crowd as Todo continues to admire Takada’s video on repeat.

~~~

You walk back to the stage area, two corn dogs in hand, when your phone buzzes, displaying a text from Sara. We’ve got a problem.

Your heart sinks as you speed walk faster through the mall, simultaneously stress-eating the food in your grip. It’s only been 10 minutes since you offered to get food for you and Sara while waiting for the concert to begin. What kind of disastrous complication could have occurred in this miniscule amount of time?!

You approach the concert area, the hoard bigger and louder compared to when you left. Sara is near the front of the stage, so you push your way in, stepping through until you hit a wall.

Wait, it’s not a wall.

It’s a person. A very tall and muscular man.

Ah, the problem.

He doesn’t even flinch when you run headfirst into his back, like he didn’t feel it. You rub your forehead, turn your head to face Sara on your left, smirking. “Looks like you literally ran into our problem.”

You’re furious. This guy is MASSIVE. He’s got a least a foot on you, height-wise. But he’s also ripped with muscles. You can’t see above him or around him. All you see is his back muscles. It doesn’t help that the entire audience is packed like sardines, so tight you can’t move to either side of him for a better view. "What happened?” you ask, panicked. “This guy wasn't here before.” You hand a corn dog to Sara, grimacing at the man before you.

"I guess the pink haired dude in front of us saved this guy's spot." She points the corn dog towards him, whispering, “Should I stick my brass knuckles in him? Maybe that will get him to move.”

Naturally, being afraid of confrontation and violence, you respond, "No, no. You’ll get in trouble for that. Let me just talk to him, I guess.”

Sara munches on her treat while you clear your throat, reaching up to poke his shoulder, with no response. You poke a little harder this time and still nothing.

“He’s like a fucking brick wall or something,” you mutter to Sara, who only giggles. With a closed fist, you pound on his back, as if knocking on a door, a very beefy, sturdy door. Finally, he cranes his neck to face you, eyebrows raised.

“Um, hello. Do you think you can move a little? You’re blocking our view.”

This guy doesn’t even have the audacity to turn his body around. He just peers over his shoulder, saying, “Nope,” facing forward again, completely disregarding you.

“So you’re just going to block our view the whole time?” you remark, annoyed.

He scoffs, still not looking at you. “Not my problem.”

Who is this fucking jerk?!

From the corner of your eye, you notice Sara brandishing her brass knuckles, ready to pounce. You shield her with your arm, stopping her. “Don’t. Let’s just wait and see what happens when Takada-Chan comes out.” You feel like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Literally.

A few minutes pass and the crowd around you starts screaming in excitement. Takada-Chan must be walking on stage now, though you wouldn’t know because this guy’s back is taking up your entire view. The rest of the fans are so squished together that you’re practically nose-to-back with this guy. Luckily, he has no body odor; he actually smells quite nice.

“Can you see anything?” you ask Sara.

“Yeah, she’s on stage now. She’s just waving to the crowd as her mic gets set up.”

“What is she wearing?”

“A red and white baseball tee with flared jeans that has jewels on the side,” Sara answers.

You pout. “Ugh, she’s so cool! If only I could see her!”

“Let’s switch spots, c’mon.” Sara tries to move behind you as you shift to your left. Music plays and Takada-Chan starts singing her current smash hit “Love Gem”, which you are absolutely obsessed with. Now in a position to actually see your favorite idol, you retrieve the Takada sign out of your bag, ready to enjoy the concert. Before you can, the jerk in front of you begins swaying side-to-side in time with the music, singing loudly, and badly. Every time he swings to the left, your view gets obscured again. You shoot a look to Sara, who just laughs at your misfortune.

You try your best to appreciate the rest of the performance, getting glimpses of the pop idol whenever the swaying moron moves out the way. When it’s over, Takada-Chan delivers her signature Taka-Tan Beam, resulting in shrieks of glee from the audience. The boulder in front of you yells, “I love you, Takada-Chan! It’s me, Aoi Todo! Your future husband!” He waves his arms back and forth, vying for her attention.

As you wait for the crowd to disperse, you shout to Sara, “As if Takada-Chan will ever marry an idiot like that.”

All of a sudden, he turns around to face you. He’s more massive and menacing from the front. The most noticeable feature about him is the huge scar running down the left side of his face. A tiny corner of your brain wonders what the story behind that is. “What did you call me?” he growls.

Shit. You didn’t think he could hear you. He’s a jerk anyways, so no need to be nice. “I called you an idiot, idiot,” you sneer, with the smuggest grin.

He glares at you. “I’ll have you know that I have an IQ of 530,000. You normies could never compare.” His voice is dripping with arrogance and cockiness, it makes your blood boil.

“Normies? You some kind of god or something?”

“Heh, you could call me god-like, I suppose,” he winks at you, smirking.

You roll your eyes, hard. “Charming. Well, I hope you had fun getting ignored by your 'future wife'. Thanks to you, I didn’t even get to see her since your ginormous body was blocking me the entire time!” You’re seething now. Sara stands beside you, wide eyed but enjoying the show. If there was popcorn, she would be stuffing her face with it right now.

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t save yourself a better spot. Maybe next time, plan better. If you are a true Takada fan, you would do whatever it takes. That’s why I’m the superior Takada-Chan fan.” Both his thumbs point towards himself, puffing out his chest.

“Please, you think you’re the superior fan? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I’ve known her since middle school, so yeah, I think that makes me the biggest fan!”

“I doubt that, you’re probably making this up!”

“I’m not! She rejected me in middle school, but I know she’ll come around in a few years once she retires! Then we’ll finally be together!”

This guy is truly delusional. “You think Takada-Chan will ever marry someone like you? Get real!”

You're both going at it like a tennis match, Sara's eyes darting back and forth between the two contenders.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with Takada-Chan too? I will crush you if you get in my way!” he yells.

“I’m not in love with her, I admire her! I aspire to be her!”

“Ha, don’t make me laugh. You’ll never be like Takada-Chan, shorty.”

“I’m not talking about her looks; I’m talking about her personality!”

“Well, it doesn’t look like you have much going on there either!”

“Asshole!”

“Loser!”

“Okay you two, stop!” Sara intervenes, physically placing herself in between you and the ogre. “As much fun as it is to see you both go ballistic at each other, people are starting to stare. Now break it up.”

Your face is so hot, you feel steam coming out of your ears. What a fucking asshole.

He looks at Sara and tells her, “You better control your girl. She shouldn’t be messing with someone like me.”

“Oh, is that a threat? Come at me, I will fuck you up!” You’re ready to throw hands at this fucking prick until Sara restrains you, letting him walk away, chuckling.

“You have seriously got to calm down. Don’t let a dick like him get to you,” Sara says, still holding you back.

All you do is grunt at her. Who does this moron think he is to talk to people like that? As you make your way towards the exit of the mall, you hope with all your Takada filled heart that you never have to run into that guy ever again.

#aoi todo #aoi todo x reader #aoi todo fanfiction #aoi todo x you #todo aoi x reader #todo aoi x you #todo aoi #jjk x reader #jjk todo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #idol fan wars #idol fan wars series #aoi toudou #jjk fanfic

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ladykailitha · 1 year

Text

All My Roads Lead Back to You Part 1

Hello, my beautiful readers! I should be working on “If I Rescue You, Will You Rescue Me, Too?” and that was the intent yesterday I swear. But I wanted to sit down and flesh out the first part of my “Eddie and Steve reconnect after years apart because their kids are in a rock band together AU”. Only I went from 680 words to 6020 words over the course of the day.

So um...yeah. I’m still working on “Rescue” but since I have so much of this ready, you’re going to get this for the next couple of days.

Just a couple of things, you can find the original idea for this on my Master List, but I don’t recommend reading it before this, because it makes the story a little less fun. The other thing is that in case it wasn’t clear enough the first part are all newspaper headlines.

Enjoy!

***

Corroded Coffin Signs Three Record Deal with Relapse Records: American Tour to Start Soon

-July 15th, 1986

Business Moguls Clint and Rebecca Harrington Announce the Engagement of Their Only Son Steven to Socialite Addison Reed

-June 1st, 1987

Corroded Coffin to Launch First World Tour After Huge Success of Their First Album Underdark in December

-Sept. 23rd, 1987

Steven Harrington’s Nuptials to Addison Reed to Take Place in New York on Jan. 1st 1988

-Sept. 24th, 1987

Steven and Addison Harrington Announce the Upcoming Birth of Their First Child

-Feb. 23rd, 1988

Has Corroded Coffin Frontman Eddie Munson Found Love in London? Metal Star Eddie Munson Seen About Town with British Actor Jay Sanchez

-March 29th, 1988

Steven Harrington, Son of Business Mogul, Clint Harrington to Start Tech Company with Genius High Schooler, Dustin Henderson; Says Focus Will Be On Audio Devices

-May 9th, 1988

Tragedy Strikes in Austria! The Tour Bus Carrying the band Corroded Coffin Rolled Over Late Friday Night. Most of the Band Only Sustained Minor Injuries, but Bassist, Brian Martin was Thrown From the Bus and it Rolled on Top of Him, Killing Him Instantly

-Sept 11th, 1988

Funeral For Corroded Coffin Bassist, Brian Martin Was Held Yesterday in Their Hometown of Hawkins, IN. Frontman Eddie Munson Was Surrounded By Friends and Family

Picture: Eddie at grave site, clinging to boyfriend, Jay Sanchez. Wayne stands on his other side. The other two Corroded Coffin members stand behind them. The entire Party is there. Jonathan and Argyle, too. All but Steve.

-Sept 17th, 1988

Steven and Addison Harrington Announce the Birth of Their Daughter, Edith Barbara Harrington

-Sept 23rd, 1988

Eddie Munson and Partner Jay Sanchez Announce They Will Have a Child Together Through Surrogacy: Right Wing Groups Up in Arms!

- Nov 8th, 1988

S&D, the Tech Company Launched by Steven Harrington and Dustin Henderson Last Year Has Hit a Snag. Henderson Says the Technology is There, Investors Not Convinced

-March 19th, 1989

Steven Harrington and Wife Addison Battle It Out in Court, The Former Socialite Claims All Their Money Should Be Split Evenly, Including the Trust Fund Steve Received From Grandparents Upon Their Marriage; Judge Disagrees

-May 30th, 1989

Eddie Munson Back in the Studio. Producing This Time. Former Lead Singer and Frontman for Corroded Coffin is Back at It Producing What is Being Heralded as Metal’s Next Great Album...

-June 13th, 1989

Divorce Final! Steven Harrington and Addison Reed Split! Harrington Gets it All, Including Custody of Nine Month Old Daughter, Edith

-June 30th, 1989

Eddie Munson and Partner Jay Sanchez Announce Birth of their Son, Born Though Surrogacy; Mother and Son’s Name Has Been Withheld for Privacy Reasons

-July 14th, 1989

Tech Company S&D Reached Record Profits This Year; CEO Steve Harrington’s Ex Wife Back in Court for Bigger Cut of the Pie

-Sept. 7th, 1992

Eddie Munson, Beast of the Metal Scene Back in the Studio Again as Metal Bands Clamor to Have His Name on Their Record

-Jan. 19th, 1994

S&D CEO Comes Out as HOH (Hard of Hearing) and Bisexual in the Same Press Conference, Signing and Speaking His Speech

-Aug. 13th, 1995

Jay Sanchez, British Actor and Partner to Eddie Munson, Famed Metal Producer Has Passed Away Over the Weekend Due to Cancer. Family Asks the Public to Respect Their Wishes and Allow Them Their Privacy as They Grieve

-Oct 25th, 1999

Funeral For British Actor, Jay Sanchez Held in His Native Hampshire. Fans Flock to Mourn His Loss

-Oct 31st, 1999

Audio Tech Giant S&D Announced a Line of Headphones That Can Block Out Most Noises

Nov. 22nd, 2003

Grammy Award Winning Producer, Eddie Munson to Retire Amid Rumors of Troubled Son in Legal Woes

-March 27th, 2006

Steve was a man of few regrets in his life. He had a job he enjoyed, a daughter he loved more than life, and close friends he could count on. One of his biggest regrets, though? Losing track of Eddie after Corroded Coffin’s bassist Brian Martin died in a tour bus rollover in Europe on their first world tour.

He knew that Robin and Dustin and probably some of the rest of the Party still kept in contact with Eddie, but after Steve was forced to miss Brian’s funeral...he wasn’t sure Eddie wanted him to contact him. So despite Dustin’s greatest efforts their lives remained separate.

“Hey, Dad!” Edith called from the kitchen.

Steve sighed into the bedroom mirror. He patted his hair down to hide the hearing aid. “Coming!”

He trotted out, grabbing his keys and wallet as he did so. His daughter was sitting at the counter happily munching on her cereal. Steve grinned when he saw her. She looked nothing like her mother, a fact Addison loathed. Edith had brown eyes and light brown hair with freckles, just like Steve.

“We finally have a new guitarist,” she said happily when she saw him. “But because we can’t have it at Lauren’s anymore...”

Steve sighed. “You want to use my garage as your studio?”

Edith grinned. “Pleaseee...”

Steve closed his eyes and opened them slowly to see her giving him the biggest pair of puppy dog eyes.

“All right,” he said. She started squealing and jumping for joy. “Only one day a week and if I have a migraine...”

She sighed, “We’ll keep it down.”

Steve ruffled her hair.

“Ugh...” she moaned. “It’s a good thing I don’t spend hours on my hair like you otherwise, I’d be really upset.”

Steve laughed. “Uncle Dusty keeps telling me it’s a miracle it hasn’t all fallen out yet.”

Edith smiled softly at him, before reaching up and gently tucking a lock of hair behind his left ear. “You’re the face of S&D, Dad. It’s not a crime to show off the goods.”

He ducked his head and blushed. “I know I wouldn’t be where I am without it but it chafes, you know.”

“You’re the father a seventeen year old girl,” Edith said with a wink, “I think you’re allowed to have a hearing aid.”

Steve sighed, too. “It just makes me feel older than I am.”

Edith shrugged. “You’re already old, so what’s a few more years difference?”

Steve raised his eyebrow and she squealed as he lunged for her. He kept up swimming and had taken up running. Edith on the other hand? She loathed sports. She claimed on more than one occasion that if anyone saw her running, they best start running too, because there was something chasing her.

A joke that didn’t go well with her dad or any of his friends for some reason she wasn’t privy to.

So she was an easy catch and he tickled her.

“No!” Edith huffed. “I’m too old for tickles!”

Steve stopped and cocked his head at her. “I still tickle Aunt Robin so...invalid argument.” And went back to tickling her.

Once she was gasping for breath, Steve let her up. “Now, Miss Thing, it’s time to get you to school.”

“Ugh...” she said, going to grab her backpack. “I hate school. Why can’t I just drop out?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Because last time I checked, I didn’t raise a quitter. And you only have a couple months left of this year and all of next.”

“I hate being a September baby,” she huffed dramatically. “I’m older than most of my class.”

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “You can blame your mom for that one.”

Edith smiled gratefully up at her dad. “It’s nice to have a scapegoat for all one’s ills in life.”

Steve laughed. “Thank god, for Addison Reed.”

Edith had to admit that there were certain parts of school that she enjoyed. She loved history and art. She didn’t know if she got that from her mom, as she had seen her mother all of three times in her memory. The first nine months of her life didn’t count.

Addison Reed had showed up when she was three when S&D had finally made it big and wanted more money from Dad. Again when she turned eight and Addison had taken her out for ice cream to try and charm Edith into giving up information on Dad so she could wheedle even more money out of him. The final time and the time that upset Dad the most was when Addison turned up when Edith was twelve to try and convince her to move in with her, so she could live off the child support.

That was when Dad got a restraining order against her, and moved them to Indiana from California. Edith missed the warm sunny days and the beaches, but she knew why Dad had done it. If moving back to Indiana was the only thing that would keep the leech away, Edith would have suggested it herself.

The other parts of school she liked were her friends. Mandy Lawrence and Kenny Grant. They had been a quartet, but Lauren decided she was too cool for them at the beginning of the year and stopped talking to them.

It was whatever.

She had art today which was a blessing because math was a killer and it always made her depressed. There was another reason she liked art class. Because that’s where she met this boy.

No, no not like that. Edith Barbara Harrington was a lesbian thank you very much. No, for all the kid’s fluffy brown hair, dimples and doe-eyes, she was interested in his ability to absolutely shred on guitar. His dad was some famous producer or some shit.

She walked up to him and fist bumped him. “H-man!”

“Miss Thing!” he greeted back. “Talked to my dad, but he said no go. He’s got too many valuable instruments he doesn’t want us touching.”

Edith grinned. “Well you’re in luck because my dad said yes.”

“Hell yeah!”

“So after school, k?” she said and he nodded. “I’ll text you the address.”

“Awesome!”

Their teacher called out for them to sit down and they did so with a grumble.

Edith couldn’t wait for after school.

***

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Epilogue

Permanent Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #reconnecting years later AU #ladykailtiha writes

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mistyresolve · 1 year

Text

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 4)

Word Count - 6.5k

Summary - Every question answered only led to more questions, Rowe turns out to be nothing more than a pawn in a much bigger game. The stakes are higher and Doc is second-guessing their decision to join the 141 on this mission. The 141 is forced into darkness and plans are changed. Doc and Ghost are to head to the abandoned Fort Echel when suppressed feelings begin to arise.

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Maybe a little bit of angst, Mentions of childhood trauma

A/N - There is no actual smut for this part but it does get a little heated. I wanted to put the actual action on a separate part in case people wanted to skip it.

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3 ❤︎ Part 3.5

Masterlist ❤︎ Tag List Form

Ghost was quick to order everyone, except Price, out of the building. His demeanour turned dark and his pupils were blown, taking in the smallest details of his surroundings. His eyes would flick over to even the slightest movement. This change in personality made him unrecognizable, his smokey tenor foreign to you. The man you shared a hug with not ten minutes ago was long gone. The mask that was knit deeper into his skin came to the surface. Each breath and motion he took was calculated, like a predator watching his meal being brought to him.

This was what he didn’t want you to see.

This was what he was trying to hide from you.

“Don’t come in unless I call for you,” he didn’t meet your gaze, his attention fixated on the three men that Price and Gaz brought into the building. None of them stood a chance when they pulled into the Port, not with Ghost in front of them and Price and Gaz at their rear. It was too easy. There were no flying bullets or arguing, Rowe and his men knew they wouldn’t stand a chance. Not that they were given one.

Ghost had brought his pack from upstairs with him, only this time it looked heavier on his shoulder than before despite nothing being added. No. It was the weight of what he was going to do with its contents.

“How long?” you shifted on your feet as the men were brought past you to the rooms at the back of the building. Even with the doors closed, you knew you’d still be able to hear them if they screamed. Bile rose in your throat. You wanted them to get what they deserved, but you wish you had been on a far-away rooftop like Laswell or Soap. You knew it was coming, but it was all happening so fast, and all of it was too real.

You watched as Ghost analyzed the men, dissecting their personalities and flaws. Already, he was devising a course of action; who would talk first, who would give him the most information, and what he could use against them. He dipped his chin ever so slightly at you and shrugged, “We’ll see,” his voice was low but slightly quivered, the only indication that he was angry. His hands were still and calm as he reached for the doors following Price and Gaz.

Gaz returned to keep you company a short while later, his fingerings digging into his temples. Matching the action with the grimace on his face was a sure sign of a headache.

The second was just as strange; you worried you would hear them screaming and crying and begging but whatever Ghost and Price did they kept it quiet. Kept them quiet.

Gaz was good at distracting you though. He asked you about your new air support assignment and your future plans. You asked him about the patches on his sleeves and how he got himself a spot on the 141. He then wiped out a deck of cards with a devilish grin, “Snagged these from LT. Don’t tell him I have them, he's been searching everyone for them since Tuesday.”

“He always has a deck. What’s with that?” You opened the tailgate of the truck for a place to play cards.

“Mate’s an absolute savage at poker,” Gaz rolled his eyes as he shuffled the beat-up deck, “I’m pretty sure he's a cheater though.”

You and Gaz played three games of poker. Well, he won and you lost three rounds, and then you told him he was going to bleed you dry and choose a different game. Then he wiped out the good old “Go Fish”.

Five hours had passed when Price came back out from the warehouse, his attention solely on you. For a split second, you thought he was coming out to tell you they were done. Until he said, “We need you.”

You jumped down from your seat on the tailgate, “Yessir,” You followed him back inside the warehouse, grabbing your kit from your pack on the way, “I don’t have enough supplies for all three.”

“That won’t be an issue,” Price scowled, stopping only once before opening the door. He opened his mouth, then closed it, rethinking his words, “Prepare yourself.”

The door made no sound when he opened it, the air conditioning from inside the room hitting you in the face. Cooling the sweat around your temples. Then you realized that the air wasn’t just cool but freezing. Cold enough that your breath fanned in front of you in big white puffs. The room was a giant freezer, used to store the goods that needed to stay refrigerated before transport. This room would explain why you couldn’t hear them, why no one would be able to hear them. Price leads you to a section in a far corner, with plastic sheets hung from the ceiling to cut it off from the rest of the room. He pulled one of the sheets back ducking into the area and holding it open for you to do the same.

You half-expected blood to be dripping from the walls, pools of it on the floor, but it was relatively contained to a few areas. You also expected to see bodies, but you weren’t about to ask where they were stashed now. There was still one man tied to a chair. His body sagging in the seat and his back was facing you so you couldn't see his face. He was breathing but each breath was sharp and shallow.

Across from him stood Ghost, his mask lifted to the bridge of his nose, a cigarette caught between his lips. He leaned against a stack of boxes, his arms folded over his chest. He had perfectly positioned his body to conceal the array of tools and weapons laid out behind him. His eyes followed you into the room but otherwise, he remained still. Still and silent.

“Make sure he doesn’t die on us till we’re done with him,” Price forced the man to a sitting position, revealing his face to you.

If it wasn’t for the same blue shirt he came in with you might not have recognized him. His face was broken and bloody drool leaked into the front of his shirt. His skin was pale and his fingertips turned white. His fingernails were missing, leaving behind raw flesh.

You nodded, kneeling before him and began a more thorough inspection. Already his skin resembled a corpse more than a living human. You moved to his neck needing to double check for a pulse. It was irregular and faint but it was there. With gentle hands, you felt for any abnormalities. When you reached his abdomen Rowe let out a low bubbling groan, the first sign of life you’ve seen from him. You lifted his shirt and gritted your teeth. The skin was warm and bruised, “He’s got internal bleeding,” there was no question about it, “If we call a medevac now this is survivable.”

You stood back up, turning to Price.

“He won’t survive,” he deadpanned, this expression unreadable.

Your face scrunched for a second in confusion, “It isn’t fetal yet. We just need to get him a—”

“He won’t survive,” Price said with such finality that you had to look to Ghost to make sure you were hearing him correctly. Rowe wasn’t dead yet and he still had time. Only they weren’t planning on saving him. They brought you in here to stabilize him for a little while longer. Draw out the last dregs of life from him so they could continue.

“There isn’t much I can do for him here and with what I have on me,” you opened your kit, racking your brain for a solution. With a shake of your head, you weigh the ethics of what you were able to come up with. What a strange time to be entertaining ethics, you thought before handing a vial to Price, “A shot of adrenaline will get him in talking condition again, but” you emphasized on the ‘but’, “it’ll hasten the internal bleeding. So, you’ll have about ten more minutes with him.”

“Do it,” Ghost pushed off the crate, stamping out the cigarette under a boot and pulling his mask back over his face, “I can work with that.”

Even as you drew up the liquid into a syringe you couldn’t stop that queasy feeling from growing. It felt wrong to be killing someone this way. A horrible, awful someone but it went against the very core of providing healthcare. You gritted your teeth as you injected Rowe and prayed it would kill him faster than you initially predicted.

You quickly left after that, throwing one last look at Ghost. He made no move toward Rowe. He was going to wait until you were out of sight and out of earshot.

Ghost and Price were another half an hour before they came back out. Price was murmuring something to Ghost before turning to you and Gaz.

You wanted to ask if the adrenaline worked but thought better of it, especially after seeing the shadows in Ghost’s eyes. The way he looked through people, his mind someplace else entirely.

His voice was horse from the hours of interrogation when he spoke, “Shit’s getting old,” you couldn’t help but cringe at the sight of his knuckles, bloody and raw. They were quickly made hidden when he reached into his back pocket for his gloves, mindlessly tugging them back on. Next, he unrolled his sleeves, covering the splatter of blood that reached all the way up his arm. The only physical evidence anything even happened

“Got what you needed?” Gaz stretched his legs out in front of him before standing.

“And more,” he jerked his chin back to the warehouse, “Two of them knew fuck all but Rowe liked running his mouth,” a pause, “There’s a leak and it’s coming directly from HQ.”

“What?” both you and Gaz said in unison, perking up.

“Who?” Gaz furrowed his brows, his face a show of bewilderment.

“He didn’t know. All he knew was that they went by the name Spector and that they know fucking everything,” Ghost shook his head in frustration.

“How much is everything?” you asked hesitantly.

Ghost and Price shared a look that could only mean something was really really bad. Something that would change everything. The look made your heart skip in your chest.

“He knew my name,” Ghost said lowly and the shadows seemed to wrap tighter around him. The air became stale in your lungs.

If this Spector was throwing out people's secret identities that was a massive problem. But if Spector had access to Ghosts files, that was an entirely different level of problem. It meant that this person not only had access to classified documents but redacted information too. This was beginning to be so much bigger than just Rowe.

“So, Rowe wasn’t necessarily the one who knew about the convoy? He was just following orders,” you chewed on the inside of your cheek, eyeing Ghost, who was more than displeased with this turn of events.

“Affirmative,” He leaned back on his feet, “But that only confuses things. Rowe had a motive after being ousted. This Spector is more of an enigma.”

“Wouldn’t that mean they would have known about this mission? Why didn’t they warn Rowe?” Gaz brought up a good point. The few things that made sense to you didn’t anymore. What would Spector have to gain from something like this? Why stop the convoy? Who else is he talking to?

“To prove a point,” Price interjected, his eyes darkening with barely concealed anger, “Spector sent him a package yesterday with sensitive information about every one part of the 141,” he turned his attention to you, his expression shifting to something akin to apologetic, “That includes you. Rowe said he didn’t share anything with anyone else but the documents aren’t secure.”

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach. You hide and run from your past like it was the plague and now your history was floating around the world, available for anyone to look at.

Ghost made a grumbling sound before saying, “He left everything at a safe house on the outskirts of town.”

“Are Laswell and Soap still at his apartment?” you asked, shoving your hands under your arms to keep them from shaking.

Price nodded, “They’re on their way there as we speak, one of them should give us a call once they’ve retrieved everything. For now,” He reached for the dial on his radio and turned it, flicking through the channels, “We need to lay low. Switch your radios to channel six and get rid of any devices someone might be able to track you on.”

It was risky not knowing who Spector was or what he was capable of and it was obvious they knew more about us than we did them and they were probably keeping a close eye on us. Listening in on conversations on our radios. It was a horrifying thought to learn that someone with so much power was basically invisible. Neither Ghost nor Gaz hesitated to do as Price ordered, and none of them were as shocked as you were. It was hard to be angry with their lack of concern because this was their job, they dealt with a kind of threat all the time. The realization that you might not be as prepared for this kind of mission hit you like a bullet. You were a corpsman, a medic and nothing like who were the 141.

You were a medic and you just killed a man.

You pushed that thought down. You wanted this and you refused to let the little voice inside your head psyche you out. You cleared your throat, “Are we alone?” Being alone meant no more support and no more backup.

“We’re going dark for a little while. Just until we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with and we won’t be completely alone, we’ve still got a few men we can get a hold of it shit really hits the fan,” Price knocked your shoulder with a gentle fist. You wish his words had been more comforting than they were.

“Inside the house Rowe told you about,” Laswell’s voice floated through the radios, “He must have torn through this package last night, like the little savage he is. There are documents all over the place.”

“Everything there?” Price replied before nodding to the unmarked vehicles.

“I can’t be sure but I’ll grab what I can. Burn the rest?” She sounded distant, her attention on whatever was in that house.

“Take a good look around, try and find anything relating back to Spector. But if you feel like getting rid of everything is better make sure there won’t be any casualties,” Price was moving, quickly turning back to Ghost to say, “Head to Fort Echel.”

Ghost nodded before pivoting and striding for the truck. You jumped into the vehicle with him, “I thought Echel was dismantled?”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, seeing something you didn’t realize you were showing, anxiety, “It is, but we’ve been stashing gear and supplies there for months.”

Of course they would have had a backup plan. Assuming “We” was the 141, they probably had every piece of equipment a squad might need in dire situations. Fort Echel was still a two day's drive from the city at the very least. Two days if we only stopped for gas and to use the bathroom.

Gaz and Price disappeared minutes later, taking a different route from you guys.

You drove for hours in silence, and the sun had long since set. The only source of light now was the lights on the front of the truck and the illumination from the dashboard. The radio was on but the volume was low enough that your foot tapping against the floor was still audible. Ghost side-eyed you once, twice, three times before releasing a tight breath, “What’s on your mind?”

“What—” You wanted to choose your words carefully, “Did Rowe say anything about me?” This time he kept his attention on the road, and when he didn’t answer immediately your hackles began to rise.

“Nothing,” it was a blatant lie but you could tell from the tightness in his shoulders he wasn’t going to tell you the truth. You knew he wasn’t lying to you on purpose, nor was he trying to hide something from you. He was telling you he wasn’t ever going to mention what he had heard but with far fewer words. He wasn’t going to repeat whatever was disclosed in that room.

You were incredibly grateful to him for it, but it was better if he heard it come from you. If only so he would know the exact truth, “I didn’t just join the force for the money. I joined to get away from my family,” you held your breath, waiting for a reaction. There wasn’t one. So he knew that much already. You started again, “My dad was an alcoholic and my mom was an enabler. My siblings and I took the heat off her when my dad got out of control so she didn’t do anything to stop him when…” you trailed off as you watched the city fall away to nature as you guys drove further and further away, “he was an ugly drunk,” you managed and that was going to have to do for now, “I’m sure Rowe told you my dad is in jail for murder.”

“He did,” the words were cautious and gentle despite the significance behind them. He didn’t mention who was murdered and you didn’t offer the information. Nor would you ever. It was too hard to talk about. Too…confusing.

“He’ll be there for the rest of his life,” your tone jumped a few octaves in an attempt to get rid of the heaviness in the truck, “Testifying against him was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. To this day I wonder if it was the right thing. Which sounds ridiculous, because, of course, it was, he’s the devil. But at the same time, when he wasn't plastered he was my dad. He took me to all my sports, and taught me how to ride a bike,” you wiped your palms on your pants to dry them of the sweat that began to accumulate there.

The truck slowed to a stop, pulling into a dirt side road and continuing on until you came up onto a small decently well-kept portable building. Ghost turned off the engine, pausing to stare out the front window before finally committing to his next action. He pulled his mask off, revealing a mess of hair, grown longer than the few times you’ve seen it before. He’s been too busy to get a cut. The black paint smeared down his cheek and across his eyes hid some of the tiredness from beneath his eyes. He grazed a clothed thumb across the scar on his top lip, “This one was from my dad when I was seven. Hit me with a nasty right hook and my teeth went right through my lip,” he moved his fingers to the scar peeking out from the hair on his brow, “I was twelve and he threw me into the kitchen table.”

Eight years old. He was eight years old and his own father did that to him.

There was no doubt that there were other scars scattered across his skin with similar stories. One’s that matched the scars littering your own skin. Angry ears burn at the corners of your eyes. You were carried away by a wave of emotions like a dam broke and released them all at once and they swirled and churned in your stomach. Anger, guilt, shame, empathy. You were right all along. Maybe it was some unfortunate 6th sense, but from the moment you met him you could feel the entangled youths you too shared. You didn’t say anything, as no words would be equivalent to the flurry inside you.

“Don’t be thinking you’re less than others because of your past only to turn around and tell me not to do the same. All while we bear the same traumas,” he tossed the mask onto the dashboard and leaned back into his seat, he closed his eyes for a moment, “Half the people you work with are just the same.”

It wasn’t the first time you saw his face but each time you did you were stunned by his handsome face. You studied his profile and there was enough light that you could still see the faint lines around his mouth. Lines formed from years of frowning or smiling you weren’t entirely sure. There was an innocence that smeared across his features but it was swiped from existence when he opened his eyes once more.

“Hypocrisy is a funny thing,” he murmured, his thoughtful dark eyes searching the horizon, “And I’m not immune to it,” because he too does the same thing he was reprimanding you for. He was doing it right now.

A cover of silence fell over the two of you, save for the low volume of the music on the radio. You savoured the rare moment of peace. It had been so long since you were able to share a moment like this with him. He was sitting right next to you and you still missed him. Missed the time you had lost with him. Missed the excitement you felt every time he walked into the medical tent. Missed the conversation and companionship. This time when he turned his head to face you, you searched it for a hint of what you were feeling.

And there it was. A flicker of sorrow. Of heartache. Like a match being lit and quickly blown out in a place with no light.

“I missed you,” you confessed with a nervous laugh, “I’m still mad as hell with you, but dammit I missed you.”

He blinked and his expression remained unreadable, “You haven’t a clue,” then a shy smile, “I couldn’t get you off my mind no matter what I did. I felt like I was losing my mind,” he opened his mouth but was cut off.

“Rowe's safehouse has been dealt with,” Soap buzzed, and the sound of a fire crackled in the background, “Found a hard drive but I’ll need some time to decrypt it, and a couple of letters from his old CO. Other than that and the files on us, this place was a bust.”

Disappointment reverberated in Ghost's chest and he kicked the truck into reverse, backing back onto the highway, “We can finish this conversation once we get to Echel. The rest of the squad will be a day behind us, we’ll get things in place for when they catch up.”

“We aren’t going to stay the night here?” you looked back to the shrinking silhouette of the building behind you.

“Not anymore no,” his jaw ticked in frustration.

“You’re going to drive through the night?” you asked, tilting your head at him.

“Done it plenty of times before, Doc,” he shifted in his seat, preparing for a long ride, “You should get some rest though. Won’t be a lot of time once we get there.”

“I’m fine,” you prissed, “I’ll keep you company. Make sure you don’t fall asleep behind the wheel and kill us both.”

“How thoughtful,” he looked out his window but not before you caught the grin and his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek to try and hide it from you.

“What do you want to talk about?” you slid your seat all the way back to allow you to fully extend your legs and stretch.

“This was your idea, don’t be asking me.”

You shot him a vexed look before asking, “What was the last movie you watched? I would take you for either a documentary or an action-type guy.”

He hummed, amused by your guess, “Legend.”

You thought for a second, “The one with that one actor from Peaky Blinders? Uhhh,” you fought to remember his name, “Jake Gyllenhaal?”

“Oooh, close. Tom Hardy,” This time he didn’t bother to hide the teasing smile from you.

“That wasn’t close at all,” you frowned.

“Uh-huh. That’s the joke, Doc,” it always came as a shock to you that Simon Riley was capable of making jokes. With the stick up his ass and all.

“I don’t find you very charming,” you very much did find him charming but he’d never hear those words come out of your mouth. Not because you were embarrassed to say something like that but because he would hold it over your head for the rest of your days.

“You wound me,” he most definitely was not wounded, evidenced by the lack of hurt in his voice.

“Was I right about the documentaries and action movies?”

He nodded, his eyes flicking from the road to you and back to the road, “I enjoy the occasional Blue Planet marathon.”

You murmured the title to yourself for a second, trying to remember the series, “Like the animal one? With David Attenborough?“ when he nodded again in confirmation you got excited, “You marathon animal documentaries?”

“They’re calming,” he elaborated, his thumbs tapping on the steering wheel in time with the beat of the music on the radio.

“I prefer Our Planet. I’m not a huge fan of large bodies of water,” you teetered back and forth about films and actors and tv shows. You talked about books and varsity sports. Failed high school exams and first jobs. The conversation flowed just as easily as it did before, it was like you guys were picking up where you left off. He listened more than he spoke but you were alright with that because you talked enough for the both of you. He would add little bits here and there, share a story or two, but most of the time he would nod or hum or chuckle.

His soft, breathy laugh was what you missed the most. The sound was so rare and so lovely and it always made you feel good to be the one to bring it out of him. Simon didn’t smile enough. Which was a damn shame because his smile was sweet. Shy, even. His eyes would crinkle at the corners, and every grin was followed by a sarcastic eye roll or a playful shake of the head.

You don’t know at which point in the conversation you fell asleep but by the time you woke up the sun was already up and Simon was standing outside the truck emptying a gas can into the tank.

Your neck and back and shoulders were sore from sleeping in an awkward position. With a groan and a huff you unbuckled your seat belt and hopped out of the truck. Simon eyed you from the other side of the truck, his mask was still on the dashboard and seeing him in full daylight bare faced was a real treat so early in the morning.

You stretched out your arms above your head, “Was I snoring?”

“Like an old man. I had to pull over and check the engine ‘cause I thought it was about to blow up,” he said with a straight face, but his dark eyes twinkled with wit.

Fixing him with a blank stare, “You’re a bully,” you lifted a hand to cover your eyes to look down the road. The land was devoid of other people and seemingly went on forever, “How much longer do you think?”

Simon drove all through the night and he was no doubt reaching his limit of no sleep. He might have a bigger fuse than most people but he was still human. Looking at him now, with his tired eyes and nodding head, you felt a strong need to force him to rest.

“We’ll be there by tonight,” he looked at the watch on his wrist and picked up a second gas can to fill the rest of the tank.

You walked to the driver's side of the truck, daring him with your eyes to stop you from opening the door and taking the driver's seat, “I’ll drive the rest of the way,” you didn’t bother asking him because you knew if you did he’d say ‘No’. He must have been truly exhausted because he didn’t argue, not even a grunt of disapproval from him.

He lasted ten minutes in the passenger seat before crashing. He had leaned the seat all the way back, stretching his long body as much as possible, and his hands folded over his stomach. His chest rose and fell in equal bottomless breaths, and his face serene. He looked younger, the stresses of the day incapable to follow him into sleep.

You knew the general direction of where you were going but had to check the paper map from the glove box for the last hundred kilometres. There was no way you were going to wake up Ghost to ask him for directions, he needed and deserved the sleep. The last time you saw a paper map like this was back when your family used to take camping trips from coast to coast for the summer. Your father was adamant that the paper was more reliable than the digital GPS. Which was a lie because you were regularly taking detours and U-turns.

A gloved hand took the paper map from yours and folded it back up, “Just keep straight,” Simon kept his eyes closed but directed you to the remnants of Fort Echel. The fence surrounding the camp was still up but no soldiers stood guard at the entrance. Only a few portable barracks were left behind, the lot was vacant and the garage at the back was boarded up. You pulled up to the back entrance of the garage, the boards that once secured it were leaning up against the side of the building.

“Wait here,” he pulled on his mask and he quietly closed the truck door behind him. He unclipped the pistol at his thigh, readying for a fight if need be as he unlocked the door to the garage and disappeared inside. You held your breath, counting the seconds.

The garage door rumbled and rolled open, revealing Simon and their stash on the other side. There was no way this was only a month's worthwhile of stashing. There were vehicles, guns, ammunition, and rations.

Simon guided you into the garage, “Let’s get this place lookin’ nice and pretty, yeah?”

While he took care of the weapon you set to taking stock of the ammunition and rations and gas reserves. It took the rest of the day and neither of you stopped to eat, the work preoccupying all your time and attention. You shared words here and there and made the occasional eye contact but the both of you were comfortable in just sharing the space.

Simon moved quickly and practiced, taking apart, cleaning, and putting guns back together was second nature to him. You would have never believed such a job could be clean until you watch him do it, not only were his clothes untouched by the oil and gunpowder but so was the table. Although his fingers were a different story, those were stained and greasy.

“Why was the rest of the squad a whole day behind us?” you peeked over the crate of ammunition, a clipboard in hand to recount the stock.

Ghost was at the large table in the middle of the garage, guns and parts and oils laid out before him, “Price and Gaz cleaned up after us, got rid of the bodies and their cars,” he was polishing the barrel of a sniper, the name “Intervention” spray painted into the stock, “Laswell and Soap were busy with Rowes safehouse, they ran into some trouble on their way out.”

“Anyone injured?” You walked to the next crate.

“Soap says he rolled his ankle real bad and is gunna need you to kiss it better once he gets here,” Ghost and Soap had brotherly love. Tough love and you already knew he was busting Soap's ass for “rolling his ankle”. You could imagine the two men bantering over the radio while you slept last night.

“Maybe I’ll give him a lollipop after too,” you threw the clipboard down on the table next to Ghost.

“He’s not allowed sugar after nine pm,” he glanced at the clipboard and gave you a nod of approval at the count. All was well and accounted for. The wide garage door was still open, and twilight had fallen. The only lights were the propane lamps planted in the darkest corners of the building, making it harder for anyone to try and sneak in on us.

You sat at the table on the stool opposite Ghost, resting your face in your palms, “A sticker then.”

The rest of the squad would be in tomorrow mid day, and Price mentioned over the radio a few hours ago of having a friend come in as backup in the next few days. He didn’t mention who it was going to be and Ghost just shrugged and you asked him if he had any ideas, “If Prices say they’re good, they’re probably good. Still, keep your head up though, you never know.”

“You must have a lot of trust in Price,” you spun a spare bolt like a top and watched it spiral out of control before clattering back down on the table.

“I have a lot of respect for him, yes,” he pointed to the box of springs and bolts beside you. You slid it over to him and he picked out what he needed for the sniper, “He’s saved my sorry ass a few times. He was one of few who had my back when the army wanted to discharge me.”

You tilted your head, “They wanted to discharge you? Why?” Simon acted like a picture perfect soldier, he followed every rule and regulation and he showed results. People looked up to him, respected and admired him.

“About 5 years ago, now. I was relieved from service for a few months and could only return upon finishing an anger management class,” you could see the meek grin beneath the mask when your jaw dropped open, “I lost my shit on a mission and it nearly cost someone their life. Amongst other incidents. Multiple incidents. If not for Price I wouldn’t have had the chance to come back at all.”

You snapped your mouth shut, it wasn’t hard to believe, you could see the occasionally simmering anger beneath his mask of cool and calm. He must have paid good attention during his classes considering you’ve yet to see him completely lose his control.

He wiped his hands clean on a fresh cloth before bracing his palms on the table, leaning ever so slightly closer, “A lesson well deserved. I was an asshole back then.”

“A lesson not learned, you’re still an asshole,” you flicked the chain on his dog tags dangling from his neck. Your fingers intertwined with the silver chain before letting it fall once more.

He hummed his eyes narrowing at you, a mischievous glint in them, “Oh, I can be so good.”

You squeezed your thighs together as heat pooled into your core. He’s looked at you with that same promising expression a few times before. Each time you’ve pretended not to notice or refused yourself to indulge in the curiosity. You had a feeling that curiosity was going to be getting the best of you tonight, “Can you?” you would play along tonight too. You leaned back on the stool, your hands braced behind you to allow him an uninterrupted view of your body.

With heavy lids he dragged his eyes down your frame, examining every curve and line. His fingers twitched on the table as he fought the desire to reach out and feel those same curves for himself. Your chest tightened in anticipation.

“So good,” he murmured, his imagination already running wild with his intentions. When his eyes met yours once more you almost leapt across the table at him. He hasn’t touched you and could already feel the effect of him. Phantom hands ran up your thighs, and side, leaving tingling skin behind. You slowly spread your legs as a silent invitation.

His attention shot down to between your legs, his chest rising and falling faster than it did moments ago. His eyes squeezed shut and he backed away with a groan, “I suggest you go take a shower in the barracks before I take you right here,” the only thing stopping him doing just that was being on the wrong side of the table and pure will.

You couldn’t decide whether you were upset or appreciative of his restraint. He picked up on this because he quickly followed up with, “Just not how I imagined my first time with you,” he waved a hand across the array of stuff, “There were fewer guns and oil.”

You decided you were upset at his restraint. You would be more than happy if he were to bend you over the table and have his way with you.

Be good to you.

Yet, you obeyed the “suggestion” and slid from the stool. You had to brace a hand on the table as your knees felt like jelly beneath you. A slick heat was already hiding between your legs and your mouth felt too dry. Too empty. You licked at your lips, the lips that were suddenly too lonely. You considered reaching across and lifting his mask in search of company.

He watched your every move with delicious awareness, and his eyes flashed with warning, “Go. Now,” he hissed.

“Will you be joining me?” you tested, your heart racing in excitement.

Another groan and he had to grip the table for dear life, his eyes dropping to his feet, “Don’t test me right now. I’m trying my best here.”

Leaving a room has never been so hard, your every nerve ending was begging you to turn back and let him undress you. The cool night air stung against your sensitive skin, but it allowed your mind to regain control of your body once more. Oxygen was once more filling your lungs. A giddy giggle bubbled up your throat like carbonation in pop.

On your way to the barracks you let your mind wander, let it daydream about the man still pacing around the garage. How his large hands would leave your body shaking for more, how his tongue would leave your mind liquid.

You were right in the middle of imagining his hands in your hair while you were on your knees before him when your shoulder cracked against the doorframe of the barracks. The sudden flash of pain drags you back to reality.

The vibrant blush that followed could be seen from space with the right binoculars. You scolded yourself for acting like an airhead teen because a man showed you a little interest. Then again it was more than a little interest. It was a downright promise of pleasure.

Masterlist

Part 5

A/N - I’ve finally finished my clinical and I'm making my way back home for the summer so I’ll be able to get back to uploading regularly again!!

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His Foresight - @marytvirgin ❤︎ @stickygumchewer ❤︎ @lauraliisa ❤︎ @jungcoccc ❤︎ @lovelyladymayyyy ❤︎ @lululandd ❤︎ @chrissyfishywissy ❤︎ @naxxsstuff ❤︎ @sididakra-jo ❤︎ @yukisawer ❤︎ @q8852p ❤︎ @kat-nee ❤︎ @meganoreid ❤︎ @thewoodenarcade ❤︎ @kaghost ❤︎ @shadowcldx

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #modern warfare two #MW2 #ghost #ghost mw2 #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #captain john price #john price #kate laswell #kyle gaz garrick

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ponyosmom35 · 6 months

Text

betrayal

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Liability chapter nineteen!

summary: reader is taken hostage by graves and the shadow company

Warnings: blood, gore, cursing, graves is such a c*nt

Liability series:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

She had been waiting patiently for Simon and Johnny to return, she found herself pacing between the kitchen and the med bay anxiously. She was never able to sleep after they left. Unsure if it would be the last time she ever saw them. After the tense conversation between her and Simon was interrupted she was reeling. How could she have been so stupid? The signs had been there all along and she was too ignorant to see it. Simon had only known pain in his life, in his experience being alone was better than watching everyone you love get killed in your name.

If he reamiend alone then nobody would ever be in danger again. Simon viewed himself like a grim reaper, whoever he cared about would be delivered to death. He had been trying so hard to save her that she truly thought it was over, that he never cared. In reality he was willing to hurt himself to keep her safe from whatever perceived danger he needed to protect her from. Now that she knew, she would never let him go again. She was going to show him that it was okay to love someone, okay to let someone in. He could be taken care of for once. She was going to spend the rest of her life trying to prove to Simon Riley that he was worthy of love, as long as he would have her.

She takes a seat at the table, her leg shaking. She knew that Simon was more than capable of taking care of himself, he was surrounded with Alejandro’s men along with Shawdow Company, he would be okay. She continuously repeats the phrase in her mind in an attempt to calm herself. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.

She looks up after hearing a scream and stands to her feet. Her blood runs cold as the sound of gun shots ring out from the entrance. She hurries to the corner of the med bay and hides in one of the supply closets, managing to snag a scalpel on the way. Her heart beats rapidly vigriosuly as the sounds get closer to her location. She holds her breath and clecnhes the scalpel in her hand.

“Miss y/l/n are you here?” a familiar voice calls “its Graves!”

She slowly steps out of the closet, earning his gaze instantly. Her heart drops as she spots the gun in his hand, pointed straight at her. “There you are sweetheart, been looking everywhere for you”

“What the fuck are you doing?” she deamnds

“Taking what’s mine”

“You can’t do this!”

“It’s too late, we already have” he smirks “come here” he orders

“No”

“I won’t ask you again” he snaps

She moves closer to him, hiding the scalpel. He grips onto her arm and pulls her close “sorry about your boyfriends, had to cut em down, you know loose ends and all” he smirks

“You fucking bastard!” she screams as she stabs the scaple into his neck.

He curses and drops her arm as he chokes in surprise. She sprints away from him, looking for anyway out. Before she could make it ten feet she is slammed in the head with the butt of a gun, and falls to the ground, her head bleeding profusly. She looks up to see Graves pull the scalpel out of his neck. He bends down to her level and touches her head, she grits her teeth in pain as she looks up at him.

“That looks like it hurts sweetheart”

“Fuck you”

“You’re gonna regret that” he warns before hitting her in the head again, her vision instantly going black.

Tag list:

@vivi123abc

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conspectie · 23 days

Text

Conspect Engineering Surveyors - Snag lists - pre purchase surveys

Welcome to our handy contact form page, send our team a message here to get a snag list quote or pre purchase survey quote. Got a question and not sure if you need an engineer or construction professional, please feel free to ask we are here to help & advise.

#snag list Dublin #house snag lists #prepurchase survey #pv solar company #Building Surveyors Dublin #PV solar panels Ireland #Property Inspection Services Dublin #Property Inspection Services Rochfortbridge #Residential Property Evaluation Rochfortbridge

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letsquestjess · 2 months

Note

Hello it's me again! I have another request for Tech if it's not a bother.

Ok, so it's based on my habit of reaching out to my best friends hand for like comfort or just because I feel calm with them. So WHAT HAPPENS WHEN (in some senerio you can pick) WE REACH OUT FOR TECH'S HAND. Just imagine we're out here holding his hand, not even realizing it, and Tech is just confused or a bit panicked/flustered because it was out of nowhere.

Just a little idea I've come up with, so no pressure to actually write it.

I hope you have a good day see you later!

Hello again!!! This idea is so sweet. Thank you for sending it in! 😊💜

Your Hand in Mine (Tech x GN!Reader)

Summary: Tech misses Echo, and all you want to do is offer him some support.

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: None.

-- -- -- -- --

With a grunt and sweat dappling your brow, you exerted all your strength to turn the wrench one last time until the final bolt resisted beyond your might. “That should do it,” you said, your grip tightening on the rails as you descended the wobbly steps braced against the side of The Marauder. “Try it again.”

A few rhythmic taps on the datapad set the capacitor unit into motion. The inner workings clattered, and a momentary panic washed over you. After a minute, the mechanism settled, the pipes trilling to mock your initial worry.

“How are the readings looking?” you asked, stepping back a pace to admire your handiwork. It wasn’t too shabby, if you said so yourself.

On your homeworld, you had only been able to work on practice builds, never experiencing the thrill of fixing up an actual ship until your swift escape with the Batch. Eager to repay the clones who had saved your life, you insisted on helping them maintain their craft. Tech had welcomed the assistance and wasted no time in creating detailed lists and charts, keen to pass on his expertise to a willing listener.

“Everything works as expected,” Tech reported. “You are a quick learner.”

“It was my second try,” you said with a disappointed shrug.

“Echo used to say that a second attempt meant a lesson truly learned.”

At the mention of your missing team member, you spotted the involuntary twitch by Tech’s right eye and the shadow over his expression. You may not have noticed the subtle changes if you hadn’t been by his side almost every waking hour for the past few months. Echo had only ever been mentioned in practical terms, if a communication had come through or if providing vital intel. This time, however, you could tell it was different. Tech missed him. Not as an asset to the squad or for his contributions, but as a brother. As a treasured part of their family.

He cleared his throat with a short cough and worked his fingers on the screen. “While I cannot vouch for the sentiment’s accuracy, I will include your second attempt in the records.”

When he lifted his gaze, a reticent look pinched at your features as though something unspoken idled on your lips. Assuming you were still downplaying your work, he stood up from the makeshift table. “Please do not think poorly of your efforts. You are progressing well and your assistance is appreciated. I am confident that you will be capable of making repairs on your own soon.”

You went to assure him you would always welcome his presence, but the comment snagged in your throat. Despite your reluctance to admit it outright, you couldn’t deny that you secretly enjoyed his company. His calm demeanour and sincere words of encouragement helped ease the anxiety of your escape, and you itched to reach out to him. There were moments when you had got close to sweeping your hand over his, when that saddened look burrowed so far into his usually softened expression that you were forced to make the conscious effort not to soothe his apprehension with a supportive touch. You had no way of telling if that was what Tech wanted, and the last thing you wished was to make him uncomfortable and risk damaging the bond you had built.

“Thanks,” you said, collecting the tools scattered on the lowered steps. “I can put the panel back myself. I know you have other tasks to get done.” Without waiting for a response, you ascended the ladder and secured the metal bulk, the deafening shriek of the drill drowning out all other sounds.

He blinked up at you and analysed the intense concentration on your face. Not wanting to disrupt your work, he quietly entered the ship to carry on with his daily duties.

* * *

Omega’s giggle infused the air in the seconds before she appeared from behind The Marauder, Wrecker in quick pursuit. Just as he reached out to catch her, she evaded his grasp and hoisted herself onto the front turret, perched like a little assassin waiting to strike.

“You’ll have to be faster than that,” she called down to the brawler.

“You don’t think I can climb up there?” he challenged.

“Don’t even think about it,” Hunter yelled from beside the smouldering ashes of the fire. He stacked the cleaned plates and cutlery into the storage boxes and propped them on the steps. “Back inside.”

“Five more minutes,” Omega pleaded over Wrecker’s huffed groan.

“No. Come on.”

With a nimble leap from the turret, the girl retrieved the box of dinnerware on her way aboard. Wrecker followed her inside the ship with a whispered promise to continue their game when they next landed. He was, after all, still winning, and he wasn’t about to lose because of his brother’s overprotective nature.

Hunter swung to you and Tech, one foot on the ramp. “I want you both ready to go in ten. Okay?”

Attention glued to his datapad, Tech responded with a half-mustered salute, and you reciprocated with a nod of your own.

Once you had finished clearing the rest of your equipment, you wriggled the slim crates into their designated spots in the storage hold underneath the ship and locked the hatch. Dust clung to your jacket, and you wiped off the dry specks as you made your way towards the intelligence clone.

“Need any help with the receiver?” you asked, gesturing to the small device plugged into his datapad. The disc hummed as the blue light traced its perimeter, scanning and collecting data.

“That will not be necessary,” he assured you. “I have a strong enough signal for incoming transmissions.”

You positioned yourself next to him, your hands resting in your lap as you took in the view of the tundra and plateaus. The setting suns painted the horizon with fire and from the growing shadows, nighttime animals stirred. With sunlight fading fast, you wouldn’t be able to remain outside for much longer, but Tech persisted with his personal mission, resolved to make the most of the remaining light.

“Still waiting to hear from Echo?” you questioned. As he lowered his head, your eyes followed the motion, drifting along the peeling bark of the log where his hand rested. Guided by instinct, you gravitated towards him and brushed against his knuckles.

Tech stared transfixed at your connected hands, lips parting and a verbal response dithering on his tongue. Before you could retreat, the fluster within him relaxed into an appreciative peace, and he entwined your fingers.

A warmth flooded your cheeks as you met his eyes. Sincerity swelled in the amber and erased the furrow between his brow.

He held onto you like a lifeline, like an anchor keeping him grounded when worry clouded his thoughts and the fear that he may have to face a tomorrow with one less brother haunted him. “Thank you,” he said, barely a whisper amongst the rising coos and whistles of the wildlife.

“What for?” you asked.

He cradled your palm to his chest, and a reverence came over him, a surety that wrapped him up safe, and warm, and secure. “Everything,” he whispered, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. “Thank you for everything.”

#fic asks #fic request #tbb #the bad batch #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb tech #tbb tech x reader #tbb tech x you

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netherworldpost · 7 months

Note

TRICK OR TREAT

A small box, purple and ribboned green. Inside are things, pleasant yet not yet seen.

Dreams, maybe, of places yet visited -- or places visited yet not yet returned to, in quite some time.

Wrapped in woodsmoke, that pleasant, and a leaf -- no, two -- it has been a good year, let us celebrate this success with harmless excess.

rambling ->

This will (probably) be the only trick or treat I respond to this year. You're the first! That's the bad news, that I'll probably only write one of these this year.

The good news (in active progress all season) is that I'm working on a whole system of them.

<- rambling / making sense ->

In 2014, I ran a promo on Evil Supply Co. where folks were invited to write in "trick or treat" and I would come up with a unique ramble (as above) for them.

Just for them. A gift of text. No duplicates. Each wildly different. How was that so long ago question mark exclamation mark.

I peaked into whatever information they provided to write something specifically customized for them using all of my powers of deduction (i.e. reading + skill as a storyteller) TO WRITE A TINY ***CUSTOM MYTH*** FOR THEM

(see above) (for yours) (enjoy!)

Answered LOTS.

It ended up being dozens. I don't think it was actually 364, but I do believe I ended up doing a few hundred, but. Y'know. Gif. Can't pass it up.

Tons of fun.

Tons of work!

Tons of fun though.

"I think you might have said something about a plan?" you might be wondering.

I don't know you and I don't know how familiar you are with my work and I'm guessing this is just a fun ask without prompting.

However.

I never let a chance to ramble go to waste.

Netherworld Post Office is being built as "an independent media company".

Fancy words.

Means we do lots of stuff.

Right now we're making myths for back office clients.

We're building a front office shop. Cards and stickers and zines.

That's two of the "lots of stuff."

A third of the "lots of stuff" is a continual "trick or treat" blog.

I'll run through some logistics quickly. You didn't ask for any of this part but this is the trick to the treat.

The Trick or Treat blog will be a public archive. Some things I'll just write because the blog'll need some stuff to get going and keep going.

But sometimes there will be a "trick or treat!" shop entry. Limited quantity. Available until sold out. One per customer. Working out the details. Randomly during the year it'll come back in stock until it's out of stock again.

If you snag one, it is $0.00 with $0.00 shipping and handling. Anywhere in the world. Trick or treats are free!

I'll write a tiny myth like the above.

It'll get printed on a card.

We cover the printing and the postage.

It'll get mailed to you. Wherever you are in the world!

Tiny postcard print.

Written just for you.

Mailed to just to you. For free! Anywhere in the world!

Trick or treat!

Via the mail!

You caught me in a late night business session and I had a solid amount of sleep today for the first time in weeks and so I Am Full of Energy.

Enjoy your treat!

I've carved off the launch date because (uncomfortable laughter) the problems we thought we had solved were solved but they weren't the only problems lurking.

It's fine.

That's business.

I'm smart and I've added even smarter folks helping me figure out the complex problems.

netherworldpost.com has the mailing list if you're thinking "huh I like the idea of receiving a launch email sometime when this all sets up."

I've overstayed my welcome in answering this ask, so I'll see myself out after a big "Happy Halloween!" to everyone

(or small I guess, text size is structured for reading)

(and we're in a small text section)

(...wrapping up...)

Thanks for this space.

The Trick or Treat blog is in active idea-ation-stage-ization because it is October and the October Energy is Rampant so we're grabbing it while we can to figure out this very October thing.

This gif selection is reminding me I am due for a witch hair appointment

Paying that bill requires cash (fair and good and fine)

And remembering "oh stones, money exists"

means remembering "oh bones, I gotta market this machine lest it devolve into An Ungodly Expensive Hobby"

that URL for email signup

one last time

netherworldpost.com

(I am actively reducing coffee intake and increasing sleep intake and my schedule has coincided with "tonight is a coffee night" + "today was a heavy sleep day" and your ask came in on "I am planning a big project")

(let this be a joyous warning to folks who ask me things)

(I MAY ANSWER) (IT WILL BE LONG) (IT MIGHT NOT MAKE SENSE)

#october 31 #autumn blog #october #halloween #snail mail #autumn blogs #autumn snail mail #halloween snail mail

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heartbreak-sandwich · 7 months

Text

💌Red Letters to Nowhere💌

A/N: This is the first chapter of my Stepbrother! Billy Hargrove x Mayfield! Reader fic! There will be many, MANY more flashbacks and encounters with other characters (Steve Harrington x Reader, Nancy Wheeler x Reader, and Eddie Munson x Reader to name a few) and some other relationship mentions throughout (like Harringrove and Hellcheer!). I hope you enjoy reading as much as I have writing. 💕

Read on Ao3 ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 2 📖 Master List 🌈

💌CHAPTER ONE: Move-In Day💌

Hawkins, Indiana. You’d never heard of it. To make matters more nerve wracking, you, your mom, and your little sister, Max, were moving to the middle of nowhere to shack up with her new husband and his son. You had met Neil Hargrove a few times when he came to visit from California, and he seemed nice enough. That’s the keyword – seemed. There was something intense about him that made you uneasy, and Max agreed that even though your mom seemed to be head over heels for the mustached, steam pressed, ordinary tryhard of a man, the two of you would keep a calculated distance from him pending further review.

The car ride was excruciatingly long, and you and Max each had your own walkman to keep you company, trading tapes every so often and sharing whatever snacks you could snag at the last gas station you happened upon. Your mom didn’t seem to realize the two of you were immersed in your high-volume music as you watched her lips move, undoubtedly chattering away about all of the fun features of the new town you were doomed to spend the impending school year in. Max rolled her eyes and shifted in her seat, her gaze drifting out the window and eventually coming to a close for yet another nap after receiving the report from your mom of “Only two more hours until we’re there!”

Deciding the only thing more painful than dreading the uncertainty of where you were headed was actually hearing confirmations of the bleak outlook to be endured, you decided to follow Max’s lead, eyes closing, letting the sounds of Alice Cooper lull you into the last nap you would take on your way to your new home in Hawkins.

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

“And these are your new sisters,” Neil explained with no trace of enthusiasm to his son in the driveway of your new home. “Billy, don’t be rude. Shake hands,” he instructed sternly.

Billy held out his right hand for you to take, his jaw clenched, expression unchanging as he let out a flat, “Welcome home.” His handshake was firm, and he didn’t make eye contact with you or Max as he stood before you.

“Thanks,” you replied, testing a small smile. Again, his expression didn’t soften.

“Why don’t you go help Susan with some of the boxes,” Neil muttered to Billy, the stern coldness in his eyes revealing that this was more of a command than a suggestion.

“Yes, sir,” Billy responded, already stepping down the driveway toward your mom’s car.

Once Billy was out of earshot, Neil turned to you and your sister and put on his best impression of a smile. “I hope the drive wasn’t too long for you girls,” he offered.

“It was okay,” you answered him, attempting to mirror the almost smile. The three of you basked in the awkwardness before Max piped up with a question.

“Will we be sharing a room?” She already knew the answer because your mom wouldn’t shut up about how excited the two of you should be to get your own bedrooms for the first time in your lives.

“Not at all,” Neil answered almost cheerfully. “Why don’t I show you two around, and you can get settled while we bring in your things?” Neil held out an arm, gesturing toward the front door of your new home, and you and Max trudged forward with your backpacks and snacks in tow.

The house wasn’t large, but it was more than you were used to, coming from the two bedroom, one bathroom townhome you had shared with your mother and sister for the last six years. Four bedrooms, – one for you, Max, Billy, and your mom and Neil – two bathrooms, a fireplace, and a separate kitchen, living room, and dining area. You even had your own yard complete with a tire swing, and you knew that would be a big bonus for Max.

“I hope you won’t mind sharing a bathroom with Billy,” Neil sighed almost apologetically. “He keeps things clean, so you won’t have to worry about that. But if you have any trouble at all with him, you just let me know.” Neil’s eyes were icy and cold as he spoke, his teeth gritting together at the end of his sentence. You were a bit taken aback at how he talked about his own son.

“What…kind of trouble?” His expression softened immediately, and he tried again at his smile.

“Well, you know, boys will be boys. He’s a good kid, but sometimes his attitude needs some…adjusting,” he explained. “I’ll be outside helping your mother. If you need anything, don’t be shy.” Neil rapped a couple of times on the doorframe and exited your new room. You felt all tension dissipate the moment he was gone, and you took the time to glance around your new space. You had enough room for all of your posters. A queen size bed rested in one corner with shelves above it, a full size closet at the end of the bed, and a window with a desk underneath it on the wall opposite the sleeping corner - perfect for studying after school. You could get used to this.

You were pulled from your thoughts with the muffled clatter of a box being set on the wooden floor beside your bed. Turning around, your eyes met his for the first time. You couldn’t help but notice he looked almost…scared?

“Sorry. I’ll be more careful with the next one.” Billy’s hands turned to fists at his sides, thumbs fidgeting over his knuckles, his jaw clenching at the close of his words. His appearance was unlike any guy you’d ever seen in person before.

He looked like something out of the cover art of one of your mom’s romance novels she always had tucked away in a spot she thought you and your sister wouldn’t think to look. His blonde, shoulder length curls were carefully coiffed into one of those trendy mullet styles, plush pink lips outlined a perfectly white smile, his skin still golden from the California sun, and his eyes sparkled cerulean like the surface of the ocean with a depth you couldn’t quite reach. You could tell he was stacked and muscular through his clothes, and his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. Still, there was something about him that seemed on edge.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured. “I don’t think there’s anything breakable in there.” He nodded in acknowledgement and turned to exit your room. “So,” you called after him, “what’s the high school like?” You just wanted him to know you were approachable and that you had no intention of making his life Hell, especially since you were all forced to exist in the same house from now on.

“Probably worse than you’re imagining,” Billy scoffed, turning slightly back towards you. When he noticed your nerves amping up at his comment, he sighed. “It’s not that bad. Small, easy to find your way around, and everyone is…nice enough, I guess.”

“Oh, that’s good. I’ve never gone to a new school before, so I’m probably just overthinking it,” you admitted, finally slipping your backpack off and letting it plop down on the bed. Billy turned to fully face you again, his hands in his pockets, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine. Plus, you’ll know at least one person. And if anyone tries to give you shit, tell them they can answer to me.” You weren’t sure what that meant, but it did make you feel a bit more confident about your upcoming first day at Hawkins High.

“Uh, okay. Well, thanks for that.” You breathed out a small laugh, and Billy’s smirk bloomed into a smile.

“Don’t mention it,” he drawled before giving you a wink and disappearing back into the hallway to fetch another load of boxes. You didn’t have time to process the fact that you’re pretty sure your new step brother just winked at you before Max poked her head around the corner of your doorframe.

“Hey,” she whispered, catching your attention. “What did he want?” She looked back toward the hallway where Billy had just retreated, and you motioned for her to come in.

“He was just bringing some stuff in, so I asked him about the school.” Max was invested now, also having expressed her worry of starting in a new class already a month into the school year.

“What did he say?”

“Mixed review, really,” you answered, both of your expressions changing to that of confusion.

“Okay…well, do you know what to expect at all?”

“Not really. But he did say if anyone messed with me to tell them they could answer to him.” Max’s eyes widened.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She sat down on your bed, shuffling the toes of her shoes on the floor below.

“No idea,” you answered, meeting her gaze.

“Great.” Max sighed and stood up once more. “I guess I’ll start unpacking my new room.” She fluttered her eyelashes, hands waving in mock excitement. You laughed, knowing she was doing her best sarcastic impression of your mom gushing about your new home. You both rolled your eyes before she giggled and made her way back down the hallway to her own space.

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

Your first dinner was awkward, to say the least. Neil had ordered a pizza for everyone since your bandwagon arrived close to mid afternoon, and your mom didn’t have time to cook a full meal even though she insisted she didn’t mind. You rushed to the door to help Billy bring in the boxes from the delivery boy who he happened to know from school.

“Troy, this is my …” he hesitated, breaking eye contact with the boy on the doorstep and looking down at the ground with a sigh, “new sister, Y/N.” You smiled tentatively, and offered a half wave, taking a couple of boxes off the top of the stack from Troy.

“Troy Holstad. Nice to meet you,” he obliged before giving Billy a perplexed look. Billy nodded once curtly and took the remainder of the boxes from Troy before waving him off with a “see you at school,” and closing the door. He nudged your arm to get your attention and spoke softly.

“There you go. Now you know two people,” he reasoned, beaming at you before shuffling back toward the dining room and adjusting his expression back to that of a sullen teenager. Billy carefully set the boxes down in the middle of the dining table, and you did the same. Everyone thumbed through the different boxtops to find the flavors they wanted, your mom and Neil opting for supreme while Max grabbed two slices of pepperoni, and you and Billy each took a slice of Hawaiian.

“So, Y/N, your mother tells me this is the start of your senior year,” Neil declared, his voice resonating in the silence of the dining room.

“Yeah, it is,” you replied around a mouthful of melted cheese and pineapple topping. You felt uneasy in your stomach when Neil glared daggers at you, looking up from his plate where he was using a knife and fork to cut his pizza. He sighed audibly as his nostrils flared and started again.

“Y/N, I know this is new for you, and we haven’t had much of a chance to talk about rules and expectations. In my house, we operate on a system that upholds the home and the image of the people in it appropriately. What is that system, Billy?” Billy sat up straighter in his chair, not looking up from his plate as his father addressed him..

“Respect and responsibility,” he recited, his voice almost shaking as his jaw tightened once more.

“That’s right,” Neil agreed. “Now that you’re a part of our family, you’ll learn to respect your elders and develop a keen sense of responsibility, just like the good, caring, all-American kids I know you can be.” Neil’s hard smile appeared below his mustache as he continued. “First of all, we address our elders with courtesy. When I ask you a question, you respond accordingly. Isn’t that right, Billy?”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered, his eyes still glued to his plate.

“I’m sorry,” Neil hissed. “I couldn’t hear you.” He leaned closer to the table, eyes searing into Billy as he awaited his response. Billy straightened up even more, his eyes snapping up to meet his father’s.

“Yes, sir,” his voice ricocheted in the dining room this time, his face flushing as everyone soaked in the awkward silence. You caught Max’s eye and noticed she looked afraid and perplexed as your mother kept her gaze on Neil, trying to seem like she was listening intently to him.

“See, girls, Billy knows the drill. If you have any questions, I’m sure he can straighten them out for you. I know you’re not used to this whole thing, having a man of the house, but you’ll adjust.” Neil gestured to the pizza on the table, his smile still active as he announced, “Let’s eat!” Max looked up at you from the corner of her eye, and you shook your head slightly, signaling for her not to say anything as you took another bite of your pizza. You side eyed Billy whose gaze seemed far away as he quickly finished his dinner.

“May I be excused,” Billy asked with perfect posture, taking the napkin from his lap and piling his used utensils on his plate.

“Yes you may.” Neil waved Billy off as he stood up, pushed in his chair, and took his plate to the kitchen to be washed.

You felt anxious as you saw Neil eyeing Max while she ate, and you held your breath as he spoke again.

“Tomorrow, we’ll practice using a fork, young lady,” he said sternly as Max’s cheeks burned, embarrassed to be holding her pizza at that exact moment. Neil paused and tilted an ear in her direction, hinting that he was expecting a reply.

“Y – yes, sir,” she choked out quickly, setting her pizza back down on her plate. Your mother cleared her throat and started asking Neil more about the school, the town, and how his new job was going. You let the two of them chat away as you gave Max a worried look, seeing her pick up her knife and fork to cut out a bite of her pizza. You stood up and grabbed your plate and jumped, the sound of a fist pounding on the dining table startling you off your feet. Your mom and Max gasped simultaneously as you met Neil’s eyes.

“Where do you think you’re going, Y/N?” You caught your breath and stuttered in response.

“I – I’m sorry. May I be excused?” You looked at your mom in panic, but she averted her eyes, looking at anything but the situation before her.

“That’s better.” Neil smiled again. “Of course. Don’t forget to clean your plate.”

“Thank you…sir.” You glanced at Max once more, hoping she would follow suit so she wouldn’t be yelled at. You hurried to the kitchen, rinsing your plate in the sink and setting it out on the dish rack to dry. You steadied your breathing as the tension melted away now that you weren’t in a close proximity to Neil.

After the awkward and almost frightening dinner, all you wanted to do was talk to your sister. You knew she would be looking for an escape after enduring Neil’s intensity, so you put on your coat and grabbed your paperback copy of The Outsiders, leaving the house through the front door.

You shuffled through the dried leaves across the lawn to the only tree in the yard and perched yourself on the tire swing, propping your feet up and opening your book to your marked page. A few lines in, you heard a clanging sound followed by a sigh, and your eyes followed the noise over to a blue Camaro with the hood up. Billy was standing over the engine, using the back of his hand to swipe stray curls out of his eyes, a dirty rag draped over his shoulder.

He didn’t seem to notice you were there as he worked, tinkering with a wrench, grunting and sighing every so often. You pretended to carry on reading while you watched him work. After all, looking wasn’t a crime, and he was quite the sight to see. After a few more minutes, he set his wrench on the edge of the Camaro’s hood and grasped the hem of his sweat-speckled t-shirt with both hands, lifting it up and over his head, tossing it on the roof of his car. Your cheeks turned scarlet at the sight of his toned chest and chiseled abs sparkling with a sheen of sweat in the crisp October air.

Your gaze snapped to your book quickly, and you glued your eyes to the words on the page, determined not to look up again. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you swore you could hear the blood flowing in your ears when a voice startled you.

“Hey, are you okay?” You jolted upright at Max’s question.

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” you breathed.

“Sorry. Are you okay?” She repeated her question, concern behind her bright blue eyes. “You look really flushed.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” you answered, forcing yourself to keep your eyes far away from where Billy was working on his car. “What about you?” Max used the ropes of the swing to lift herself up, and you moved aside to make room for her on the tire.

“I’m fine. What the hell is up with him?” Max looked almost afraid while the two of you recounted Neil’s strange behavior at dinner, coming to the conclusion that this move might not have been for the best like your mom kept insisting.

“All we can do is follow the rules and stay out of his way, I guess,” you sigh, feeling defeated. “I don’t know how far he’ll go, but Billy seems to be pretty scared of him,” you almost whisper, leaning in closer to Max. She glanced over at Billy who was still fixated on his car.

“A guy that big scared of his dad? I don’t even want to think about why,” she shuddered, her eyes dropping to the ground.

“Hey.” You touched her shoulder, and she looked up at you. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Got it?” She gave you a small smile, nodding her understanding, but you could see the anxiety behind her eyes. “We’re going to be okay.”

“I know,” she assured you. You smiled at her and grabbed the ropes of the swing to climb out of the tire. Tossing your book onto a pile of leaves next to the tree, you stood behind Max and gripped the ropes as you walked the tire backwards before giving it a hard push. Max giggled as she swung back and forth, spinning slow circles and crying out, “You’re going to make me dizzy!”

The two of you laughed together as the sun started to set on the town of Hawkins, Indiana, and even though you weren’t sure what the coming days would hold, you knew you had each other to ease the burdensome future in your new home with your new family.

#Billy Hargrove fanfic #Billy Hargrove x Reader #Stepbrother!Billy Hargrove x Mayfield!Reader #Mayfield!Reader #Red Letters to Nowhere #Stranger things fanfic #Max Mayfield #Neil Hargrove #Susan Hargrove #hawkins #OC #Billy Hargrove oc #angst #neil hargrove is a total prick tbh #moving to hawkins #sando writes

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slimeguycentral · 4 months

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CHARACTER INTRO: ZHANPENG

They/them. Token human character. Approximate English pronunciation of their name is "john-PUNG".

Their basic lore in the slimeguy storyline:

After the main events of the first Slime Rancher, Beatrix decides it's time to move on from the ranch. Motivated partially by a mysterious letter, mostly by wanderlust, she plans to go explore Rainbow Archipelago. Before she leaves, she decides to pass on her old ranch to someone new like Hobson did, and she decides on hosting a raffle so plenty of people can have an opportunity to enter for a chance to buy the property and ticket to The Range. Of course, she doesn't really want someone who isn't passionate to nab the property, so she does have people send in applications (typed out and/or recorded in video messages) to determine who is eligible.

Zhanpeng wins. They say a lot of sappy and cheesy things in the application, but the main thing on their mind is making money. Due to the dangers of ranching on the Range, companies like 7Zee jump at the chance to get fresh meat on the planet, and this is a perfect opportunity to get their name on the list.

They quickly find out that ranching is a LOT harder than expected. Zhanpeng kind of went into getting off-world with the mentality that snagging the property would be the hardest part; once all the paperwork was done and they got there, they'd be able to figure all of the actual ranching logistics out on the way. Easy. Their cockiness ended up backfiring on them, though; Zhanpeng had zero experience in farming, and despite aiming for a career in the production of animal—er… slime—products, they knew jack shit about nature and biology. Due to being a horrible gardener and chicken farmer (all their chickens eventually escaped), they couldn't really even begin to ranch slimes.

Staunchly refusing to give up, they'd instead just go out and explore the planet every day, picking up plants and chickens along the way to feed any slimes they came across. This work was waaay more grueling and inefficient than they'd expected. Zhanpeng quickly found out that slimes aren't the cuddly critters they were made out to be on TV; many of them were extremely dangerous, and very, very, hungry. Aw, man! They actually had to break out the Slimepedia and do some reading. Apparently you DO have to know your shit before you try to do anything. It was a bit of a reality check for them.

After a couple of kinda terrifying days of free-for-all, Zhanpeng suddenly got a call on the Range Exchange machine on the ranch. Honestly, they didn't really know who they were expecting, but it definitely wasn't MOCHI MILES, CEO of only the MOST successful interstellar tech company in the galaxy.

Mochi was immediately pretty disappointed upon seeing them. Her entire reason for calling was that Beatrix's ranch had suddenly come online again. In this timeline, Beatrix had disappeared from her ranch to Rainbow Island without much warning, and, during her voyage and first few weeks exploring, she had been too busy to contact her other rancher friends. Mochi, being Mochi, was concerned about her crush business partner and wanted to know what happened to her. Since Zhanpeng was currently her only link to Beatrix, she decided it'd be a good idea to keep them in her back pocket if Beatrix ever contacted Zhanpeng again.

Mochi offered them a job—the same one she'd offered Beatrix not so long ago, mostly because it was very mundane, very easily, and had no chance of putting her empire at risk—feeding quicksilver slimes.

Zhanpeng eagerly accepted, relieved to finally have a predictable source of income (and also somewhat afraid that she would smite them if they said no). Running around with quicksilver slimes gave them a chance to get a little knowledge about slime behavior through osmosis, and occasionally Mochi would exasperatedly point them toward ranching resources if they seemed to be having too much trouble on their exploration adventures (they got—and still do get—injured quite a lot).

Some time passed—during which Zhanpeng finally brought slimes to their ranch, though not in any way they expected—before Mochi suddenly received intel on where Beatrix might be: a new, undiscovered archipelago of islands on the Far, Far Range. Unable to up-and-leave her business, Mochi (toooootally legally) sent Zhanpeng to the island, with a boat and the tools for a makeshift ranch setup, with the ultimatum that she would fire them if they said no.

Currently, they are exploring Rainbow Archipelago with their slime pals, trying very hard not to lose their job.

#character: zhanpeng #character intro #character: lucille #character: omelet #character: ted #character: percival #character: jack #<- BARELY but oh well #my art #slime rancher art #slime rancher oc #slime rancher #art #has id #id in alt #this art took SOOOOO long im so glad its done

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stevethehairington · 1 year

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✨ Mack's Stranger Things Fic List ✨

✨ Most Recent Work:

for all the pretty mouths and pretty words | 5.4k | steddie

Eddie snags both drinks with a thanks to the bartender and turns to head back towards Steve. Things have been going well, things have been going really well — not even that rocky start could put a wrench into things, and the note they left off on before Eddie slipped away was promising. Eddie is eager to see where the rest of the night will take them. He has high hopes.

But, as Eddie is intimately familiar with, highs are not meant to last, and hopes are easy to lose.

Things, meet wrench.

He makes it three steps when his stride stutters because — oh. That’s. That’s Steve, with a girl. A pretty girl. With short, sandy brown hair and freckles. It’s the same pretty girl Eddie had seen with him earlier. The one he’d thought, for a second, might be Steve’s girlfriend. He’d let himself hope she wasn’t, when he first approached, and let himself start to actually believe it when he’d tried his hand at flirting and Steve had flirted back.

But now...

Now Eddie’s not so sure.

Or, the one where Steve puts his foot in his pretty mouth and Eddie pays the price. Featuring: cherry stems, half smoked cigarettes, and the world's biggest misunderstanding.

✨ Completed Works (below the cut):

the privilege of being yours | 3.1k | steddie

“What do you think?” Eddie asks, grinning.

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve laughs, already reaching for Eddie’s ankle. He curls his fingers around it and gives it a tug, beckoning Eddie closer. “They’re perfect, you’re perfect. I love them,” he adds, as Eddie scooches into his space.

Steve cups both of his hands to Eddie’s face and kisses him right on the center of his mouth. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he says.

The kiss turns into something else as Eddie’s lips split against Steve’s, and he murmurs back against them, “I can’t wait to marry you.”

When they break apart, Steve taps Eddie’s knee. “Okay, where’s the rest of your sense of tradition? I showed you mine, you show me yours now.”

“Oh, I’ll show you tradition alright,” Eddie responds, and he reaches for his left sleeve.

Or, the one where Steve and Eddie share a rooftop, beloved traditions, and so much love.

✨

hold your breath and just dive right in | 4.5k | steddie

“Come on, man, what are you waiting for?” Steve calls, several feet out from the shore where he’s treading water with a perfect, practiced ease. Fucking show off. “An invitation?”

“Ha ha,” Eddie shouts back, deadpan. He makes no movement towards the water, though. Just digs his toes into the sand and wiggles them, watching the tiny grains spill into the spaces between and swallow his feet.

He glances up to stare out at the lake, and his stomach roils uneasily at its vastness. The other end is visible from where he stands, but it still seems so far away. They’re nowhere near the middle either, and even Steve isn’t that far out. It still makes Eddie nervous.

The funny thing is, it isn’t even his recent experiences with Lover’s Lake that’s putting this horrible feeling in his gut. Well, okay, maybe it is a little bit. But mostly, it’s because Eddie already didn’t like the water before that. He’s never been a fan.

Because Eddie Munson does not know how to swim.

Or, the one where Eddie Munson does not know how to swim, and Steve Harrington is nothing if not the perfect teacher.

✨

keep me on a rope | 6.6k | steddie, unrequited stommy

Tommy wipes his palms against the side of his jeans and squeezes through the crowd, never once taking his eyes off of Steve as he makes a beeline right for him.

He’s a couple feet away, gearing up to call out his greeting when someone else beats him to it and sidles up to Steve. They touch Steve, putting their palm low on his waist, half tucked up under his blazer. It’s an intimate touch, an almost possessive one in a very casual sort of way.

Tommy freezes in his tracks.

Steve perks up in the presence of his new company, back straightening and body turning into theirs — receptive, familiar.

He tilts his head, just enough that Tommy can see the smile gracing his lips, the softness in his eyes, and the other person dips their own chin, leaning in to whisper something into Steve’s ear. Their curtain of hair sways forward, brushing against Steve’s collar, and Steve reaches up to tuck it behind their ear, giving Tommy a clear view of—

Of Eddie Munson.

Or, Tommy Hagan attends his ten year high school reunion hoping for one thing, and leaves with something else entirely.

✨

trippin stumbling flippin fumbling | 5k | steddie

“Don’t be such a coward,” Eddie tells himself. “Fucking— go.”

His body doesn’t move. Not even an inch. His ass stays glued to his seat, his feet firmly planted on the floor. His hands don’t leave ten and two.

“God dammit,” Eddie groans, dropping his forehead down to the wheel.

Except — he underestimates the distance, and rather than pressing into the top of the wheel between his hands, his forehead smacks squarely into the center of the horn.

He jerks back so fast he gives himself whiplash, but the damage is done. There is no taking back the short, sharp, loud honk that emits from the bowels of his traitorous van.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit,” Eddie hisses, eyes going wider than the moon hanging in the sky tonight.

He immediately slouches in his seat, sinking down as low as he can go. But it’s too late. He’s caught Steve and Robin’s attention now, and despite parking off to the side and a little further back, his set of wheels is unmistakable.

They’ve seen him. He can’t leave now. He has no choice but to go inside.

✨

when i turn out the lights | 1.8k | stommy

Steve tells everyone who asks him hat his first kiss was Sheila Anderson when he was fifteen years old.

But, really, that's not true.

It was Tommy Hagan. When he was fourteen.

Or, the one that tells the real story of Steve Harrington's first kiss.

✨

love grows (where my rosemary goes) | 3.2k | steddie

“Do you know you have, like, a trillion freckles on your face?” Steve asks right back, leaning in. His left hand winds itself around the strap of Eddie’s overalls, pulling him in too, and the right one catches Eddie’s jaw. It’s cold from his own lemonade glass, abandoned somewhere by his feet, and his thumb sweeps over the bridge of Eddie’s nose, the apples of his cheeks. Doubles back to tap the single freckle that sits right on the tip.

It’s true — Eddie does have freckles. Maybe not a trillion, but when the sun peeks out from behind the clouds like today and becomes a more permanent resident in the sky, those pesky little polka dots like to make their appearance, painting his face in faint faint dusting. They’re not obvious or anything; nobody really notices them unless they’re looking for them.

But that’s the thing about Steve. He’s always looking. Always seeing.

It’s why Eddie loves him so much.

It’s why — oh. He loves him.

✨

the strength to let it show | 3.2k | steddie

Steve keeps his voice quiet enough as he sings now, not wanting to disturb the masses just one room over, but it’s still loud enough for him to get a little lost in it. He matches the strokes of his sponge with the tune he’s singing and even starts to wiggle his hips along. It’s hard not to want to dance to this one — Bennie and the Jets, because it came on the radio in the car while he was making his rounds to pick up the kids, and it’s been stuck in his head ever since.

Most of the dishes are clean now, so all that’s left is the silverware. The casserole dish was the last of the major pieces. Steve’s just finishing rinsing it, letting the excess water sluice off the sides before he sets it on the kitchen island with the other plates waiting to be dried.

In the process of turning, two things happen at once:

1. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back as he belts out the chorus, “She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine, oh. B-b-b-bennie and the jets!”

2. His eyes fly back open to land right on Eddie. where he stands in the doorway — no, leans in the doorway, like he’s been there a while, like he’s gotten comfortable.

So, the thing is, Steve likes Eddie.

As in, he kind of wants to date him. And to kiss him. And to be his boyfriend.

But, he also doesn’t want to tell him that. Not in so many words, anyways. Those have never been Steve’s strong suit, words. He always messes them up. Never picks the right ones, always ends up sticking his foot in his mouth. The thought of sitting Eddie down and making some big… confession is mildly (extraordinarily) terrifying. Big speeches and grand declarations usually are — don’t let the romcoms and the chick flicks fool you. They’re never as easy as they look.

He doesn’t not want to tell Eddie, though, either. So it’s… well, it’s a tricky situation.

Until Robin, brilliant brainy genius Robin, suggests that instead of telling him, he should just show him instead. That way Steve can avoid the dramatic deliverances and still get his point across, just in a way that’s comfortable for him. On his own time. At his own pace. He can gradually show his hand, can drop hint after hint until Eddie gets it (and Robin is confident that he will in no time at all).

So Steve does.

✨

shake it loose together | 6.3k | steddie

In the process of turning, two things happen at once:

1. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back as he belts out the chorus, “She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine, oh. B-b-b-bennie and the jets!”

2. His eyes fly back open to land right on Eddie. where he stands in the doorway — no, leans in the doorway, like he’s been there a while, like he’s gotten comfortable.

✨

to my heart i must be true | 14.4k | steddie

Robin starts to smile, this big, evil grin that unfurls slowly across her face, and oh. Oh no. That’s not good. That’s never good. That always means trouble.

Robin sticks her hands on her hips and juts her chin out at Steve. “I bet I can get a Valentine’s date before you can,” she says, all arrogance.

Dustin and Lucas oooh at her fighting words, then turn to Steve for his rebuttal.

“Robin, Robin, are you sure you want to do that?” He asks, standing to his full height. His shoulders roll back, and he feels the patented Harrington Charm flooding back through his body like a switch has been flipped.

“Absolutely certain,” Robin replies, not backing down. She holds out her hand.

Steve shakes his head at her, then lets an easy, confident smile curl his mouth. “You’re gonna regret that,” he says, then smacks his palm into hers, “but you’re on.”

In which a bet is made, Steve’s prowess shines until it doesn’t, and sometimes things don’t end up the way they’re planned.

Sometimes, they end up better.

✨

i was thinking maybe i could lay beside you | 3k | steddie

Their room is the last door on the right, just like Joyce told them.

Eddie pushes inside first, immediately flicking the lights on. He spots their bags in the corner and beelines straight for them.

Steve, on the other hand, freezes in the doorway.

Because, oh. Oh.

There’s only one bed.

Which — Steve doesn’t know why this surprises him. This isn’t a hotel. It’s a guest room at a friend’s house. Of course it’s not going to have two beds in one room. He doesn’t know why he was expecting that.

But it’s — it’s fine. This is cool. He can share a bed for the night. He’s shared lots of beds in his day. There’s nothing different about this time.

Except that there is because he doesn’t have to share with just anybody. He has to share with Eddie.

Eddie, who hasn’t even batted an eye at the bed situation. Eddie, who seems cool as a cucumber about it. Eddie, who—

Who’s already shucked his shirt off and has his thumbs hooked into his sweats, about to tug those off too, and jesus fucking christ, Steve can’t do this. He cannot do this.

✨

in all your blame, in all your pain | 2.4k | steddie

When Eddie had gotten dragged headfirst into this alternate hellscape dimension, DnD monsters-come-to-life nightmare shitshow, no one told him that by the end of it he’d be offering himself up as bat bait to do his part in putting an end to it all.

No one told him that he’d wind up mangled and shredded and torn apart, but still, somehow, alive.

No one told him that he’d be bedridden for months afterwards, as his body stitched itself back together. That some days would be painful at best, while others would be downright excruciating. That he’d barely be able to walk at first, or bathe himself, or even eat on his own.

No one told him that healing would be the most grueling part of it all.

But those were all things that Eddie could get over. Things that, with time, he could forgive. After all, it’s not like anyone had known that that’s how it was going to play out.

What Eddie could not forgive, however, was the fact that no one, not one single member of their rather large, rather extensive party had told him just how much Steve god damn Harrington loved to play Florence fucking Nightingale in the aftermath.

✨

come and rest your bones with me | 2.6k | steddie

“We’re making a fort.”

Steve is barely even halfway through the door when he is accosted with the declaration. His slick raincoat is still zipped up, his wet umbrella still wide open and dripping onto the porch behind him.

“What?” He asks, fumbling to close the umbrella and shake it out before a stack of blankets are being shoved into his arms.

“We are making a fort,” Eddie repeats, grinning at Steve. He’s got his own heap of blankets bundled against his chest, and when Steve glances past his shoulder he can see that the bones of said fort are already mostly established — Wayne’s armchair has already been moved from its cozy corner of the room to now sit directly across from the couch, and the coffee table has been pushed to the side so as to not be a nuisance to the building process.

And, well, it sounds like a lot of fun, actually.

“Yeah, sure, alright,” Steve replies with a huff of a laugh.

✨

hash brown, egg yolk (i will always love you) | 2.8k | steddie

Six months is a long time to be apart. A long time to go without seeing Eddie in the flesh. Without hearing his laugh, low and melodic, right against the shell of his ear. Without hugging Eddie around the middle and hooking his chin over Eddie’s shoulder while he stands at the stove and pushes something delicious around a pan. Without kissing Eddie.

But so is the way of being married to a hotshot musician with a band that has more than made it big.

Because that's what Eddie is. And, god, Steve couldn’t be more proud.

Even if it does mean that sometimes he and Eddie have to go long stretches of time without seeing each other.

But that doesn’t matter anymore. Because Eddie is home now, and he’s going to be home for a while. Corroded Coffin just wrapped up the European leg of their tour (“Fucking Europe, Stevie! Can you believe it!”) and they’ve been given a month before their North American leg is set to start. A whole entire month that Eddie already promised he will be spending at home with Steve.

Starting today.

✨

stuck to the gum that's stuck on your shoe | 2.1k | platonic stobin

“Talk to me, Steve,” Robin says, “please.”

And now she sounds upset, and that makes Steve feel even worse.

He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to make Robin feel bad. She’s been so excited ever since she got that letter in the mail, going on and on about the linguistics program she’d been accepted into, about the campus and how gorgeous it is, about the surrounding city and how much there is to do there.

Steve doesn’t want to rain on that parade more than he already has.

But he knows that she’s going to wheedle it out of him eventually. Might as well rip the bandaid off now.

He can barely bring himself to say it. It hurts too much to acknowledge. But he does, because he has to. Because he will have to.

“You— you got into college, Rob. You’re going to leave,” Steve finally tells her. Whispers, because if he says it too loud he thinks he might break again.

“Oh, Steve,” Robin breathes.

✨

i wish i knew how (your eyes are like starlight now) | 10.6k | steddie

“Mistletoe!” Robin cheers, and Steve’s heart stutters so hard in his chest that he thinks it might crack his ribcage and drop right out the bottom of his stomach.

His eyes fly up, and, sure enough, there hangs one of the many sprigs hung all around the apartment. Small and inconspicuous, but unmistakable. That ridiculous little plant has no idea that it’s just turned Steve’s entire world on its axis.

Across from him, Eddie’s eyes are trained up too, big and round and wide where they stick on the mistletoe. His lips are parted in surprise, and Steve can’t help but stare and think am I going to kiss those now?

When Eddie finally tears his gaze from the plant and lets it flicker down to Steve, a pretty pink dusting blooms across the bridge of his nose and spreads into the apples of his cheeks when he finds Steve already looking back.

Steve spares the mistletoe one last quick peek before he takes a deep breath and steels himself. This is it. He sticks his hands on his hips, aiming for casual, and asks, “What do you say, Munson?”

Or, Steve makes a promise, Robin likes to meddle, and the spirit of Christmas strikes (out) again. And again. And again.

(Until it doesn’t.)

✨

under my umbrella | 5.8k | steddie

Steve sidles up to the bench. Munson stands at the other end of it, arms crossed tightly over his chest, glaring out at the street as if that will make the bus show up any quicker. His bangs are flat against his forehead, the rest of his long hair lank and wet over his shoulders.

He looks like a drowned cat.

So Steve holds out his umbrella. Tilts his chin and raises his eyebrows at Munson as an invitation to step under and get out of the rain.

Munson looks at the umbrella for less than a second before he turns back towards the street with a scoff. “No thanks,” he says. “I’m good.”

“Dude,” Steve says, dumbfounded.

“Dude,” Munson parrots mockingly.

“You’re really going to turn down my umbrella?” Steve asks, still holding it out.

“I really am,” Munson replies, showing all of his teeth in a rancorous smile. “Now if you don’t mind,” he adds, taking a large step forward, closer to the curb and further from Steve.

Steve lets out an indignant huff and pulls his umbrella back to himself. Only just refrains from muttering an unsavory name under his breath because he’s a good person now.

Whatever. Let Munson get soaked. Let him freeze.

✨

temptations of trouble | 2.8k | steddie

Eddie ignores the flip flopping in his stomach as he meets Steve’s gaze and fits his palms to either side of Steve’s jaw. Cradles his face like he’s something special now. (Because he is.)

And then he leans in to kiss him. Right on those pretty pink lips of his.

It’s short and sweet like it always is, but when Eddie pulls back and opens his eyes, he’s met with Steve’s, wide as fucking saucers, goggling unblinkingly back at him. He can feel Robin’s stare boring into the side of his face, can feel the tiny pinpricks of Nancy’s and Jonathan’s and Argyle’s on his back too. The whole room is quiet enough to hear a god damn pin drop.

Eddie is about to open his mouth and ask what the hell that’s all about when it finally catches up with him.

He just fucking kissed Steve fucking Harrington. On the mouth.

✨

waving down the wind | 10.3k | steddie

Eddie furrows his brows, and he’s about to ask Steve what he did come over here for, when Steve starts to shrug out of his jacket. Rolls his shoulders back and lets it slide down his upper arms.

“I came over here,” Steve starts, and he gives his arm a shake when the sleeve gets caught around his elbow. Once it’s off, he bunches his fist into the fabric of the collar. “To give you this,” he finishes and holds out the coat.

Eddie blinks down at it. Then he looks back up at Steve. “What?”

Or, three times Eddie looks cold and Steve does something about it, and one time he’s toasty warm.

✨

the world will follow after | 2.6k | steddie

Another glance at the clock and Steve really has to leave now. He barely has time to shove the piece of toast Eddie, so graciously, made for him (crisp, but not too crunchy, and definitely not burnt, with just the right amount of butter spread thin across the top) into his mouth before he’s running towards the door.

He’s about two steps away from it, hand already reaching for the knob, when Eddie catches him. He gives Steve's shoulders a squeeze, then spins Steve around and reaches for his collar next, fussing with it until it’s straightened and flat. He pats Steve twice on the chest and gives him a smile.

“All set now,” he says. Then, “have a nice day at work.”

Steve, at the complete whim of his scrambled brain, smiles back, tells Eddie thanks, glances at his watch, curses under his breath, then leans in to kiss Eddie goodbye.

Then, just as quickly, he’s out the door and in his car and finally on his way to work.

It isn’t until he’s halfway there that it hits him what he’s just done.

He kissed Eddie Munson.

✨

from this moment on | 3.9k | steddie

Steve bought the ring a year after they started dating.

It was too soon, way too soon, even if everything they’d been through made it feel like they’d known each other, like they’d been in each other’s corners for forever. One year was entirely too early to be putting marriage on the table, especially when they were still so young. Not to mention, Steve knew that Eddie had a rocky relationship with the concept thanks to his parents, and, truth be told, so did Steve.

But none of that really mattered. Because Steve was that in love. He was that sure of them.

So he bought the ring. Without hesitation.

And he held onto it, for all this time. He’d had a gut feeling, back in 1988. And eight years later it’s still there. Still there and stronger than ever.

✨

can't hide the way you make us glow | 6.3k | steddie

“So,” Wayne finally says and looks between them. He gestures his can from Steve to Eddie and back. “Still just friends, huh?” He deadpans.

Steve chokes on his sip of beer, and a grin cracks across Eddie’s face.

“To the general public of Hawkins, sure,” Eddie responds smoothly, hand absentmindedly rubbing Steve’s back as he recovers.

Wayne narrows his eyes at him. “I ain’t the general public of Hawkins, now, am I?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I suppose not.”

When he doesn’t elaborate any further, Wayne lifts his eyebrows expectantly. Out with it, boy they say. He barely refrains from waving his hand in a go on then motion.

“Steve and I… we’re, uh,” Eddie’s smile turns soft around the edges, and his hand goes to Steve’s beside him, drawing it into his lap and lacing their fingers together, “we’re going steady now.”

Or, Wayne finds out that Eddie and Steve are EddieandSteve.

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good for my boy | 7.4k | steddie

Wayne lets the front door swing shut behind him, rattling and smacking into the frame audibly.

“Jesus, Munson!” A voice rings out — the freezer fiend’s, and definitely not Eddie’s. “Took you god damn long enough!” The head finally pops out of the freezer. “I got tired of waiting and — oh.”

The stranger’s hand slips from the handle and the freezer door thumps shut. As does the stranger’s mouth when he looks right into the face of, not Eddie Munson as expected, but Wayne Munson.

Wayne briefly recognizes him as the Harrington boy.

or, the first time Wayne Munson meets Steve Harrington is a complete accident.

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if you have a minute | 10.6k | steddie

They pass the cigarette back and forth for a few quiet minutes. And there’s something about Eddie’s presence that’s helping just as much as the nicotine.

Eddie holds the cigarette back out for Steve, blows the smoke out in a smooth, steady stream, and tilts his head. “You working tomorrow?” He asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Not tomorrow. Why?”

Eddie pushes himself off of the wall. “Great,” he declares and grins. “We’re doing something then. You and me. I’m gonna take you somewhere.”

Steve’s face scrunches. “What? Where?”

Eddie tuts and wags his finger. “Nope, not telling you,” he says. “You’ll find out tomorrow. Meet at my place at nine. Don’t be late.”

He doesn’t give Steve a chance to argue or further question it. Just throws a little salute and turns on his heel, disappearing around the corner.

Or, the one where Steve’s anxiety doesn’t get the hint that they defeated the Upside Down, and Eddie knows just how to help.

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and stars, and stars, and stars | 1.5k | steddie

“What are you even painting?” Steve questions, unable to keep himself from asking. Eddie hadn’t told him his plan when he’d first laid Steve out and gathered his brushes — just instructed Steve to stay still and let him paint, he’d see soon enough. But Steve is curious, and it’s been almost an hour now.

Steve carefully tips his head to the side and presses his cheek against his folded arms, trying his best to catch a glimpse of Eddie where he sits atop the backs of Steve’s thighs, bent over his canvas in concentration. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth, like it always does when he’s focusing hard enough, and a piece of hair dangles against his cheek, escaping the bandana he’d tied it back with.

“I’m painting an essence,” Eddie answers cryptically, and he draws the brush in a broad stroke, low on Steve’s back.

“An essence?” Steve repeats. “An essence of what?”

“An essence of you,” Eddie says simply. The brush dots Steve’s upper back now, light little taps.

Steve doesn’t know what that means, but he’s looking forward to finding out.

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i want to hold your hand | 14k | steddie

The film isn’t even on Steve’s radar at this point. He couldn’t say what’s happening anymore, but he doesn’t even care. Forget Geena Davis, forget Jeff Goldblum, Steve can’t stop thinking about Eddie Munson, right there next to him, hand inches away from his own.

Steve’s pinky twitches out, like it’s got a mind of its own, towards Eddie’s hand. His heart is in his throat, breath caught behind it, as his pinky hovers, trembling. He could touch him. Wants to touch him. To hook his pinky over Eddie’s, curl them together, maybe even link the rest of their fingers too.

He’s never wanted to hold somebody’s hand so bad before.

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promise me nothing, live 'til we die | 2.9k | steddie

“You’ve seriously never had your first kiss, though?”

Eddie snorts. “Why do you sound so disbelieving? Come on, Harrington. I don’t exactly have a long line of suitors winding out my front door, vying for my hand or anything. Nobody wants to swap spit with the local freak. They might catch something.” He gives Steve a scrutinizing look. “I’m not like you, King Steve.”

“I’m not worried about catching anything from you,” Steve says.

Eddie tilts his head, perplexed. “Okay… thanks?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I mean, if no one else wants to, I will.”

“Will what? Line up outside my door?” Eddie scoffs.

“Kiss you,” Steve says and knocks all the air out of Eddie’s chest. “I’ll do it.”

Eddie’s eyes have got to be as big as dinner plates as he blinks at Steve. “What?”

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harlow gold | 4k | platonic steve & nancy

Nancy is pretty sure that she could talk to Jonathan about it. He knows a little something about being the black sheep, and Nancy doesn’t think he would judge her for it. But they’d only just broken up, and while it was a mutual decision and an amicable split, she doesn’t think it would be fair to turn to him so soon after for advice about the feelings she already has for someone else.

She doesn’t have any girlfriends to talk to either. Robin is kind of the first close female friend she’s had since Barb.

And despite this budding friendship between herself and Robin, Nancy can’t turn to Robin. She’s the type to ask a lot of questions, and she doesn’t give up easily. She’ll push until she gets the answers she’s looking for. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but Nancy isn’t so sure she’s ready for that kind of inquisition. Not about this.

Which only leaves one person that Nancy trusts enough with something as delicate as this, one person whom she is comfortable enough to confide in:

Steve Harrington.

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sloe gin fizzy, do it till you're dizzy | 6.7k | steddie

Eddie scoots down on the bed until he’s level with Steve and turns onto his side, shifting closer in the process.

The movement draws Steve, and his head lolls to the side to see what Eddie is up to.

It brings them nearly nose to nose, and Eddie goes a little bit cross-eyed focusing on Steve.

Steve doesn’t flinch away from the closeness. Just breathes and blinks. And then his eyes flicker down to Eddie’s lips and right back up, so quick that Eddie’s hazy brain would have missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t been anticipating it.

Eddie takes it as the invitation it has to be, and slowly, slowly closes the distance. His nose does bump into Steve’s as he enters his space, but he pauses, hesitates with his mouth hovering a hair’s breadth away from Steve’s.

He waits for the rejection, for the brutal shove away, for the disgusted “what the fuck man?”.

But they don’t come.

What does come is Steve’s mouth, pushing forward to press against Eddie’s.

✨

it's my feeling we'll win in the end | 6.3k | steddie

Eddie thrusts his hand, fisted around the diploma, into the air like he’s god damn John Bender on the football field, and he lets out a triumphant whoop.

He hears his friends go crazy in their seats again, and when he finds them in the crowd once more he sees that Dustin has climbed up onto his chair, one hand gripping Steve’s shoulder for support while the other is pumping through the air. He’s shouting Eddie’s name, and so is Mike, who is clapping so hard his hands must hurt. Lucas and Max each are holding one corner of a sign spelling out “Eddie the Conqueror” across the center, with hand painted flames licking around the words. It makes Eddie laugh, bright and buoyant, and he shakes the diploma through the air some more.

Eddie’s chest feels tight in the best kind of way as a sudden tidal wave of emotions body slams him, clogging his throat and forcing him to take a sharp, deep breath through his nose. His nostrils flare with it, and a hysterical sort of laugh bubbles up. It’s just, he’s never been this happy before. Never been this proud. Never felt this good.

He’s smiling so big that his cheeks hurt. He feels like he’s walking on fucking air. He did it, he fucking did it.

✨

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