#Men At Work fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mandiemegatron · 3 months

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ᴰᵒᶠˡᵃᵐⁱⁿᵍᵒ ˣ ᶜᶦˢ!ᶠᵉᵐ ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ; ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ, ᵗʰʳᵉᵃᵗˢ ᵒᶠ ᵇᵉʰᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ, ʰᵉᵃᵛʸ ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ. ¹⁸⁺ ᵒⁿˡʸ, ᵐⁱⁿᵒʳˢ ᴰᴺᴵ, ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵇˡᵒᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ˢⁱᵍʰᵗ.

"Darling..."

Glancing up from your book, you shot your lover a confused look, head tilted slightly as you asked,

"Yes, my love?"

Doflamingo sat at his desk, one cheek smooshed into his palm while his other hand lazily twirled red wine in his glass. Even through his pink shades, you could feel his stare on you, heavy and tired.

"... Come."

You gently placed your book aside on the couch before hopping up and nearly floating over to him, sliding up next to him with a worried expression. You ran a hand over his short hair before cupping his free cheek as best you could, thumb just brushing under his shades as you murmur lovingly,

"What's on your mind, Doffy?"

He said nothing for a moment, simply placing his wine glass down and scooping you into his lap, giving only a curt hum as you curled into his chest. One hand pressed gently to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your cheek as the other dug into his feathered coat, clinging to him tightly.

"I love you," You murmured softly only to receive another grunt in response. You frowned and tugged on his coat, tilting your head up to brush your nose under his jawline.

"I said, I love you," You tried again, your tone a little harsher than you meant for it to be. Doflamingo tightened his grip around you, almost crushing you to his body, but still he did not respond. Anxiety washed over you as you sat up a bit in his lap, pulling yourself from his tight grip to reach up and hold his face in your hand, tilting his head so he was looking down at you properly.

You frowned deeply at the empty expression on your lovers face.

"... Doflamingo-"

"If something happens to me, would you run?"

You froze at his question, confusion and worry seeping into your expression as you somehow got out,

"W-what?"

His grip tightened on you again, his tone dark as he repeated,

"If something happens to me... would you run?"

He didn't let you respond, instead grasping the lower part of your face in an almost too tight grip as he crashed his lips into yours.

He only pulled away to rasp out,

"You will never be touched by another man, you understand? You are mine, forever, no matter the cost,"

You nodded feverishly, tears welling in your eyes as you clung to him like a lifeline.

"I love you, Doflamingo," you murmured, trying to blink back the rushing tears. His grip tightened slightly on your chin, his expression unreadable to you, even as he took your mouth one again. There was desperation in his kiss, his touch possessive and anxious, which was strange.

Never had he been like this, not in the few years you'd been by his side.

For him to be acting like this, something was wrong, very wrong.

When you both pulled away to breathe, you looked up at him with wide, watery eyes as you gently asked,

"What's going on?"

He said nothing for a moment, simply clinging to you as he rose from his chair, taking the few long steps to leave his office and stride into his bedroom next door. He kicked the door shut and locked it before marching to his huge bed and hopping into it, his body curled over top of yours as he gently lowered you to the bed.

You simply stared up at him as he shed his clothes, watching with worried eyes as his naked form overtook yours once again. Your hands held his face as he came over you, towering over your frame like a castle, protecting you from the vicious, outside world.

He hated this feeling that crept over his skin like a parasite, sucking and biting at him and making him feel like he couldn't protect you.

Him, of all people.

His hands worked fast to strip you bare, warm palms brushing over your skin as if you were a priceless piece of art, a one of a kind artifact that couldn't ever be replaced. He didn't even register how his breathing shook, his hands wavering as his mind raced, thinking thoughts that could come to pass if he were to fail.

Seeing an image of you in his mind, breathless and needy under another man, Doflamingo suddenly felt a rush of rage and possessiveness and he flipped you over, smooshing your face into his soft pillows as he wrenched your hips up. He gave you no prep, your cunt soaked and eager for him as he began to press into you, ignoring the muffled wails of you begging him to stop. After a few presses, he pulled you flush to him, his head falling back with a groan as your ass met his pelvis, his thick cock filling you to the brim.

He could feel how you shook under his massive hands, his ego inflating at knowing he'd be the only man to fill you like this, to love you like this, to own you like this. He almost cackled as he finally began fucking you, one of his hands leaving your hips to tightly grip your hair and yank your head up.

No longer muffled, your sobs echoed in his room as you whined his name over and over, begging him to stop until it turned into begging him to keep going. His strings tied around your hair, keeping your head where he wanted as his hand moved to cradle your lower stomach, a wicked grin on his lips as he felt himself penetrate you over and over.

"Precious little pet," he spat out, feeling himself already close to the edge as he fucked into you like you were his personal pocket pussy. His eyes screwed shut behind his shades as you moaned for him, because of him, and only him.

"That's right darling, my lovely pet..."

He stills as your hand moved from the bed to cover over his on your stomach, your fingers intertwining with his. Even as you quietly sobbed, you still clung to him so lovingly and it infuriated him.

Rage overtook him and he ruthlessly pounded into you, both his hands back on your hips, clutching to the point that he could see bruising beginning to mar your beautiful skin. With a final harsh thrust, he fell over the edge, painting your cunt in his Heavenly colours, reveling in the way your pussy clenched and throbbed around him, sucking him in deeper and deeper.

After a few moments, he pulled himself from you, practically discarding you on his bed as he moved to his on suite washroom, cleaning himself up before bringing over a warm cloth, holding it in his hands as he looked down at you.

The way you shook, the tears staining your face, and yet you still stared up at him like he was the most beautiful man you'd ever laid your eyes on. Something tugged on his mangled and ruined heart, and he sighed heavily.

"... you're so foolish," he bit out, crawling onto the bed beside you as he slowly rubbed the wet cloth over your skin. You only grinned in response, your breathing shaky and uneven to the point you couldn't speak quite yet. He rolled his eyes, though a small smirk covered his lips.

"To love me is to die. Are you willing to die, Y/N?"

Your hand shot out and gripped around his wrist, the strength from you surprising him slightly. Your eyes were dark, watching him with genuine intention as you bit back,

"Why do you always ask me that? Why do you assume my answer will change?"

The Heavenly Demon faltered for a moment, his skin feeling prickly under your gaze. He frowned in response before ripping his wrist from your grasp and returning to cleaning you.

He blinks and suddenly he's on his back, your body on top of his with your palms pressed into the bed on either side of his head. Your nearly nose to nose with him, an almost angry look on your face as you reach up and rip his shades from his face.

You do nothing but stare into his eyes, unafraid and unwavering. Irritation and slight shock rest in his eyes as he stares back, waiting for you to say something before he decides your punishment.

"I won't die for you."

Doflamingo freezes at your words. He snarls, his hands tightly gripping around your thighs as he goes to respond but is cut off by you covering his mouth with a quick palm.

"But I will live for you."

Doflamingo only blinks in response.

"Anyone can die for you, Doflamingo. Any goddamn person off the fucking street can die for you, but me? I'm the only one who would walk across a fire for you. I'm the only one who would bring down entire countries for you. I'm the ONLY ONE who would lay myself bare for you, over and over, ripping open my rib cage for you to live inside."

Rage washed over you as you finally bit out,

"Stop asking if I would die for you. Ask if I would live for you, no matter the cost."

You pulled your hand from his mouth, still face to face with him as you wait for his response. One of his strings tugs around your throat, pressing into your flesh and cutting into it, though you make no sound.

"... I could kill you and no one would miss you," he replied thickly, biting back the urge to rip your head from your body then and there. Your response only angered him further.

"You would miss me. Don't even try to lie."

You bent down and pressed your lips to his, ignoring the pain of his string digging into your throat, feeling your blood drip down onto him. Surprisingly, he kissed you back, one of his hands holding the back of your head as his fingers tangled into your hair. When you both pulled back, he stared up with a wicked grin on his face,

"Prove it then, that you would live for me."

Your expression mirrored his as you moved backwards down his body until your leaking cunt was resting on his erect tip, a breathless chuckle leaving you as you purred out,

"Anything for you, my love."

#mandies mumbles ; fanfics #Donquixote Doflamingo #doflamingo x reader #one piece #ok to rb #donquixote doflamingo #doffyy bbaaabbyyyyyyyy #ive been working on this for a few days and finally finished it up 🤭#my first real fic of 2024 me thinks !#i love you doffyyyy 😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖💖#no beta we die like men

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prismatoxic · 26 days

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coming soon to a theater near you: promises to keep, a very normal modern au chilaios meetcute romcom with no ulterior motives whatsoever

big thanks to @nochilforthechuck and @divorceecheesecake for helping me with this idea!!

#toxart #chilaios #fic: promises to keep #the crowd is just a brush bc trying to make my own mob silhouettes was NOT working out #but i've already established the area is mostly tall-men so don't worry about it

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hrokkall · 1 year

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Recharging

#Inscryption #Inscryption Fanart #Leshy #Inscryption Leshy #P03 #Leshy x P03 #P0laroid #<- Thank you to other people for reviving that tag it's my favorite name for them by far #Yes this was supposed to be for Valentines Day yes it was supposed to have a fic too no I did not finish either in time #Thank you to the people who said I hope your artblock gets better. I'm not artblocked just VERY busy </3 #So I've been working on this between doing other stuff meaning it took FOREVER #Anyway here's your gay old men. I'll draw them getting divorced later or something because this is too sappy #Hrokkall Art #EDIT: Changed signature color it was bothering me

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arson-09 · 28 days

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tonights acotar thoughts are with the Illyrian women and how rhysand has utterly failed them despite his supposed efforts

Hes ‘allowed’ them to become warriors if they wish. But thats not even the bare minimum. from my memory he acknowledges that he doesnt enforce the wing clipping laws (smooth move) so that’s basically useless and as to be expected of a man, he misses the point of feminism and equality laws. WHERE are the laws and protections for women in marriages?? if the illyrian are so ‘brutal’ and ‘backwards’ the assumption can be made that divorce isn’t a thing unless the man requests it. No women requested divorces and probably no such thing as no fault divorces. As well as forced marriages (which also brings up the consent age) Adding on, what about abortions and other pre natal and natal laws and protections? again, assuming women arent allowed to have abortions or simply any bodily autonomy, where are those decrees rhysand? Im not even getting into the potential of LGBTQ+ illyrians and their rights (Logically there are LGBTQ+ illyrians but ofc sjm wouldn’t mention them)

He makes such a fuss about it being a womans choice (a hypocrite as we see in acosf) yet unless a woman is able too or wants to fight he doesnt seem to care. Which is also a major flaw of sjms writing, women only gain their independence if they can kick ass and fuck as they want. Which is of course valid but thats a very shallow way to view feminism and equality. The whole point is that a woman can choose, wether its to be a warrior or a stay at home mother, but theres nothing done for those women who want that lifestyle.

This has influenced me in my fic writing a lot to where a this topic has become a major focal point in my fic somewhat by accident. I think that logically there would be a rebellion from mostly illyrian women against rhysand, hes promised them so much yet has delivered so little.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #anti rhysand #anti night court #anti inner circle #im not anti feyre but im disappointed in her character #sjm #sjm critical #an acotar thought exercise if you will #In my fic i have it planned that a prominent female illyrian revolts against rhysand lol #She along with her mates (yes mates) leads a large group of illyrian men women and lgbtq+ out to the spring court with tams help #Shes such a fun character to develop along with her mates and if i can work with my adhd i will hopefully be able to write about them in my #fic i ran out of characters fuck you tumblr let me yap #its late so forgive me for any grammer errors or mistagging #rhysand #this is also a genuine criticism guys i know how yall rhysie fans like to tussel

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samijey · 1 year

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Sami seemed to strike a big nerve with Jey last night

#jey uso #sami zayn #wwe #the usos #roman reigns #smackdown #this segment was SO IMPORTANT lemme tell you #YES SAMI REMIND EVERYONE WHO THE REAL ENEMY IS #jail for roman #jail for roman for a thousands years #the way jey's frown softens when sami says he loved him URGH I'M SICK #my toxic trait is that i will tear up randomly at work bc i'm thinking about these two and make my coworkers worry about me #yes hello no everything is fine haha just angsting over wet pathetic men and their dramatic 100k enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers fic #jey's character has remained so fucking consistent everything he does makes sense #wwe having years long character development that makes sense??? unfathomable #anyways vince mcmahon die challenge #what is up with this pink ass coloring you might ask #and ill tell you pink is the color of love :)))))#lies i just hate coloring gifs with real people in them oof #stuff i made

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tizniz · 3 months

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Several Sentence Sunday ⭐️

Tagged by no one but I don't care because...

3 Men 1 Baby (21K)

It’s a good thing the groceries have made it to the table, because the eggs would certainly have cracked from Eddie dropping the bags to the floor. Because Evan Buckley was standing there holding a baby. A baby. OR: Buck, Eddie, and Chim get a baby. Here's what happens.

READ ON A03

Ramblings and tags under cut...

It's heeeeeerrreeee! Huge huge HUGE shoutout to @bucksbackwardcap because Nicole is the reason this thing even exists. She reached out when I was ready to give up on...everything...and she gave me the idea of "hey, have you heard of the 80's movie Three Men and a Baby? What about that with Buck, Eddie, and Chim?" And thus, this fic was created. Please note that this does NOT follow the movie, but it inspired this story so shoutout to that.

Also shoutout to @diazsdimples for screaming about this fic with me. He has been my #1 on this from the beginning because he is determined to make Buck a dad. Love you for that James.

To everyone else who has shown interest in this story: thank you! It is so nice having a little community that supports me and gives me that little lift I need.

This story came at a time when I really needed it. It gave me a light in some dark times. And that is what writing is to me. I'm already looking forward to what I'll make next, because this fandom and community has brought my love for writing back to life in the best way possible.

Please enjoy this story. I loved it so much. Also: LOOK! I DIDN'T WRITE PURE ANGST! YAY ME!

Tagging: @disasterbuckdiaz, @hippolotamus, @theotherbuckley, @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming, @monsterrae1, @daffi-990, @actualalligator, @jesuisici33, @l0v3t0hat3y0u, @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove, @epicbuddieficrecs, @elvensorceress, @spotsandsocks, @wildlife4life, @evanbegins, @loserdiaz, @housewifebuck, @shitouttabuck, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @spagheddiediaz, @fortheloveofbuddie, @devirnis, @cal-daisies-and-briars, as well as Nicole and James who are tagged above 🩵

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #chimney han #buddie #911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #3 men 1 baby #tanis writes #my works

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little-pondhead · 2 months

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The Folly of Men -

Chapter 1: #355E3B

AO3 - MASTERPOST

[GENERAL TW: Swearing, lukewarm violence, lots of POV changes, and mild body horror.]

[Fair warning, guys: Canon is a ball pit, and I’m throwing a baby into it. I have no clue what's happening. Feel free to point out mistakes!]

Danny was starting to hate the color green. It was the color of death.

Green reminded him of the portal that killed him, and the electricity that was constantly humming under his skin. It reminded him of being on the wrong end of an ecto-blaster and having to dodge for dear life. It reminded him of choking plants that swallowed him whole and tried to turn him into fertilizer. It reminded him of his glowing eyes and how they seemed to take up his entire face when he looked at himself in the mirror.

And right now, as he lay weakly on his side, grasping at fresh wounds with shaky fingers as he tried to ice them closed, the green blood that was splattered everywhere reminded him he wasn’t human.

Not anymore.

Green was a familiar color to Ra’s al Ghul. It was the color of life.

Green reminded him of the Lazarus Pits, mostly. When it was the reason he’d lived such a long life, how could it not be the first thing he thought of? Green also reminded him of his cloak and the warmth it wrapped him in during the cold desert nights when his wife was still alive. Of the beauty he saw in the natural world and why he wanted to protect it. It reminded him of his green eyes that have been passed down through his very few children and grandchildren. Green was the color of the al Ghuls and represented the power he’d amassed through centuries of hard work.

And right now, as he stood before the Well of Sins, Ra’s was reminded of a secret contract that was buried deep within his personal records, and the monster he’d made it with. The Gardener, the creature called itself, was a being who had crawled out of a Lazarus Pit years ago in search of Ra’s. Its flesh was made from thorny vines and grasses intertwined, and its eyes were tiny red blooms that glowed and made him feel sick just thinking about it. It had forced him into the contract, exchanging power and knowledge in return for a promise of help in the near future.

‘Near future,’ my ass. Timothy Drake's fleeting voice flickered in his mind, and he could only agree with his subconscious's crude words. It seemed like the only appropriate term as it had already been several centuries since the contract was made, and the being had yet to claim its part of the deal.

He watched, mind racing, as the Well of Sins started swirling frantically. He was alone, with his attendants on standby. Should he call them in? No. Whatever was causing the strange reaction in the pool had something to do with that contract. He could feel it. A power was tugging at his heart, drawing him closer to the edge of the green waters. He loathed to admit it, but this was beyond his scientific understanding. He just knew that every time he tried to look away and leave, his whole body felt like it was alight with flame.

So he stood. And he stared. For hours, possibly, before the first sign of something new caught his attention. A screeching sound was echoing from the bottom of the pool. It slowly got louder and higher pitched as the stone floor started glowing so bright Ra's almost risked the pain of glancing away.

A large head was making its way through the bottom of the pool. It went slowly to accommodate large shoulders, followed by a wide chest and narrow waist. The figure paid no mind to the churning of the Well of Sins and broke the surface of the waters with the ease of a seasoned swimmer. The screeching sound echoed wildly, bouncing unnaturally throughout the chamber, sounding more like incomprehensible words. Ra's wanted to plug his ears with wax and banish the figure back where it came from. Instead, he didn't even twitch an eye.

The Gardener stood before him. And it was carrying a body.

"Master of Lazarusss," it hissed, inclining its head in acknowledgment, but making no move to exit the pool. "Too long has it been, has it not? I've come to collect on my part of the deal."

Ra's nodded in return. Higher being or not, he refused to bow to anyone. "I've expected this, Gardener." He said roughly. Despite learning their language years ago, the sharp chirps and clicks made by the dead were difficult to sound out. It was like he was trying to mimic a broken radio. "Although it's taken longer than I expected for your arrival."

The Gardener clicked its beak in annoyance. "Don't give me flowery words, Pretender. It was not my choice whether to appear before you or not. The Scepter of our realm visited me long ago and commanded me thus; I only now see her vision behind it."

"I...see." He did not see, thank you very much. That was more information in two sentences than he'd ever managed to get from the Gardener. Were there others at play in this little contract of theirs? He did not like the idea of that. "And I assume this whole thing has something to do with the boy in your arms?"

The Gardener let out a low humming sound that seemed to originate from its chest and echo in Ra’s bones. It glanced down, turning the body over gently to let Ra's see his face. The boy was just a child, no older than sixteen. He was deathly pale and seemed eerily stiff, just as if rigor mortis had set in. His white hair was plastered to his forehead from the water, and his clothes were nothing more than rags. Thick green blood was leaking from several wounds and pooling underneath his skin. It wasn't hard to guess what the Gardener was about to ask.

"This is our Guardian and one of the last of his kind. His haunt is not safe anymore, and I task you with his care for the foreseeable future."

Without waiting for a response, the Gardener sloshed forward to set the boy oh-so-gently upon the edge of the pool, taking care that his thorns did not pierce the child. A few vines cupped his face gently as if the Gardener was sad about the boy's state of being.

The assassin made no move to step forward and claim him. "What iske?" He asked. Ra’s voice caught on the last syllable, and he had to repeat the question again properly. Annoying.

The Gardener didn’t seem to mind and just stepped back, relinquishing its hold completely. "He is our Guardian." It repeated. "Care for him well. His fraid will be on the hunt for him and return any harm tenfold. But earn his loyalty, and the power of the Infinite Realms will be at your fingertips. Good luck, Master of Lazarus."

With that, the Gardener disappeared beneath the waves of the Well of Sins, and the waters calmed. The only proof that someone had been there was the sopping wet teen that lay at Ra's feet.

Ra's stared at the boy. The tugging in his heart was a bind, he realized. And it was tying him to the boy. Well, caring for a dead child shouldn't be that hard. Despite his disagreement with Talia over the matter, Jason Todd had turned out just fine, hasn’t he?

With the contract heavy on his mind, Ra's turned and left the boy lying there, clicking his jaw and calling for his attendants to collect him. The Lazarus Pits had gifted him with a new heir, it seemed.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

In another world, a redheaded girl was on the edge of a rampage. Her scream echoed down the suburban street her house was on, and the neighbors sighed quietly and locked their windows shut, not realizing the severity of the question. They were used to this family's antics, and the girl's screaming as a result.

But this could not be written off as 'family antics.'

Jasmine Fenton, nicknamed ‘Jazz,’ was positively furious. Red-faced, she stood before her parents with steam coming from her ears and a bat in hand.

“Jazzy-pants, we-” her father tried.

“Nope!” Jazz put up a hand to stop him. “Never mind, I don’t want to hear it. I already know.”

She whirled around, tuning out her parents' protests as she stormed through their house. Correction, her parent’s house. If she had her way, Jazz would never see these metal and unloving walls ever again. Neither would her brother, once she found him.

Her phone rang, and she flipped it open with a snap, leaving the bat at the end of the hallway. Only a few people had her number, and it sure as hell wasn’t her parents calling her. “What.” She barked, shoving the phone between her shoulder and ear as she dug through Danny’s closet. His bug-out bag hadn’t been moved.

“It’s Tucker.”

“We have a code green and a code yellow.” She ground out. Good, the ecto-dejecto shots were up to date. The less time she spends in that god-forsaken lab, the better.

“Fuck.” Tucker swore. Rustling was heard and she heard another voice in the background. “I’m putting you on speaker.”

Jazz re-packed the bag quickly, adding in some non-essentials that she knew Danny would appreciate. After it was settled on her shoulders, she switched the phone back to her hand for a better grip. “Is Sam there?”

“I’m here.” The girl responded.

Jazz tripped over her bedroom carpet in her rush to her room. She cursed but recovered and started ransacking her closet and drawers. “Good. One of you needs to contact Danielle. Our parents sold Danny out, and the GIW took him while I was gone yesterday. I’m going ghost and getting him back. Tell Danielle she’s in danger since they have her ecto-signature now.”

“We’re going with you.” Sam said firmly. There was more rustling, and Jazz guessed they were looking for their own emergency bags. “I don’t care how long it takes; we’ll get him back.”

“Are you going to shut down the portal?” Tucker asked.

Jazz paused, considering it. In the original plan, Danny was in charge of shutting down the portal while Jazz and the others took care of the Fentons, GIW, and everything else. It was personal for him; his final resting place. But now that Danny was missing, and they needed a reliable escape route.

“Not permanently.” She decided. “I’ll figure out how to turn it off temporarily, or put a shield up, but Danny will need to be the one to make that call.”

Tucker started typing furiously on his laptop, muttering under his breath until he got to the file he wanted. “Sam and I will take care of the town defenses, and Dani’s on her way from New Zealand. She’ll be here in a few hours. I’m sending you a bug; plug it into the Fenton’s security systems, and it’ll lock them out of the house for now. Only do it after you’re done in the labs. Sam’s gone off and is pulling some strings to get all the ghosts in town back to the Zone. I’ll start tracking Danny and shutting down all the Fenton and GIW equipment I can find.”

“Thanks, Tucker. I’ll meet you guys at Nasty Burger in two hours; pass that message to Danielle.”

“Sure thing. Oh, and Jazz?”

“Yeah, Tuck?” Jazz started counting her hidden wads of cash, making sure it was all there. They never wanted to believe the Fentons would go this far, but she was glad they’d made contingency plans just in case.

She could hear Tucker’s silent snarl as he said his parting remark. “Leave enough of them behind for the rest of us.”

Jazz laughed, a little hysterical. “I’ll try.” She said, bidding him farewell. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure she could look at her parents ever again. But she knew, deep in her bones, that if they tried to stop her, there wouldn’t even be ashes left from the hell she would raise.

Gotham was caught in a storm. It was one of those ugly, howling summer storms that threw water in your eyes and bit your skin with a vengeance. Damian squinted, trying to make out the sight of Spoiler and Signal through the rain, but even their bright uniforms were lost in the shadows.

He tightened his grip on his grappling hook as a particularly harsh wind tried to throw him around like a ragdoll. Water seeped into his collar, making him shiver. A beep echoed in his ear, and he risked taking one hand off the line to answer his comms.

"Robin," Oracle was practically shouting in his ear over the storm. "Signal made it to the Cave. Spoiler is rounding up Condiment King, and then she'll do the same. You can go back now."

Damian tsked. "Father is still out here," he replied. "I shall not return until he does."

"Robin-" Oracle sighed.

Another gust of wind made him grunt, and he cut the call to refocus on scaling the building. The only good thing that came from such a wild storm was that most of the villains were smart enough to stay inside. Splitting up in such conditions always left a sour taste in his mouth, but Damian understood it was necessary to cover as much ground as possible during times of emergency.

He wasn't sure this counted as an emergency, but Todd was certainly treating it as such. The citizens of Crime Alley were being hit hard. Enough to the point where Red Hood had openly invited the Bats onto his turf to help with the flooding and evacuation from some unstable buildings. Batman and Red Robin had gone, leaving Robin and Orphan to cover their patrol routes.

Finally, finding purchase on the rough brick, Damian quickly hauled himself up to safety. Some of his equipment was ruined, and his costume was soaked. Truly, this storm had come out of nowhere.

His comms clicked back to life. "Robin." Cain's clipped tone was somehow louder than Oracle's voice.

"I'm here," he replied, scowling at the oily mud on his shoes. Damned pollution.

"Home," Orphan said simply.

Damian scowled even harder. He could argue with Oracle without issue, but he barely won when it came to speaking with Orphan. "...Fine." He sniffed. "I shall return."

"Good." Damian could hear the smile in her voice. "Agent A has cocoa."

"I'll consider it." He said stiffly. He imagined his adoptive sister smiling slyly and glancing toward the sky before the comms switched off, leaving him to his thoughts again. After checking his grapple to ensure it still worked, he started picking his way through the building at a snail's pace, letting himself get distracted whenever he spotted someone in trouble. The Batcave would be warmer and dryer than the streets, but not everyone had a dry place to return to. Every little bit helped in the long run, and even Damian wouldn't pass by a lost child in the rain.

The only thing that bothered him more than the dark clouds overhead and fresh hail on the way home was the unnatural feeling on his spine. It felt like someone was watching him, judging him. But when he looked, nobody was there.

The stars were gone.

Danny felt weightless as he floated, staring at the space where the stars were supposed to be. He felt lighter than normal. Danny was surrounded by colors that flowed and ebbed like the tide, taking him deeper into this mysterious space. Golden fish and silver deer wove past him as fire and ice trailed behind, and yet he couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to get up. He just laid there silently. A bone deep exhaustion was settling into him, but sleep refused him.

“Ghost Child.”

Oh, Danny was dreaming. He was already asleep.

He didn’t turn his head, nor acknowledge when the stars returned to his line of sight. The stars wrapped around him like a curtain, cutting off the rest of the dreamscape. Two bright eyes, burning like red giants, peered down at him as thin hands cupped his body.

“Ghost Child.” The voice repeated again, speaking in his mind even as the words were swallowed by the silence of space.

Danny turned his head slowly. “Nocturn,” he murmured. These too, were snatched from his throat and lost. The cold seeped into his chest and he hiccuped. He couldn’t speak. Not that he really wanted to.

Luckily, Nocturn seemed to understand him just fine. He cradled Danny gently, bringing him closer to his chest. Something shifted in the fabric of space, and suddenly Danny was being laid to rest on the smooth stone of a crescent moon, as pearly white as his own hair. He sighed as the coolness of the moon seeped into his body, soothing aches and burns he didn’t remember getting.

“Where are we?” He wanted to ask.

Nocturn blinked slowly at him, his face twisted down towards Danny. His ram’s horns glinted as a glowing blue jay landed on them and started preening itself. Danny wanted to fly with the bird. His body didn't move.

“Sleep, Ghost Child.” Nocturn hummed. The moon vibrated beneath Danny, soothing the electric currents that kept him awake no matter what he did. Danny’s eyes started sliding shut as Nocturn’s song wrapped around him like a lullaby.

The others… Danny’s mind whispered.

Are safe. The song replied. Rest, young guardian. Your people are safe. You did well.

That was all he needed to hear. Danny let himself fall into slumber, relief flooding his mind. Yes, his people were safe. He did well. He deserved some rest.

As the young ghost fell into a dreamless sleep, a real sleep, Nocturn gently tucked the boy in with a blanket made from his own starry robes, shifting the fabric once more to hide away his core, and the boy who was resting on it. The bluejay on his head chirped indignantly from the movement and flew away, leaving a trail of smoke behind.

Nocturn paid it no mind. Warnings from Fate were never a good idea to ignore, but the bird was but a memory of a life that had long since passed. It only stuck around because of the dreams that kept feeding it. The ghost let his lullaby continue as he returned to his work, taking care to move slowly.

Undergrowth was taking care of his physical body, so he would care for the boy's mind. Vortex was off to round up the little ghostlings who had scattered like dandelion seeds, and the Master of Time was keeping an eye on the rest of Phantom's fraid while they rampaged in the mortal realms. After the stunt he pulled to protect the Realms, it was the least the elder ghosts could do.

"Is the boy awake?" Ra's asked sharply, entering the private rooms he had set aside for the boy.

The attending nurse, an older man born with no tongue, bowed his head and signed, 'No, sir. Vitals are off. He is a cold corpse.'

Ra's regarded the boy. It has been several weeks since the Gardener dropped the boy off in his care, and he hadn't awoken once throughout the entire time. He truly looked like a regular dead teenager, if you exclude the unnaturally white hair.

The Demon's Head bent over the boy's bed, tugging open an eyelid to see if he would react. Nothing. However, he noted the boy's eyes were green, which he was mildly pleased about. Green was such a lovely color, and this boy seemed surrounded in it.

A sharp knock echoed from the door, and Ra's granted the other party permission to enter. His best phlebotomist, a man named Paz, entered, holding a stack of papers as thick as his thumb. He bowed to Ra's as soon as he saw him.

"The results?" Ra's asked.

Paz immediately handed over his work, fully confident that Ra's understood everything he'd written. "For all purposes, the boy is dead." He said in a thick accent. He spoke in halted Arabic, as he'd only lived in 'Eth Alth'eban for a short time. "He has no circulation. No heart to move blood, or lungs to breathe. We must move him every hour to prevent postmortem lividity. He has undergone an extensive autopsy process, but it seems it was stopped before his brain was removed. No organs remain in his body otherwise.”

Ra's examined the papers. They were reports from different scientists and doctors, all of whom had been assigned to examine and work on the boy. Most of them said the same thing. The boy was dead and had been for a while. If the Well of Sins didn't do anything when he first exited the waters, what good would it do now?

He flicked his eyes up. "But you think otherwise," he stated.

Paz nodded enthusiastically. "The boy is dead, but his blood is alive!" He tapped a green folder that was poking out from the bottom of the pile. Ra's shuffled the papers off to the nurse and opened it. Printed off charts had been scribbled over with Paz’s frantic notes, documenting his thought process.

The phlebotomist rambled excitedly as his boss read his work, gesturing wildly. “It’s incredible! Most of his red blood cells have died off, and he has an abnormal amount of white blood cells, which indicate some kind of infection. But his plates-“

‘Platelets.’

“Platelets,” Paz nodded his thanks to the nurse for correcting his speech. “The boy’s platelets are still alive, and are actually trying to heal his injuries! We recorded a time-lapse last week to confirm it. The process is incredibly slow, even compared to human healing, but there’s a difference! Because of the absence of red blood cells, the plasma left in his body has practically doubled in volume, even though there’s no circulation to keep it moving. We’ve noticed a collection of stem cells at the base of his skull has started growing as well, and whatever it’s producing is being released into the body at regular intervals.”

“What kind of cells are they?”

“Unsure. At first, we thought it was cancerous in nature.” Paz tapped the corner of the folder again, prompting Ra’s to turn the page. “And while these cells are certainly growing as fast as unchecked cancer, rather than doing harm, we’ve taken samples and noted that they’re merging with whatever original matter has been left in the boy’s body. Bonding, like glue! The healing process is periodically speeding up with every release, the plasma has started circulating on its own, and the white blood cell count is diminishing. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s filling in for everything that’s missing, and keeping what is there, alive. Dr. Vanessa hypothesized that within the month, it may even start replacing the boy’s organs.”

Ra’s looked up from the research. “These photos look like plant cells, is this an example or actual recordings of the activity?”

Paz wrinkled his nose. “Those are evidence of the activity. For some reason, cellulose is present within his body, and the mysterious stem cells seem to be a mix of both plant and animal matter. It’s hard to track even with our technology, but it looks like the cellulose is forming a sort of…skeleton? Frame? I’m not sure what the right word is, but Dr. Vanessa says they might start regrowing in another month. If that’s true, this would be a huge breakthrough in the realm of organ transplants and other medical fields!”

The Demon’s Head hummed, flipping through the work again and considering the man’s words. “Very good,” he praised. Paz beamed like a child at his words. “Unfortunately, I shall be releasing you of your duty, and your tongue is too loose for your head.”

“What-“ Paz’s eyes widened as he gurgled, his words cut off. Ra’s twisted his wrist, driving home the dagger he’d planted in the man’s heart. He had no use for men who talked too much.

Paz fell to the floor, convulsing as he tried to weakly remove the weapon still sticking out of his chest. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he went pale as his blood seeped out onto the floor.

Ra’s barely spared the dying man a glance, taking back the extra stack of papers from the nurse and neatly stepped around him to exit the room. “Clean that up,” he said over his shoulder.

The old nurse bowed his head, waiting patiently for the foolish doctor to finish dying before he got out the mop.

This is why the nurse had survived so long; he knew how to stay silent.

[Nocturn tucking Danny in to rest. Ghost speech says, "Rest well, ghost child"]

#pondhead writes #the folly of men fic #dpxdc #long post #really long post #no beta we die like Danny #I rewrote this three times #this was gonna be longer but the plot got away from me so we're doing more than one part now #the whole point of this is to get me back into writing more so i guess it's working??#i literally did so much googling for this #even watched timeline videos but i'm pretty sure i'm still wrong #literally what is dc lore anymore #i'd rather learn about kingdom hearts lore at this point #literally I am summoning all of my brain snails to bring this together #not medically accurate!!!#I am not a doctor I just took biology twice

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chrollohearttags · 3 months

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these hoes don’t be mad at me, they be mad at No Child Left Behind.

#the girls can’t read and been making it black writers problem ever since #leave us the fuck alone #‘all y’all write are plug and baby mama fics’#shut the fuck up #if I put a keep reading line in front of y’all you’ll start crying #if it’s not 50 words with ten men’s names listed on it #y’all literally don’t have the attention span for it quit playing with me #you bitches reading comprehension is giving cat in the hat #y’all are not worth spending days working on a fic for #cherry chats 🍒

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lunarharp · 4 months

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hehe. almost christmas!

#ace attorney tag #narumitsu #partial nudity /#2nd and 3rd things inspired by playing the first game and Uhh... why is phoenix accusing men of being lovers and being certain of it #and just generally containing the core of bisexuality within him #also there's that part i recall in maybe the..3rd game? where he's like Wow.. I'd Fall For Him Too... about that cinnamon swirl looking man #learnt lately that the writers upon learning that ace attorney was very popular with BL people immediately started reading BL #to understand the genre. i think phoenix would also do such Research in college. to Learn About People. About The World.#so now he feels that he has gaydar and is a good Ally etc. But actually maybe...you're also just bi too !#too bad you'll have to get kissed by a criminal to work that out! Hang in there <3 #i reread my fic today !! I'm in the christmas mood now ! Sort of ! ooooh the 7 year gap.. at least we are in the 7 year gap years irl #Somewhere out there they ARE drinking wine romantically gazing at snow on a balcony in germany. thank GOD for that fr #so i shall be drawing things from THAT era next i need to depict men finally kissing NOW !!!!!!#can't do it with orufrey..can't draw cute happy romantic wintry art of them..didn't finish processing my current divorcecore arc era cycle

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jenny-from-the-bau · 3 months

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Emily being a dork ass loser who can't talk to a hot woman to save her life and JJ knowing exactly how to flirt and tease

#i just love this dynamic #everyone is too intimidated to flirt with Emily so she has no real experience #JJ is used to men fawning over her so she knows exactly how to work ppl #they meet #it's so fun for JJ #Emily has a heart attack (not really)#fic idea #jemily #criminal minds #og

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cuoredimuschio · 1 year

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a little start of something that may end up being Something, expanding on this post about eddie teaching steve to play guitar

(3.1k - no upside down, but still set in the spring of '86)

now on ao3 | part two

---

Jenna Burke is the girl of Steve’s dreams.

Yeah, yeah, he’s made that claim before. A few times.

About Nancy. About Robin (he was half-right that time). About a dozen girls in between.

But Jenna’s different. Jenna’s the real deal.

They haven’t even been out on a date yet, but he knows. He can tell. He can feel it in the air every time she comes in to bring back her rentals. Which she always does when he’s working. Never on Tuesday when he’s off.

And let him just say, real quick: he knows how crazy that sounds. How crazy he sounds. But there’s something there, some kind of connection that sparks every time their eyes meet, something just waiting for the right moment to happen. And honestly, he’d have to be even crazier than crazy not to be completely mad about her.

Because she’s everything anyone could ever want. She’s everything that Steve has ever wanted, and more. Intelligent, funny, sincere, kind, movie-star cool but still firmly planted down on Earth, confident, artistic, athletic, a heavenly laugh, a knockout smile, sun-kissed freckles, hair like caramel honey, gorgeous enough to blow Phoebe Cates clear out of the water: he could go on.

And he has.

He’s talked Robin’s ear off about her, shift after shift after shift, until she threatened to cut his tongue out, julienne it, and feed it to her cat if she had to hear one more time about Jenna’s dimples and how the left one is just the slightest bit bigger than the right one—as if she wasn’t ten times worse when she was crushing on Vickie. Steve was once treated to an entire sermon about the way the fluorescent lights of the band hall reflected off her pearl barrette. But anyway, that’s beside the point. The point being that, threats of violence aside, even Robin’s had to admit that Jenna is—by all accounts and in every way—perfect.

There’s just one problem.

Steve is not the guy of her dreams.

She’s always flirted back with him—or at least, she’d always seemed amused by his attempts to flirt. Always met him halfway, played along and giggled at all his jokes and lame lines, definitely checked out his arms when he leaned on the counter, even twirled her hair a few times. He could’ve sworn it was all there, every sign lit up green and pointing to ‘go’. But when he’d finally laid it all on the line and asked her if he could take her out for dinner and a movie on Friday, she’d hit him with the worst eight words in the English language: you’re really sweet, but you’re not my type.

And what is her type? Springsteen, Bon Jovi, rockstars and their wannabes, apparently.

“There’s just something about a man with a guitar,” she’d said, her sea-shine eyes dancing with starry mischief. “Drives a girl wild.”

Then, she’d taken her movie, dropped a smile and a twiddly wave over her shoulder, and swept out the door with Steve’s heart stuck to the bottom of her Keds, leaving squelchy, sappy stains on the sidewalk with every step. And that was that. A beautiful flower, nipped before it could even bud. He couldn’t even really be surprised, shouldn’t have expected anything different given his recent track record.

It wasn’t until he was locking up that night, ready to go home and wallow, chalk up another failure in the books and look for comfort at the bottom of a beer or two, that it had hit him: the obvious solution, the one she’d handed right to him, with a wink and a nudge.

He’s not the guy of her dreams, but he could be.

All it’d take is just one little change. And he’s more than willing to make it.

Which is why he’s now slinking back to his old stomping grounds, picking his way through the grey, gnarled trees huddled behind the track, and hoping with all he’s got that Eddie Munson didn’t get busted at some point in the last year and move to another neck of the woods. And that he’s in a generous mood.

Steve should probably explain. Because ‘obvious solution’ and ‘Eddie Munson’ don’t often belong in the same metaphorical sentence. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

There’s just no way Steve can teach himself to play guitar. He wouldn’t even know where to start, and he’s always learned better when he has someone to watch anyway, when he can see, step by step, what he needs to do before he does it. And Munson…Still doesn’t seem like the obvious choice, granted. But he was always hanging up those messy, handmade posters for his weird band, plastering them all over the school, talking big about their gig at The Hideout every Tuesday; even though Steve had never caught one of their shows, never heard Munson play a single note, he figures if an actual bar hired them and let them keep coming back, week after week, he must be pretty good.

Plus, with that whole rock-n-roll, long-hair-denim-and-leather thing he’s got going, he’s honestly not too far off from Bon Jovi. Steve’s not sure either party would appreciate that comparison, but the fact is, Eddie Munson is the closest thing to a rockstar that Hawkins has to offer. If he’s going to learn from anyone, Munson’s his best bet.

It’s quiet as Steve approaches the clearing—nothing but the birds squawking up in the branches and the weak crunch of the leaves under his feet. It’s so quiet, too quiet, and all wrong. Because ‘quiet’ and ‘Eddie Munson’ have never belonged in the same sentence either; they don’t even belong on the same planet. If he was here, Steve probably would have heard him before he even got out of his car. So he must’ve switched spots or maybe he’s busy with his nerdy club. This was always a pretty damn long shot, but preemptive disappointment closes around Steve’s stomach anyway.

He almost turns around. It’s a good thing he didn’t.

Because he steps out into the clearing and there Munson is: holed up at that same rotting picnic table, squatting on the bench, hunched like a gargoyle as he scribbles into an old, tattered notebook, stopping every few seconds to gnaw on the end of his pen, twisting his hair around and around his finger. It’s warm enough that he’s ditched his signature vest and jacket, thrown them down on the table and pushed his sleeves up, showing off a select few of his ghoulish collection of tattoos. Steve can hear now that his watch—the same dorky kind Dustin wears—is beeping, softly, incessantly, but Munson doesn’t seem to hear it. And he doesn’t seem to realize Steve is there either, too absorbed in whatever he’s cooking up in his notebook, mouthing something to himself over and over again.

Steve clears his throat. “Hey, Munson—”

“Fucking sh—” is all the further Munson gets before he topples; he flails, arms striking out, trying to keep his balance and save himself, but gravity wins this round, and he lands, hard, on his on his back in the dirt.

Not off to a great start.

Steve steps forward, a hand ready to help him up, an apology brewing on his tongue, but Munson pops right back up, breezily brushing dead forest junk from his shirt. His eyes widen slightly when they land on Steve, a brow starts to twitch up, but he tosses on that smarmy, showman smile and slips into his usual act seamlessly.

“Ah, salutations, your majesty.” He doffs an imaginary cap and tucks his arm in against his stomach, bowing so deep the tips of his frizzy hair brush the leaf litter. It’s a damn shame, to have a killer mane like that and not even know how to take care of it; he clearly overwashes it and uses the exact wrong shampoo for whatever his hair type is; his curls are so limp he looks like a cocker spaniel after a night left out in the rain. “Long time, no see. To what do I owe such an auspicious honor? What brings you back to my humble shop on this fine afternoon?”

Alright, here goes nothing.

“I need a favor,” Steve says. Short, simple, and to the point.

That brow inches up a bit higher. “Well, unless ‘a favor’ is what the cool kids are calling an eighth these days, I regret to inform you that you’re a bit S-O-L, sire. My supply—” He raps his knuckles on top of his battered lunchbox “—ain’t what she usually is at the moment. Had a bit of a Spring Break blowout sale on Friday, everything must go, you know how it is. But…” He wedges his hands in his back pockets and sighs, as if Steve’s really busting his balls and twisting his arm here. “If you know what you want, I can try and get it for you, but I make no guarantees, and it probably won’t be ‘til next week.” His eyes pick their way up and over Steve, all the way up from his shoes, and a smirk spreads, like a fungal infection, across his lips. “Usually don’t take special orders, but I can make an exception for the king.”

He says ‘king’, but it’s pretty obvious he means something more in the realm of ‘jackass’ or ‘douchebag’. And that the offer’s not exactly coming out of the kindness of his heart. So, things aren’t boding well for Steve.

But whatever, he doesn’t need Munson to like him; he just needs Munson to teach him. And besides, he can’t really blame him for being less than enthusiastic about helping Steve out; it’s not like he would be Steve’s first choice either, if he had a better option. Or any other option, really. The guy’s weird. And loud. And abrasive. And a lot. Not to mention, they have next to nothing in common, and he means ‘next to’ as in ‘on the negative side of’.

“I’m not here for drugs,” he says.

Munson’s face darkens, something hardened in his eyes that almost makes him look as dangerous as concerned parents say he is.

“Then you’re in the wrong place.” He drops back down on the bench and picks up his pen again, pulling his notebook close. “Despite what your lovely friends like to say about me, I don’t offer those kinds of services. I’m not that desperate.”

It takes a second for Steve to realize exactly which friends and which services Munson’s referring to, but when it clicks, a bucket of gooey heat dumps over his head, searing his ears and turning his stomach. “Jesus Christ, you really think I’d—No. God no. Believe me, if that’s what I wanted, I wouldn’t be coming to you of all people. I wouldn’t need to.”

Munson props his chin in his palm, and now his eyes literally twinkle, catching a shard of the patchwork light that falls through the scraggly canopy, as he leers up at Steve. “Tell me, Harrington, have you ever asked somebody for a favor before? ‘Cause I gotta say, this is a unique approach.”

Right. Probably shouldn’t be insulting the guy who he’s throwing himself at the mercy of.

If only Munson weren’t so damn good at being so damn annoying.

“Look,” Steve says, gingerly sliding onto the bench across from Munson, praying his jeans will protect him from getting a splinter up the ass, “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Let me try again: you play guitar, right?”

“Yeah?” Munson narrows his eyes and slams his notebook shut before Steve can spot much more than a few choppy doodles. “What, does his majesty require entertainment for one of his soirees?”

“No, I want you to teach me.”

That brow disappears up behind his bangs. “How to tie your shoelaces or…?”

Steve pauses, takes a deep breath, pictures Jenna’s beautiful, smiling face. She’s worth it, he reminds himself, do it for her. “No,” he says again, nice and calm and level. “How to play guitar, asshole.”

“Why?”

“Uh, because you know how to play and I don’t?” He’s totally doing this on purpose, being deliberately contuse or whatever the word is. And Steve can’t help himself. “I would’ve thought someone who’s been in school as long as you would understand the concept of teaching by now, but I guess maybe that explains why you still haven’t graduated.”

“Get fucked,” Munson snaps, but it’s dull, all bark and no bite, more of a reflex than anything. “I meant why do you wanna play guitar, dickhead.”

“Oh.” Yeah, okay, Steve deserved that one. He’s burning bridges, and fast, but Munson hasn’t walked away yet, which means he’s still got a shot. And he’s gonna take it. “Jenna Burke.”

He can’t even say her name without cracking a smile. That’s how he knows it’s real.

Munson is decidedly less enchanted. He twirls his pen once, twice between his fingers and starts sketching a spider web around his knuckle. “Care to elaborate?”

“I’m into her. She’s into guys who play guitar.” Steve pauses, letting that information sink in. “Can you put those pieces together on your own or do I need to spell it out for you?”

Something surprisingly bitter curls up in the corner of Munson’s mouth. He laughs, but it’s not really a laugh at all. “Nah, I hear ya, loud and clear, your majesty. And the answer to your humble request,” he says, “is no.”

Steve blinks. “What? What do you mean no?”

He hates—a little bit, a lot—how much he sounds like a spoiled child, but this isn’t just not getting some stupid toy he wanted on Christmas; it’s potentially missing out on the love of his life. He needs this.

“I mean no,” Munson repeats, nice and slow, dragging out the ‘o’ and puckering it off. “N-O? Commonly known as the opposite of yes? As in ‘not fucking happening’?” He tilts his head to the side. “Huh, I would’ve thought somebody with a brain in their thick skull would be able to understand such a simple concept.”

Steve crosses his arms; definitely not helping himself on the ‘spoiled child’ front, but it’s the best way to stop himself from punching—or strangling—that smug smirk off Munson’s smug face. “Why not?”

“How many reasons you want? ‘Cause I can give you a few.” He sticks up his middle finger, adorned with a flying pig’s head. “One: learning guitar takes a shitton of practice, patience, and passion. It’s not something you just pick up one day to impress a chick. It’s serious shit. If you’re not doing it for the pure, honest love of the music, then you have no business even breathing in the same room as a guitar. And it’s my sworn duty as a defender of the faith to hold the line and keep the rabble—” He jabs his middle finger in Steve’s direction, in case it was unclear who the ‘rabble’ was in this scenario “—back from the gates.”

“Jesus, who do you think you are? Some kind of musical messiah?” Steve scoffs. He shouldn’t, he needs Munson on his side, but something about the guy just gets under his skin and itches. “How about you get off your fucking high horse for two seconds?”

“Hey, man, you came to me. If you wanted sympathy, you should’ve knocked on a different door. And I wasn’t finished, alright? Two,” he says, lifting his other middle finger, “I have no interest in helping you get your rocks off. I, frankly, don’t give a fuck about the state of your rocks. And call me uncharitable or inhumane or whatever you like, but I think your little fella will survive if he has to stay in your pants this one time. Three—” He raises his left pinky “—I don’t fucking want to. It may not have occurred to you, my liege, but I have better things to do than listen to you butcher Hot Cross Buns over and over again until you inevitably give up because you’ve never actually had to work for anything in your life.”

Again, Steve probably deserves that, but still. “Jesus, man, you don’t have to—”

“And four,” Munson says, even louder. He lifts his right pinky, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “No, actually, that pretty much covers it. So if you’re done wasting my precious time—” He pushes up from the table and sweeps his arm toward the tree line, his smile more plastic than Barbie’s “—you can kindly return to the Hell from whence you came, your majesty.”

“Munson, come on. I’m sor—”

“Buh-bye! Thanks for coming!” He turns his back, as if not being able to see Steve will make him disappear faster. “Don’t let the door kick you in the ass on the way out!”

Fuck.

Steve blew this.

He blew this so hard. In every way he possibly could’ve.

But there has to be something he can say, something he can do—

“I’ll pay you,” he blurts, before his brain can catch up and think better of it.

Munson stills. Just for a second before his I-don’t-give-a-shit act kicks back in, but it’s enough. Steve knows he’s got him on the hook. Now he just has to reel him in.

“Twenty bucks a week,” he offers, wincing even as he says it. “I just need you to teach me the basics and help me learn one song. That’s all you gotta do. And after that, we go our separate ways, and we never have to talk to each other again.”

Munson mulls that over for a second, a long second, fingers fiddling at his split ends, before he spins around. There’s something almost hungry in his eyes: the kind of hunger you see on a stray dog waiting by the dumpster behind a butcher shop. “Make it thirty.”

Two years ago, Steve wouldn’t have blinked at that number, would have forked it over happily. Now, it hurts, physically. Now, he can barely get the word past his gritted teeth, but he finds a gap and shoves it out. For Jenna.

“Done.”

He can’t, technically, afford it. Not on his skimpy paycheck. But he’s been saving up, squirreling away whatever cash he could spare so he can put this town in his rearview someday; it’ll set him back a few months, maybe a year, but he can dip into his savings a bit, maybe pick up a few shifts to cover the extra. It’ll be fine. Jenna’s worth it. More than.

“Well, shit, Harrington.” Munson shakes his head, and he doesn’t look or sound any more enthusiastic about the whole situation—he actually looks kind of seasick—but he sticks his hand out. “I guess you’ve got yourself a deal.”

#steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #this is in really rough shape but thought i'd post it anyway #my writing #(also just to clarify: eddie's 'i'm not that desperate' is meant to be disdain towards the men of hawkins not the concept of sex work)#(don't ask me about my other au idea where eddie does offer those services and steve does partake)

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