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munson-blurbs · 1 month

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Running an errand together brings out even more sides of Eddie Munson, including one that you wish you'd never seen (5.2k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter six: the eye of the tiger

Guilt fit like the shoes your mom forced you to wear as a kid, the dressy ones reserved for special occasions. It pinched at you, dug into you, a constant reminder of its unwelcome presence.

And so you did everything you could to alleviate the discomfort. On Wednesday, Dad mosied into the lobby for his shift to find the floor meticulously swept; there was not a speck of dust in sight. If he had any suspicions, he didn’t bother to show them. He was probably just grateful for the help regardless of its cause.

Mom, as usual, was more skeptical of your intentions, raising a disbelieving brow when you presented her with the bills you’d reorganized by their due dates. You’d offered up the excuse of being bored with nothing better to do. Did she buy it? Unlikely. But she also didn’t pose further questions, choreographing another step in your dance.

And when Dad hung up the phone Friday afternoon, thumb and forefinger massaging the bridge of his nose, you jumped at the chance to fix the situation.

“Everything okay?”

He looked up with a start, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to realize you’d been standing in the doorway.

“That was Uncle Mo,” he said with an elongated sigh. “The delivery truck won’t start; something’s busted, I guess, so we won’t get our wallpaper until it’s out of the shop.”

“I can go after class,” you volunteered. The shop was a twenty minute bus ride from school, no transfers required. Lugging it on the subway back home might prove more challenging, but you could manage it.

He dashed your dreams with a swift shake of his head. “They close early for the Sabbath.” Which meant they’d be closed all day tomorrow, too.

Dad glanced around at the walls, lip scraping over his bottom lip. Their barrenness unsettled him; his pride and joy left empty and exposed.

Imagine how he’ll feel once this place is boarded up for good. Bet he won’t care about some ugly walls then.

“I’ll go on Sunday.” The promise practically made itself before you could stop it. Your final paper was due on Tuesday, and you had planned to spend your weekend finishing it, but that would need to take a backseat until the wallpaper crisis was resolved.

You could be part of that solution. For now, at least.

Sunlight teased summer’s beginning and warmed your skin. The walk to the subway station required you to cross paths with the mailbox you’d fought with—and humbly lost to—a few days prior. Dejection shot through your chest as you paused in front of it, focusing on a spot of rusted metal where the paint had flaked off. Short of intercepting the United States Postal Service, there was nothing you could do. Besides, your acceptance was probably already locked inside NYU’s admissions office, sitting among a pile of identical envelopes. Most of them, you suspected, were mailed with exuberance and not with the trepidation you carried.

The station’s stuffiness engulfed you as you descended the stairs, fingertips brushing the railing to ensure your balance. Your return trip would be short of torture, sweat prickling beneath your arms at the mere thought of dragging wallpaper through the thick humidity. You might have to splurge for a cab to avoid melting completely.

Frantic, impassioned guitar strumming grabbed your attention just before you approached the turnstile, echoing off of the concrete and infiltrating all of your senses. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw that Eddie was the source of the noise. He leaned against the wall as he played an electric guitar—the same one he had clutched so dearly when sleeping at the bus stop. There was no microphone, no amplifier; just him and his instrument. The case was open in front of him, now holding a few scattered dollar bills and some loose change.

He didn’t notice you, not at first, so you took that opportunity to silently watch him. His head nodded along with the beat, his voice a low timbre as he sang.

Trust I seek and I find in you

Every day for us something new

Open mind for a different view

And nothing else matters

The chords were nearly drowned out by his vocals, and the softer strumming should have clashed with the harsh lyrics, but he made it work.

It was somehow even sadder than when Metallica played it, though not from a lack of power. Eddie’s version intertwined anger with desperation, a somber reprise of the gritty original.

Deft fingers pressed into the frets, the pick pinched between the other hand’s thumb and forefinger. He took a step forward to launch himself into the chorus with a combination of focus and ease. This is what he was meant to do, what he was born to do. Whether he was in front of a captivated audience of thousands or a smattering of indifferent commuters, he was a rockstar.

Never cared for what they say

Never cared for games they play

Never cared for what they do

Never cared for what they know

And I know, yeah, yeah

Heat blossomed in your belly at his gravelly voice, the way he pulled the notes from the depths of his diaphragm and belted them out. The E train came and went as it screeched along the tracks, but you remained as though the soles of your feet were glued to the ground.

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

No, nothing else matters

For a brief moment after finishing the song, Eddie’s chest puffed out with pride. It quickly faltered in the absence of applause, but before he could play another song, his gaze landed on you. He grinned and shook a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. Part of you wanted to fix it for him, to tuck it behind his ear or sweep it all back into a ponytail, but you refrained. Instead, you dug into your purse and tossed a dollar into the case.

“Was that the one I gave you for the cab?” Eddie asked, fingers absently brushing over the strings in a series of random chords.

“Nah, this was from the other asshole guest who made me late for class.”

Your jibe caught him off-guard and he actually laughed with such force that he had to stop playing. “And here I thought I was the only one.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as it snagged on a knot. “Are you going to the library or something?”

You lacked the energy to explain that the library was in the opposite direction, opting instead to cut to the chase. “Picking up the wallpaper.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head. “I thought it was being delivered.” As you relayed the whole broken-truck saga, he started sliding the guitar strap up off of his back and crouched down, stuffing the money from the case into his pockets. “Cool. I’ll go with.”

“Oh, I wasn’t–” You paused mid-sentence to consider your words. “I mean, you don’t have to. I can do it on my own.”

“S’fine.” Eddie laid the guitar down with the fragility that one would handle a newborn baby and snapped the case shut. “Didn’t realize this station is basically dead on Sundays. I normally just play here during the week, but I’ve been out of commission.” He held up his bandaged finger and pouted impishly.

The familiar playfulness settled back into the conversation, breaking up any lingering awkwardness, and you snatched up the opportunity to tease him. “Ah, right. Your man stuff.”

“Very manly. Burly, some might say.” He extended one hand in front of him, palm up, to gesture towards the turnstiles. “Shall we?”

You led and he followed behind so closely that his chest smacked into your back when you stopped in your tracks. The uneven weight distribution, courtesy of the guitar case lolling at his side, thrusted him forward, the metal buckle on his belt digging into your skin through your shirt.

It set off a domino effect, one that had you falling face-first to the ground. Before you could even brace for impact, you felt Eddie’s fingers digging into your hip and tugging you upright. The way he caught you was almost reflexive, his grasp controlled enough to avoid bruising your skin, but strong enough that you realized he could if he wanted to.

“What happened?” His tone was mixed with both concern and amusement; a crackle of laughter broke up his question.

An embarrassing adrenaline surge shot through you, bringing with it a chill that immediately preceded a heatwave of perspiration. “The, um…” You lamely pointed at the card swipe machines that had replaced the token receptacles. “I forgot that we need those MetroCard things.”

Eddie let go of your hip and you felt his absence almost immediately. “No, we don’t.” He left no time for questioning, hoisting the case to the other side and pushing himself up and over the bar, landing on his feet with cat-like dexterity.

You stared at him in disbelief. Sure, you’d jumped the turnstile a time or two, but that was back in high school, under the influence of friends you hadn’t talked to since.

“What’re you waiting for?” He called out. A Cheshire-cat grin graced his lips.

What were you waiting for? It’s not like the transit police were scouring the station. The poor schmuck stuck at the now-defunct token booth was exasperatedly trying to explain the new system to an older gentleman; he probably wouldn’t have noticed a wildebeest stampede. And you certainly weren’t eager to contribute to the politicians who lined their pockets with taxpayer money.

Fuck it.

In one swift motion—much more graceful than your earlier stumble—you mimicked his actions. One foot, then the other, your biceps supporting your body weight.

“You little rebel.” Eddie tutted, his smirk showing off his teeth. You never noticed the way one canine is slightly sharper than the other, and it digs into his lower lip. “This is how it starts, y’know. One day, you’re skipping out on train fare; the next, you’re committing armed robbery.”

If he kept rubbing your nerves raw, you might be more tempted to commit homicide.

Another E train arrived not long after. You were an expert at scouting empty seats, and you made a beeline for the first one you found. There was another one across the way, just vacated by a woman pushing a stroller, and you assumed Eddie would take it.

Instead, he shoved his guitar case towards you, parting your legs between the knees, and grabbed onto one of the overhead handles.

“Can you hold this?” Eddie asked belatedly. He rocked forward onto his toes as the train moved to keep his balance. A guitar pick necklace swung out from beneath the vee of his shirt and swayed above you.

You drank in the way he towered over you, so close that he was all you could see. The mingled scents of the motel’s soap and a musky deodorant wafted off of him and enveloped your senses. For a second, there was only him, and whatever the outside world had to offer was just shy of meaningless.

“There’s a seat down there.” You peered around him and gestured to the one you’d spotted earlier, careful not to point at anyone.

Eddie looked but declined with a shrug. “Nah, I’m good. I like standing.”

“See, that’s the kind of thing that separates the natives from the transplants.” You smiled up at him. “You didn’t even want to sit down after a gig? Or a long rehearsal?”

“I didn’t really ever take the subway,” he admitted. “Maybe, like, once or twice.”

You huffed out an incredulous laugh. “How did you get around?”

“Taxis, car service.” He ticked off the items on his free hand. “One time we rented a helicopter, but then the label threatened to revoke the company card.” He chuckled forlornly, like the memory was heavier than an impromptu helicopter ride.

“Sounds like you were living the life.”

Eddie shook off his wistfulness with a cheeky grin. “Hell yeah. Expensive restaurants, swanky hotels…did I ever tell you about the time we trashed our room?”

“You did not.” You’re not sure you want to know, considering he’s currently staying in one of yours.

He laughed. “Get this: we come back to the hotel after a gig. We’re all fuckin’ exhausted. As soon as we walk into the lobby, the night manager is on us like a hawk. I mean, the guy gave a stink eye like you wouldn’t believe.” He tried mimicking him, but he was too upbeat to embody the manager’s full ire. “Anyway, we’re not in the room for five minutes when there’s a knock on the door. Of course it’s that schmuck, warning us about the noise policy.”

You looked at him incredulously. “That’s why you destroyed a hotel room?”

“Mhm.” Eddie proudly nodded, not missing the way concern furrowed your brow. “Don’t worry, Heiress. I’d never trash your place.”

“I’d have to get Phyllis after you.” Laughter bubbled out of you at his visible cringe, probably thinking of being on the other end of her baseball bat. “Okay, so what’s the dumbest thing you guys bought with the company card?”

People pushed through the aisle as the train pulled up to the stop, elbows nudging Eddie until he was practically on top of you. Every hair on your body stood up at the sudden change in proximity. “Probably one of those stuffed tiger things for our apartment,” he admitted.

“You and your band bought a taxidermied tiger?” You scoffed.

His face flushed, and he scratched at his jaw like he’d been caught red-handed. “N-No, not the whole band. Just me and the drummer. We, um, she was my girlfriend, I guess.”

Puzzle pieces started falling into place and interlocking curves. His ex-girlfriend was also in the band, which was probably why they broke up once Eddie quit. “How long were you two together?” You instantly regret not asking about the tiger instead, for his sake and yours.

“Hard to say; we were pretty on-and-off.” Eddie tried to play it off casually but terse laughter gave him away. The subway lurched and Eddie swayed forward again, his knee grazing yours. “But it was about a year from start to finish.”

You let the information sink in. He had a girlfriend in Death’s Echo, but he seemed to be unattached at the moment. Made sense, considering he was living in your motel rather than with a partner.

“That’s what no one tells you about money: it runs out.” Eddie continued. “It’s like, common sense or whatever. But when you have no money and then you get a shit-ton of it, it’s hard to imagine ever going back.”

His eyes found yours like he had been searching for them, and you held his gaze until a monotone voice crackled over the speaker, announcing that the train was approaching the Forest Hills-71st Avenue station.

“We have to transfer here.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose, clearly not thrilled by this extra step, but he followed your lead without any audible protest.

“Y’know,” he said as the doors opened, the two of you joining the swarm of people pushing their way out, “my neighborhood back home was also called Forest Hills.”

“Seems fancy,” you quipped.

He laughed, head thrown back. “Oh, yeah. It’s the most glamorous trailer park in all of Indiana.”

The faux pas curdled in your stomach. What were you thinking? He had just confessed that he was broke before Death’s Echo.

“Sorry, that was stupid.”

He shrugged off your comment, seemingly unbothered. “How many stops is this next one?”

“Just two.”

He hummed his acknowledgment, and with the R train less crowded than the E, you found seats adjacent to one another.

You did your best to ignore the way his right leg brushed your left, the worn denim against your bare skin as the train jostled him. He murmured a barely-audible “sorry.”

There was no reason for him to apologize, and you almost told him this, but you substituted a tight smile for words. Truthfully, you were glad he confirmed that the touch was accidental. You’d nearly nudged him back, a secret handshake of sorts, and your body burned with the mere prospect of embarrassment.

The train screeched to a stop in front of a sign that barely read 63rd Drive-Rego Park, most of the letters covered in colorful graffiti tags.

“This is us,” you said, handing him back his guitar so you could stand up.

Eddie stepped aside with a small bow, equal parts awkward and endearing. “So, uh, where are we going, exactly?” He stayed close enough so you could hear him over the cacophony of commuters.

“S’just a few blocks.” You maintained your fast-paced stride so as to not get bowled over.

He kept up with you surprisingly well for someone unused to navigating the city’s public transit. The fresh air welcomed you as you ascended the stairs, leaving behind the station’s mugginess. Conversations and traffic replaced metallic clunking while you weaved in and out of a sea of pedestrians, checking every so often to ensure you hadn’t left Eddie behind.

Bold white letters on a maroon awning proudly proclaimed Eisen’s Paint and Supply, and the faint sound of bell chimed when you opened the door. A middle-aged man stood behind the counter, eyes lighting up when you walked in.

“Uncle Mo!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. Uncle Mo wasn’t your father’s brother, but their bond went beyond blood relation. He was part of nearly all of Dad’s stories since they’d met in high school: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

There was more gray in his hair and in his beard than the last time you’d seen him, the lines from his lips to his jaw more pronounced, but he still wore the same cologne that you’d remembered. The familiar scent was like home, a reminder of all of the Thanksgivings your families had spent together before the motel engulfed your life.

He beamed, his hands bracing your upper arms as he got a better look at you. “Look at you; so grown up!” His eyes misted over for a second before he blinked the moisture away. “How long has it been?”

“Too long.” You turned back to Eddie, waving him over and introducing him. Uncle Mo politely extended a hand that Eddie shook quickly before shoving his fingers back in his pocket.

“Before I get your paper,” Uncle Mo said to you with a mischievous smile, “I have a bit of a surprise.” The stockroom door swung open on cue and a young man stepped out from behind it.

Your hand flew to your mouth in shock, every bone in your body vibrating. “Ben?” The name was muffled but still audible, and Ben opened his arms just in time for you to tackle him in an embrace.

His gangly teenage limbs had been replaced with hard muscle, his chest straining through his t-shirt. There was no trace of the wispy excuse for a mustache he’d once proudly sported; his face was freshly shaven, only the slightest evidence of his stubble scratched against your cheek when he pulled you to him.

“I couldn’t believe it when my dad told me you were stopping by,” Ben said, finally letting go after a few moments. He looked at Eddie as if noticing him for the first time. “Ben. Nice to meet you.”

Eddie said nothing in response, his jaw set and his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever friendliness he’d shown Uncle Mo was clearly not being granted to his son.

“Ben, this is Eddie,” you hurried to explain before the tension became unbearably dense. “He works for the motel, doing different repairs and odd jobs. Whatever we need, really.”

Your old friend nodded and brought his attention back to you. “Do you guys need help bringing the wallpaper back? I don’t have anything to–”

“We’ve got it.” Eddie cut him off curtly, clipping the conversation’s wings. His eyes narrowed in judgmental assessment and their milk chocolate hue turned dark.

Ben had evidently stepped on his toes; you thought back to the wasp’s nest and his adamance to clobber it with a baseball bat despite your insistence to wait until you bought the spray. You shot Eddie a look that he either disregarded or didn’t notice, because his clenched jaw never loosened.

“Right, yeah.” A blush crept into Ben’s cheeks, the other man’s brusqueness catching him off-guard. “But we should catch up soon,” he said to you, “maybe grab a cup of coffee?”

It was an effort to ignore the way Eddie tensed up; even more so to pretend like his reaction hadn’t stirred something inside of you. Everything between you and him, and you and Ben, was strictly platonic. Whatever melodrama he’d conjured up was his problem, not yours.

Your relationship with Eddie teetered between acquaintances and friends; he was in no position to get bent out of shape over you going for coffee with Ben or any other man.

You pushed the intrusive thought away long enough to answer Ben’s question. “Yeah, of course! You’re home for the whole summer?”

“Actually…” Ben’s grin widened, harboring a secret he was eager to spill. “I’m back for good. You’re looking at Dr. Benjamin Eisen, D.D.S.”

“That’s amazing!”

He nodded happily, enthusiasm unrestrained. “Thanks. I’m hoping to open up a practice nearby, so I’ll be sticking around for a while.”

That was the best news you’d heard in a while. The pair of you were once inseparable, always devising plans to convince your parents to extend their visits. When you were six, you’d almost started a fire trying to put on a pot of coffee, hoping that it would coax the Eisens into staying longer.

Too bad you’d forgotten to add the water.

Uncle Mo returned from the stock room with rolls of wallpaper, and his son shuffled towards him to take one from his grasp.

“Are you sure I can’t help out?” Ben tried again. He only looked at you when he spoke.

You almost took him up on his offer, the reply sitting on the tip of your tongue, but Eddie answered for you.

“We’re good,” he said flatly, taking the rolls from the other men. “I used to lug around amps all the time. This is nothing.”

He’d uttered the same phrase before taking a bat to a wasp’s nest, and he’d ended up hurt. Still, inviting Ben along would almost certainly guarantee an awkward commute home. At best, you’d force stilted small talk; at worst, Eddie might shove Ben onto the tracks.

“Thanks anyway,” you said politely, trying to temper your irritation.

Ben gave a tight smile, brows shooting up when remembered something. “Let me give you my new phone number so we can set up a time to meet up.” He plucked a business card from the little plastic container on the desk, flipping it over and scrawling his number on the back.

“Sounds great.” It truly did, save for Eddie’s glare that made you grateful looks couldn’t actually kill.

Tucking the card into your purse, you held him in one last hug before bidding them goodbye.

Eddie said nothing the entire walk back to the subway station. He strode there despite heaving around a guitar case and cylinders of wallpaper. You suspected he could have flown there if he wasn’t so bogged down. The closest he came to acknowledging your presence was the scoff he let out when you veered off-course to buy a MetroCard.

You ignored him, still fuming over his behavior towards Ben. With trembling fingers, you dropped your change into the coin slot, acutely aware of his presence as he stood beside you. He was close enough that you could hear his tense sigh, as though his frustration was justified.

Yanking the card out from behind the swinging Plexiglass, you silently stalked over to the turnstile, Eddie begrudgingly hot on your heels. The tiny diagram showed the magnetic strip facing downwards and you did your best to emulate it. After two failed swipes, the machine relented and gave an approving beep.

“Go,” you told Eddie, and when he stared at you blankly, you repeated yourself with considerably less patience. “Go.”

“Okay, okay.” There was no hiding his surprise at your insistence, the sharpness of your tongue. He obviously wasn't accustomed to taking the attitude he dished out. His eyebrows crashed into his hairline as he maneuvered through, wallpaper bumping up against the metal gates.

There wasn’t enough money left on the card for you, so after a brief glance at your surroundings, you once again lift yourself up and over to the other side. The metal barrier seemed laughably obsolete beneath you.

Eddie blinked twice in rapid succession but composed himself before you reached him again. A peculiar expression graced his face; not so much amusement as much as admiration. If you weren’t so annoyed with him, with his antics back at Eisen’s, you might have cracked a joke about his bad influence rubbing off on you.

The first leg of the trip—the shortest part, as it were, went smoothly. It was once the E train departed from Forest Hills that it almost immediately halted, the exasperated conductor announcing that extensive track work was causing delays.

“Fucking great,” you muttered. Experience told you that the remainder of the ride would be stop-and-go, which meant more time spent with Eddie.

He’d exhaled an exasperated sigh of his own, eyes flickering over the subway car and foot tapping to a beat only he could hear. When he finally spoke, it was the last thing you’d expected him to say.

“Wanna play I Spy?”

“Um, what?”

“Y’know, I spy with my little eye…” he explained, as though you were confused about the game concept.

It took every last ounce of energy not to burst out laughing at his odd request, though it helped that annoyance still tarnished your mood. “All right. Sure.”

“Cool.” He glanced around again, rubbing his palms over his thighs in concentration. “Okay, I spy with my little eye, something purple.”

Squinting, you searched for shades of lilac and violet. “That woman’s shirt?” You jutted your chin towards an older woman sitting across the car.

“Nope.”

“That little girl’s shoes?”

Eddie just shook his head, his dimples gradually deepening with each wrong answer you gave.

Your next three guesses were also incorrect, and Eddie triumphantly pumped his fist when you admitted defeat.

“It’s the words on that sign,” he said, pointing to an advertisement for psychic readings.

It was your turn, and it didn’t take you long to find your target.

“I spy with my little eye, something…douchey.” Your gaze never left his face, watching the skin crease between his brows as he connected your implication.

Eddie threw his head back and cackled, drawing the ire of your fellow commuters. You shushed him with a hiss, his apathy only fueling your anger.

“Fine, I guess I deserved that.” He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms upwards. For a second, you thought he might drape one over your shoulders, but he brought them right back to his lap.

“You guess?” You gawped, and he laughed even louder. “You were a total asshole to Ben for no reason.”

Eddie’s voice got feather-soft; you had to lean in to hear him. “Trust me; I had a reason.”

You snorted. “What, him offering to help carry the wallpaper threatened your ‘man stuff?’”

“Something like that.”

Crossing your arms, you shot him a bemused grimace. Whatever testosterone-laden excuse he concocted would just strengthen your irritation, so you saved yourself the headache and plundered on.

“Ben and I have been friends since I was born.” That wasn’t an exaggeration; a photo of one-year-old Ben holding newborn you was tucked away in one of Mom’s albums. Dad had snapped the photo while Uncle Mo sat next to his son, helping cradle your head. You were only a few hours old. “Whatever your problem is, don’t make it mine. Or his,” you add.

Eddie had no response to that, and you preferred it that way. Maybe he was learning not to argue with you, especially when he was so obviously wrong.

Your response halted all conversation for the rest of the extended ride and continued during the short trek back to the motel. The quiet was necessary, but not peaceful, and you refused to buckle when an invisible pull urged you to talk again, to push past the discomfort. If you couldn’t outright tell him that he’d upset you, the least he could do was feel that anger.

“Where do these go?” Eddie asked once the motel’s doors closed behind you. You pointed to the supply closet and he ambled over, wincing as the hinges squeaked in a plea for lubrication. “All right, so, I can get started on this tonight if you want.”

You considered this for a moment before shaking your head. The lobby could survive another night with bare walls, but you needed a break. A break not just from Eddie, but from his naivety to his actions having consequences.

“Tomorrow’s fine.”

He stilled, his hands halfway in his pockets. “I mean, I was going to stop by anyway; I might as well—”

“I think I just need some quiet tonight.” It was the nicest response you could muster, though the way the words passed through your clenched teeth gave away your annoyance.

“Oh.” His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled a breath of air, his eyes refusing to meet yours. Confusion tied his tongue, but if he didn’t realize the mistake he’d made, you were in no mood to spell it out. He waited a beat for you to follow up, to iron out the creases with an explanation that had nothing to do with his earlier behavior, but that never happened.

The lack of reassurance pained you, too. You despised leaving matters unfinished; part of you wanted to apologize—for what, you weren’t sure—just to have some resolution.

Eddie raked his fingers through his curls. “Well, I’m sorry for pissing you off, or whatever.”

Or whatever. Those two words almost had you smacking him upside the head with the wallpaper tubes. Maybe sealing his lips with the glue, too.

The worst part was the shock on his face when you’d wordlessly stormed out of the supply closet towards your room. Like he had no idea what he’d done wrong or why his non-apology fell flat.

No, that was a lie. The worst part was actually the pang of disappointment in your chest when there were no footsteps pounding down the hall, no knock on your door, no attempt to talk through the situation. As much as you wanted to be left alone, you’d clutched to an optimistic sliver that he would follow you. It was a pathetic need for proof that he cared about you as more than just his employer. As his friend.

But there was nothing.

That silence hurt most of all.

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fbfh · 4 months

Note

can you please do more percy jackson hc ?? also i absolutely love your writing

aw shucks babes <33333 OFC I can do more percy hcs

been losing my godsdam shit over the show (cici can attest to this) so now all I can think about is growing up with percy, being best friends to eventual lovers with him.

you go to some strict boarding school for troubled kids that's not too far from percy and sally's apartment. you first met percy when yall were in elementary school, you snuck off campus and had absolutley no idea how to navigate the city. luckily for you percy happened to be ditching school at the same time. percy, a scrappy born and raised new yorker sees you, obviously a fish out of water, and can't help but approach to make sure you're okay.

"you lost or somethin?"

you look at the boy who looks to be about your age, but is clearly much more comfortable in the bustling looming city.

"is it obvious?"

he takes you under his wing. he shows you how to read subway maps and how the streets are based on a grid, so once you know that it's pretty hard to get lost. you run around the city all day feeling like Eloise and Leon (45:42), he takes you to his favorite bodega and you buy a bunch of blue candy and fountain cokes with your pocket money. you run around the parks and chase the birds, he shows you how to sneak under the turnstiles when no one's listening and how to ride the subway. you end up making your way to the upper east side where sally's apartment is, and percy greets his mom as she comes back from work to introduce her to his new best friend. you smile when he says it, and you realize it's true. in a matter of hours you've become best friends, like kids do. percy sees your smile and knows you feel the same way. sally sees this little exchange and can't even be mad at percy for skipping school, she's just so relieved he has a friend. a real, genuine friend that seems to be a lot more like him that she could have hoped. she knows she should probably repremand you both for skipping school, for running around the city alone, but she can't. she greets you with a warm smile and invites you to stay for dinner. it's not hard to find who to call for you based on the school uniform you're still wearing, and somehow with her mom magic, sally convinces them that you got lost instead of deliberately going awol. you and percy part so so reluctantly, with both of you begging sally for another playdate next weekend, which would turn out to be the first of many.

#drabbles #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson drabbles #best friend!percy #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus drabbles #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo tv show

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amtrak-official · 8 months

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Fun fact, the Seattle link doesn't have turnstiles, you just have to go out of your way to find where you pay with your card, so if you are ever in a situation where you are in Seattle but can't buy a ticket, that could be useful to know, just as a fun fact

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runningfrom2am · 4 months

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cold nights // part eight

summary: may the odds be ever in your favour.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: let the games begin!! i'm so excited (and also,, so scared)

series masterlist // playlist

The light streams through Coriolanus's window in the morning, waking him with the sun. He only has a moment of peace, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before the dread sets in; settling under his skin like a sliver.

He hurries to get dressed, letting Tigris help him with his blazer due to his shoulder injury making it necessarily difficult before he kisses his grandma'am goodbye, and they wish him (and you) good luck. They would be watching, of course, and that only served to build his anxiety as he hurried to the school.

You hardly slept for a moment the whole night. When you finally did, the sun was beginning to rise and you were woken up not long after by peacekeepers urging you back into the truck. No one had anything to say on the drive. You all knew what was coming, and the tension in the air was palpable. You felt safer with the scarf wrapped firmly around yourself and the compact in your pocket, which you run your thumb over repeatedly to try and memorize the ornate carvings on the outside. It was Coryo's, and he was with you. You couldn't forget.

As the truck slows to a stop, you take a deep breath. "The third day comes a frost, a killing frost." You mutter to yourself, turning the heads of the tributes next to you as you force yourself to your feet. "The elements be kind to thee, and make thy spirits all of comfort: fair thee well."

Your slightly louder statement is met with hateful glares by a few, ignored by others. "I can't wait to hear your last words. Freak." Coral spits at you, shoving past you as the doors of the now stopped truck are opened. You swallow thickly, catching the eyes of the little one, Wovey. You give her a smile, allowing her to walk out ahead of you. She's scared, and you can tell as you place your hands on her shoulders, soothingly rubbing them while you walk out and see the arena again.

As you're led inside, separated from Jessup, and you quickly understand what Coryo meant. Everything was different. The debris had been cleared but stacked in the center of the floor, and as you got closer, you began to see weapons littered all over the pile of rubble. The thought of what you were about to see made you sick, more so as you pushed through the familiar turnstile.

"Enjoy the show!"

Coryo is already watching as you walk out. He has been watching for you since the moment the screen shifted from the Games logo to a camera view of the entrance. And there you were. He swallowed, seeing the worsening bags under your eyes and the cut on your arm with healing black stitches. You have that much younger girl under your arms, walking her in front of you as you hold her close. You whisper something in her ear that the microphones don't pick up, which makes her smile, even just a little before you're quickly forced apart by peacekeepers.

"Stand on your marks or you will be shot!" A peacekeepers voice calls out as you feel the weapon jabbed into your back, making you wince. You find your place, looking around frantically now to try and spot the hole in the ground Coryo told you about, or maybe you should try and get up in the stands. But if you get in the tunnel quickly, even if you're being chased that will buy you a few moments where you wouldn't be seen. Maybe you could hide and not be found.

What about Jessup? Or Wovey? Your mind wanders, despite you trying to adhere to Coryo's advice. You decide that wherever you run when the bell goes off, if you saw either of them on the way you would pull them with you. If not, you would just have to keep going. You had no desire in getting close to the mess that was about to happen in the centre as soon as people got their hands on those weapons.

You thought you knew you would die in these games, but as your adrenaline starts to spike, you knew you would at least try to stay alive. Your body wouldn't let you wait for your fate to come. Originally, that had been your plan. When your name was called at the reaping, even though you had planned to run by what you wore, you intended on dropping to your knees at the sound of the buzzer and awaiting whatever fate would take you. What had changed?

Coriolanus. That's what had changed. You just regretted that you wouldn't live to know if he won his prize, and see never see him again. You had to see him again.

That's when your eyes landed on Marcus, hanging by his wrists from a beam across the room from you. "Oh..." You sigh sadly, shaking your head as you look at his state. He had tried to save you along with himself, but he hadn't succeeded and that just breaks your heart. You hear crying as tears of fear well up in your own eyes but you force them down as you hear Lucretius's voice over the loudspeakers counting down.

Only ten seconds, and you had to decide. The vent behind you was looking awfully tempting, but you weren't sure what Coryo wanted. It sounded like he preferred the tunnels, and you had to listen to him. But then, seeing the hole in the floor, you would have to make it past all the chaos and the weapons and the other tributes.

"Three... two... one..."

Then it was the buzzer, and as your heart pounded in your chest and seemingly everyone else sprinted for the middle, you were frozen. You had to move fast.

"Run." Coryo mumbles to himself, silently begging you to remember what he told you.

But you stayed still. "What are you doing, run." He says again under his breath, and it's almost like you can hear him when you start running out of nowhere.

You're already surrounded by screams and grunts as you make your way to the wall behind you, flashes of orange hardly visible under the arm holes of your dress. The vent. Apparently, you decided on the vent. As you begin to climb the debris leading up to the stands you look back to make sure you're not being followed, but among the fighting and the lifeless bodies you see Jessup. He's stumbling, then crawling, and you curse yourself for what you're about to do, but your conscience has given you no choice.

"Don't. Don't go back for him." Coryo hisses, unable to look away.

You can practically hear Coryo telling you not to in your mind, but you're already sliding back down the broken cement and looking for your safest path to the boy from your District.

His mental state had declined rapidly in the last few days, you were sure it was from infection. When you walked into the arena, he didn't even know where he was. In a sad way, that was good. At least he didn't know what was coming for him.

"Jessup!" You call out, making your run for it along the wall, sliding to a stop when something metal clangs against the cement just in front of you that someone had thrown. You don't have time to see who the source was before you keep running, determined to at least get Jessup somewhere hidden.

Coryo is on the edge of his seat as he watches the close call, unable to relax even when their next couple of attempts miss as well. You were far from safe- you were making a mistake and all he could do was watch it happen. You couldn't run alongside the wall forever, so as you departed from it in a beeline for your friend, he holds his breath.

"Jessup!" You call again, trying to attract his attention but it doesn't work. You quickly duck when you hear a scream just to your right, seeing someone's form winding up to swing at you.

You yelp and stumble back as their weapon just catches the top of your hair, pulling it slightly as your dodge just out of their reach. The dirty ground was near impossible to run on, forcing them to slide past you over the dust under their feet. You keep moving even as another flying weapon in your shared direction distracts them.

You have to keep going. You reach Jessup as quickly as you can, trying to lift him up to his feet with a grip under his arms. "Jessup, come on, we have to go. We have to run, get up!" He stumbles to his feet and with an arm over your shoulder, you're running for the tunnels. You're being chased, you can hear it- Coral and her alliance that you had tried to join at Coryo's request but never got the chance, not that they would have approved anyway. You jump feet first into the opening in the ground, not worried about what's at the bottom as you roll down the debris that previously made up the floor above.

"Come on, come on!" You urge your friend again, once again helping him up and dragging him down the hall. There had to be a place to hide here somewhere; Coryo said there would be.

"They've gone underground very quickly, but we're prepared for this." Lucky says, but Coryo isn't paying any attention to anything other than you.

"Go, go, go..." He mutters, nodding as he watches the cameras switch to keep up with you.

Just as you finally find a door, you see others running toward you from down the hall. You pull helplessly at it, hoping it will open. It doesn't. With nowhere to go you look back, knowing you can't go that way either. "Open! Please!" You cry out, shaking the handle of the heavy metal door and kicking it in frustration.

Except, you miss. Your foot seemingly goes through the door, smacking your shin against it and you hiss. There's a hole in the door, just big enough for you to fit through. "Jessup, we've gotta go through. Come on! Hurry!" You urge him, already halfway through yourself.

Thankfully, he's right behind you. You quickly turn to help pull him through when his ankle gets grabbed.

You scream in a moment of panic, desperately pulling on his arms to try and help him up. Hy is who you quickly identify as the tribute holding him back, but luckily they aren't holding any kind of weapon. "Stop! Stop!" You cry out, pulling on your friend as you look around the room for somewhere else to run.

Their grip only loosens when they scream, lifelessly dropping their grip from the boy as he gets up and their body is dragged back through the hole in the door. You don't have time to process how gruesome that was, quickly hiding behind a wall across the room.

"Hey, Lumberjack." You hear Coral whispering from the other side. "Get in there and get her out."

"I'm not sticking my head in there." Treech replies, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. "She could be waiting with a brick."

"That softy? She's not gonna hurt you! Let's just get them out of the way!"

"Then you do it."

A moment of silence follows before she replies. "Whatever. They have to come out eventually."

Coryo swallows as he watches them walk away. For now, you were safe.

"Okay, Jessup, take a seat..." You whisper to him after a good few moments, sure the other tributes had left by now. He nods, and you help him down, leaning back against the cold wall as you crouch in front of him. "I have to go, okay?"

He looks confused. "Where are you going? The mines..."

"We're not in the mines, Hun..." You remind him, gently pulling his coat tighter around him in some effort to keep him warm. "I just have to go, but you'll be safe down here. You just have to wait it out."

He nods, but he clearly doesn't understand. "Wait... wait for what?"

"A little madness in the spring is wholesome even for the king..." You hum, smiling sadly at him. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

Jessup just nods as you stand, heading back for the door. You have to make it to those vents. Coryo would want you alone, and with Jessup safe enough down here, you had to move on. You look back at him, only briefly, trying to remember the last time you would ever see the boy from your home when your eyes catch on a hatch in the ceiling. The vents.

You walk back over, looking up and squinting to see how you could get in. There's a steady-looking pipe that runs underneath it, but you can't quite reach it.

You're reaching into your top without looking away, pulling out the tucked-in knot of the scarf and untying it. Coryo's handiwork.

"Has she... Has she been wearing that this whole time? Is that allowed?" Lucky asks, looking around but no one has any answers. Except Coriolanus, who would not be responding anyway. You pull it out from under your dress as he watches the screen, smiling to himself as you throw the fabric up over the pipe and use it to hoist yourself up and disappear into the vent. He couldn't see you anymore, but he hoped no one else would find you in there either.

It would be hours before he saw you again. Everyone's attention is drawn at first by Lamina climbing out from inside the debris, heading toward Marcus as he hung from the fallen beam. Then, to Coryo's surprise, the camera flits over to you as the vent is pushed open and you poke your head out. How you had made it up into the stands was beyond him, but the vents must have led you there.

You wince at the loud creaking sound it makes, making Lamina turn quickly toward you. You hold your hands out defensively as you step out, nodding at her in a silent promise before you climb down the wall. "I won't hurt you." You verbally reassure her as you slowly get closer, hands still held out in front of you to prove to her that you don't have any weapons. She did, but you weren't scared.

The scarf is tied around your waist, the long fabric draping down and brushing the side of your bare leg with every step. You were covered in dust and dirt, Coryo notices, as you stop next to her. "Are you going to help him down?" You ask her, and she just nods, both of you looking up at him.

"Let me help." You offer, making your way over to the side of the beam where you think you could climb up. "Marcus, Honey, we're going to help you down, okay? Just try and relax. It'll just be another minute." You call out, but you're met with no response. Your brow furrows, unsure if he's even alive as you climb the rest of the way up.

"Marcus?" You ask, crawling across the beam and leaning over him as you hear Lamina climbing up behind you. You reach down to check his pulse, and you're met with one that's very faint. "Marcus, you'll be okay. We're gonna help." You tell him again and he opens his eyes, turning his head just slightly to look up at you.

"Please..." He mutters, voice raspy and pained.

"I know, I know... Just give us a minute."

"No... Don't..." He coughs out, shaking his head with tears in his eyes. "Please..."

And then you know what he means. You look back at Lamina as she sits behind you, shaking your head as tears well up in your eyes. You can't kill him, you just can't- but if that is his wish...

She looks between the two of you, giving you a slight nod. You can't even look at the axe you know is still in her hand.

You move over to his other side, reaching out to hold his hand in your shaking one.

Coryo wants to look away from the screen but he can't. His eyes are glued to you as tears fall, and you lean down to speak to the dying boy. "Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality." You tell him quietly, a sad smile on your face. "Know that you are loved. And know that I am sorry."

He chokes out a sob as Lamina moves his shirt away from his neck, looking to you as she lifts her axe. You squeeze his hand and nod at her. "You are loved. I love you. I am sorry. I love you." You remind him over and over, wanting the last thing he hears to be a reminder of the truth, but by the end, by the time Lamina brings her axe down against his skin, you're just praying he could hear your words through your cries.

As Coryo watches your donations tick up even further, you and the girl you are meant to kill are crying into each other's arms, Marcus's body limp on the ground beneath you.

#tbosas #tbosas fic #tbosas x reader #hunger games #thg series #thg fanfiction #thg #the hunger games #thg movies #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x you #coryo x reader #coryo snow #snow x reader #snow lands on top

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octuscle · 5 months

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My boss has been giving me shit ever since I got this job. If I could just put him in his place for one day…

Your boss's day is off to a great start. Power cut. And the Tesla is not charged. The only way to get to the office is by bus and suburban train. He hates public transport. But what should he do? At the bus stop, he pulls out his cell phone to buy his ticket. All around him are schoolchildren and wetbacks on their way to work. Damn, did he pocket the cell phone of his cleaning lady from Colombia? All in Spanish. And the phone far from his own brand new show-off model. And already has a few scratches too... Maldita sea! Why can't he buy a ticket now? Tarjeta bloqueada. That's all he needs. His not-so-clean trousers hang low on his narrow hips. The waistband of his fake Calvin Klein briefs is clearly visible. When the bus arrives, he rummages in his deep trouser pockets for a few dollars. Just enough to buy a ticket.

When your boss changes trains, he realizes that his briefcase is gone. Where the hell did the hip bag come from instead? He looks inside. Tobacco, cigarette papers, a few crumpled dollar bills, some weed. And condoms. Lots and lots of condoms. His gaze falls on his reflection in the window pane. Mierda, soy un espalda mojada. ¡Un sucio y apestoso espalda mojada! Instead of his spotless white shirt, he wears a dirty wifebeater. And the jacket has become a sleeveless open plaid shirt. Not entirely clean either. His feet are in dirty biker boots. A couple of silver chains around his neck. Shit, something's not going well. When he arrives at the station, he walks towards the toilets. He needs a mirror. Sporty and dynamic, he jumps over the turnstile at the entrance. He has no more money to use the toilets. There are the mirrors. And that's no longer your boss. Okay, the other hustlers at the station all call Juan "jefe" because he has the biggest cock. But apart from that, he's nothing but a well-trained wetback hustler.

One of the other hustlers comes up to jefe and asks for a fag. Juan panics. Should he be nice to the scum? Juan will probably need help. On the other hand, the mere presence of this gay trash makes him nauseous. At least he speaks English. Juan decides to be friendly. And he tries to reply that they can share a fag. He replies in broken English with a heavy Spanish accent. The other hustler thanks him with a fist bump. He doesn't seem surprised by the language. Juan builds a cigarette, takes a first drag and passes the fag on. While they smoke in a corner of the train toilet, a punter wanders around them. Juan doesn't think much about it. He needs money. And it can't get much worse than this. His eyes and those of the punter meet. The rest happens without a word. A few minutes later, Juan kneels on the piss-strewn floor of the toilet and swallows the cum of a strange man. And he's a pro, he gets a hard-on even though the punter is rather disgusting.

It gets quieter from 10:00 onwards. The rush hour is over. There's nothing to do at the station until 16:00. Juan counts his takings. 120 dollars. Not bad. He joins the other hustlers at the kiosk in front of the station, smokes a cigarette and drinks a beer. He needs to get rid of that damn taste of cum from old fat white men. Then Juan has to go to the wholesale market and clean the market halls. He's definitely no longer the boss here. The job is also badly paid, but he has to prove he has a regular job so as not to lose his residence permit. And there are showers for the employees. If he goes back to the station sweaty and dirty, he can forget about good sales.

Juan is just getting out of the shower when a regular customer contacts him via Facetime. He asks how his favorite slut is doing. Juan poses a little in front of the cell phone camera. He doesn't understand English very well, but he knows that his customer gets horny when he shows off his hairy armpits. And the customer pays well. Most of the time, Juan even gets a bit to eat. And if he's lucky, he can even spend the night with the client and doesn't have to go to the dirty dormitory where Juan has currently rented a bed. But if he's not lucky, at least he knows where his place is.

Pic of your jefe found @marechais

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #inked man #hairy pits #age reduction #race change #white to blue collar tf

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waltwhitmansbeard · 3 months

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time for part 3 babey

what cars would the bells hells drive?

orym: orym does a ton of research into vehicles before buying one, bc he wants the top safety features but also enough room for his friends but also not something so big that he becomes a hazard on the road but also everyone's phone needs to pair so they all can take turns being the dj but also he'd like a hybrid so it's good for the environment. he ends up with a sensible suv (green, ofc) that he takes very good care of, except for the glovebox, which belongs to fearne and quite frankly it's none of his business what's in there.*

fcg: i'm so sorry but they are a tesla bro, just an absolute elon musk fanrobot. he's convinced ai is going to save the world and if a few errant children need to be run over to get us there, well, then, where were their parents?

imogen: yes, imogen has a massive, heavy-duty pick-up that she uses to haul her horse trailer, but her everyday car is an old, slightly rusted chevy, one from the 50s with the wooden bars along the sides of the bed. it's red and the fender has seen better days but imogen does enough work on it to keep it running.

laudna: laudna has the bike that margaret hamilton uses at the beginning of the wizard of oz. let me be clear. she doesn't have a bike like the one margaret hamilton uses. she has the bike. no one knows how she got it, or how much it cost, and she can barely pedal it bc she has no leg muscles to speak of, but the children whisper whenever she passes on the absolutely ancient thing.

chet: an olllllllllllllllllllld chrysler town & country, one with wood paneling, of course, real wood, not that vinyl shit. he keeps it in excellent condition by not actually driving it anywhere but instead bumming rides from his friends. one time dorian looked at it and chetney threatened to gouge his eyes out.

fearne: fearne doesn't drive. fearne is driven.**

ashton: ashton doesn't drive. ashton despises cars and car culture. this is a public transport bitch. they know every single bus driver, their names, their routes, how long they've been driving. he knows the turnstiles you can jump and the ones that are monitored. they'll tell you the stories of all the graffiti in the subway system, and only half of them are made up, but you'll never figure out which half.

dorian: he tries to pretend he doesn't have far and away the nicest car of all the hells, but there's only so much you can do to hide a bright blue camaro. he likes to go fast and make a lot of noise, which is helpful, bc he is literally never on time. he pays the price whenever he shows up twenty minutes late with an obnoxious starbucks order in his hand by being absolutely razzed by the rest of his friends.

(vox machina) (mighty nein) *the glovebox is fearne's bc shotgun is always fearne's. even if fearne isn't in the car. the seat next to orym belongs to fearne at all times in all situations. no one else may sit there under penalty of fearne's big, sad eyes and incredible tits. **but fr can you imagine fearne behind the wheel of a car?? i'm an excellent driver!! she insists as she knocks over her third mailbox of the day. just an absolute menace. could NEVER get insurance. orym let her drive ONCE and immediately went to update his will.

#me #critical role #bells hells #cr cars

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sgtmickeyslaughter · 3 months

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68 + 96?

68 Husbands In Love + 96 “Take That” Kiss/“Shut Up” Kiss

Hello!! Thank you for sending, I know the prompt was husbands in love, but I've been writing husbands non stop and was feeling nostalgic for boys in love (and denial) and thought i'd have a little fix it fun

as always my fics exist in my own cinematic universe where the cta is not a centrally organized transit system and is actually the most convenient form of public transit to use

“Did you just kiss me to shut me up?” Ian asked suddenly.

“Jesus Gallagher, keep asking pussy fucking questions like that and you’re going to get us kicked out for being underage,” Mickey huffed lightly, picking at his beer bottle.

Ian flushed with anger and indignation. Mickey was the one being a fucking pussy, he kissed Ian before robbing Ned’s house, he ran back to the van and kissed Ian like he fucking meant it and for a few minutes while they robbed Ned’s sleeping wife blind, Ian’s mind spun out of control with the possibilities that kiss opened up.

He’d ridden that high the whole drive back to the Milkovich house, running home like he promised to help dig up the body in his backyard. He even avoided a near disaster with the CPS workers waiting innocuously on the sidewalk, turning the misnamed Gallagher charm up to ten and convincing them to come back later in the week.

“It’s just that the county is doing rolling water shutoffs this week-and I know it will be a demerit if we don’t have water. But it’s unfair to put us at risk for something entirely under the county’s jurisdiction.” Ian reasoned easily, trying to make sure they don’t walk onto the property as soon as someone unearthed Aunt Gingers rotted corpse.

They agreed to come back after Friday, because Ian could be incredibly persuasive when he needed to be. And thank god for it because the scene he walked into was a fucking horror show, and that was before Fiona walked in with a femur in her hand.

They’d all hustled to make the house presentable and keep it that way, and his whole family left to find Frank, so he would actually show his ugly fuckin’ face when they called to talk with the social worker, so Ian was the only one home when he heard a knock at the door.

The last person he expected to see was Mickey Milkovich waiting wide-eyed on his porch. He was wearing jeans and a clean teeshirt with he sleeves in tact. They stared at each other for a moment before Ian finally opened his mouth to ask if Mickey wanted to come in.

Mickey just scowled and nodded his head towards the street to say come on, Gallagher. Like it was obvious and Ian was the one being difficult, but Ian was just shocked to see Mickey on his porch. Not trying to blend in with the shadows on the street, but standing under the flickering porch light, so he just followed the shorter boy.

Mickey led him up the stairs to the L, then over the turnstiles and onto the train, they leaned on the pair of train doors and got two stops before Ian worked up the nerve to ask where they were going.

His question was met with a non-committal shrug, “already pawned a couple of the overpriced trinkets we stole from naughty grandpa, figured I could buy you a beer for bringing us into the deal.”

From the way Mickey was looking up at him through focused eyes, rocking from the wobbling train car, his answer was a long winded way to say I’m taking you out to a bar, please be cool about it for once in your fucking life, Gallagher.

Ian grinned, ducking his head and trying to play it as cool as he possibly could. They got to the bar okay, it was divey little place on the Westside that Ian couldn’t believe Mickey would ever set foot in. Sure, it wasn’t very nice, but Ian wasn’t emitrely sure Mickey knew there was a whole city beyond Chicago’s southside.

The bartender tried to give Ian a funny look but Mickey just stood in front of him with a nasty glare until she handed over a couple of Old Styles.

The question came when they sat down at a table tucked cozily in one of the corners, Mickey grunted and mumbled at Ian when he tried to coax him into a normal fucking conversation, like they usually did when they hung out at the convenience store. His eyes were bouncing around, scanning the room anxiously, or boring into Ian in a way that made him want to squirm in his seat.

He seemed cagey, uncomfortable in the bar and in Ian’s presence, so the question was: “Did you just kiss me to shut me up?”

Mickey’s eyes snapped back to his face, searching and evaluating. “If I wanted to shut you up, kissing wouldn’t be my first option.”

Ian rolled his eyes, “whatever, I just don’t really get what we’re doing here. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you kissed me because you’re jealous and you brought me out here on a date.”

He watched Mickey’s face twitch as the word date fell out of his mouth, so he sighed and continued after a sip of his beer “but I do know better, you kissed me to shut me up and I don’t know why the fuck we’re here. You don’t need to worry about me fucking off completely just ‘cause I like going out with Ned, you’ve got a great ass and we have fun. If that’s all you’ve got for me, I can live with that, but don’t jerk me around like you’ve been doing today.”

Ian finished his beer and moved to get up. He was playing it a lot cooler than he felt and knew he would probably crumple when he got home, but in that moment he didn’t really care.

“Gallagher, wait- just sit down” Ian looked at where Mickey was staring up at him with a hand outstretched on the table, finally he added a quiet “please.”

And because Mickey was wearing his hair in that slicked back, pretty boy way Ian liked, looking up at him with pretty blue eyes and worrying his pretty bottom lip, Ian sat back down hesitantly. He tried to stare him down from across the table, but doubted he could pull off threatening to someone like Mickey. To his surprise, Mickey’s bitchy, nonchalant expression crumbled into something sad.

“I don't want to shut you up or anything, you’ve got it all wrong. I did want to… go out with you tonight, like that” Mickey admitted. “But I’ve never really - I don’t date. I don’t have a lot of friends, or hobbies. I’m not very smart, or funny and I think that as sad as it is, my life is going downhill from here, so I’m not really sure what we’re doing here either.”

“I’m a fucking asshole” Mickey looked up at him finally, daring him to disagree “and this, this thing we’re doing is stupid, and dangerous but I kissed you because I wanted to.”

Ian sat in shock, his mind spinning. Of all the things Mickey could have said, that was nowhere near what he was expecting.

“I think you’re really funny” was the first thing he could think to blurt out “and probably pretty smart, if you actually tried to use your head for anything.”

Mickey stared at him with a blank expression and the air turned awkward around them, Ian exhaled a quiet sigh “Can you just be normal with me? I like you, a lot. I would want to be your friend even if we weren’t hooking up, so let’s just hang out. Can we do that?”

That earned Ian a grin, finally. Mickey was easy to talk to when he wasn’t so deep in his own head spinning himself into agitated circles. He was surprisingly non-judgmental of Ian’s blunt, stupid humor and unusual moralistic view of the world, as much as he had a worldview at sixteen years old.

Ian got buzzed off three beers and they left when the bar closed down. The streets were pretty empty since it was a weeknight, and Ian boldly grabbed his wrist in a hard grip and pulled him into a darkened ally.

Mickey pushed a little but mostly allowed himself to get backed against the warm bricks of a nearby building by two of Ian’s strong hands snaking down his sides to settle on his hips. It felt like he’d wanted to do this a hundred times before, so Ian took just a second to grin, joyful and a bit gloating, before leaning in.

Hope you had fun!! :)

#gallavich #shameless #mickey milkovich #sgt says #ian gallagher #gallavich fanfic #prompt game

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dingochef · 1 year

Text

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Angst with a Happy Ending, Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking,

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: The jackass you wrote off last night seeks you out for an apology. At least you get a baseball game out of it.

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: I'm just here for the baseball.

You're coming back from your morning run, endorphins pumping through your body, when a text notification from an unknown number flashes across the screen of your phone.

Unknown Number: Hey, it's Jake the Jackass from the bar last night. Just wanted to apologize again and thank you for the apparently needed ego check.

You: Glad I could provide some much needed grounding. How did you get my number?

Unknown Number: Lydia ended up back here with Rooster last night. I asked her when she briefly emerged from their sex den.

You: Ahh sweet traitorous Lydia. Anyway, I accept the apology. Bye and have a nice life.

Unknown Number: That's abrupt, lol. Let me try to redeem myself at least. I've got two home plate tickets to the Padres game today. Interested in joining me?

You consider the offer, a free ticket to a game and something to do this afternoon. In an unusual fit of impulse you grab your phone and reply.

You: Sure, why not. I'll meet you at the entrance opposite the convention center at 12:30.

Unknown Number: Sounds great, it's a date. See you then.

You: It's not a date, it's amends. Especially if I buy the beer.

You don't receive a response. you save his number in your phone as Jackass, Jake in the last name first format.

Jake the Jackass has such a nice alliteration to it. Looking at the clock you've got just enough time to clean up, shove some food down your gullet, and catch the ferry from Coronado Island over to the stadium.

It's a beautiful day that happens more often than not in San Diego when you get off the ferry and walk towards Petco Park. You can see Jake waiting from a distance, he's easy to pick out with the ramrod military posture, sun lightened blond hair waving gently in the wind, and those ubiquitous aviator sunglasses. Are they contractually required to wear them all the time?

You're about 50 feet away when he spots you and you can see the smile bloom in his face in recognition as you approach. He opens his arms for a hug and to your own surprise you reciprocate the gesture. The warmth of his hand seeps through the light cotton sundress you chose for today and almost sears where your bare skin meets his. With the sensible sandals you're wearing he's almost a foot taller than you and you feel very small, yet safe in his arms. Again you get the woodsy smell of his aftershave and think how nice he smells. He pulls back and says,

"I wasn't sure you were going to come. Thought you might want to finish grinding my ego into the ground."

You laugh and reply,

"I keep my word. Besides I figure anyone who's enough of a glutton for punishment to try again is probably worth a second chance. That and a tiny soft spot in my heart that decided at least I get out to a Padres game. It's hard to find someone to go with sometimes."

You start walking towards the turnstile to enter the stadium.

"Lydia and Beth, not big sports fans?" He asks.

"Hardly, the funny thing is that I work with a whole lot of dudes who love baseball, but I just can't imagine spending time with them outside of work without them getting the wrong idea."

"What idea would that be?" He asks waggling his eyebrows.

You point at him,

"That one. For some reason I can't just hang out with a guy from work without them thinking it's more than just someone to hang with and watch some baseball. They try to make it more and it gets real awkward at work when I don't reciprocate. I dated one guy from work and it got pretty serious before it went down in spectacular flames."

You make explosion gestures with your hands.

"Ended up leaving that job, it got so bad, but that led me to your job at Lockheed Martin so it works out in the end."

You take a deep breath, you usually don't reveal that much personal info so early. You know you have trust issues. Jake's brows have furrowed into what you read as anger when thinking about some long ago asshole. For some reason the thought of him wanting to kick some guys ass for you makes you feel fuzzy, then you can feel your feminist brain sigh in disappointment. Sensing the mood has shifted too far towards serious, you laugh your nervous laugh, and point over to the concession stand and ask,

"You got drinks last night so it's your turn. What do you want?"

Jake surprisingly goes along easily with your offer and says,

"Stone Hazy IPA."

Most guys seem affronted that you want to pay your fair share for a date, another ex had called it emasculating when you bought dinner or drinks and for the fact that you made more money than him. You pick a lighter lager from Ballast Point along with a bottle of water.

You've settled into your seats, drinks in tow just as the pregame announcements start. The national anthem plays and you see just how ingrained military habits can be when Jake rises automatically to that perfect posture and removes his sunglasses and raises his hand over his heart and sings surprisingly well along with the music. His voice is mellow and deep and just a charming amount off key in a couple places of the song. An image of you lying your head on his naked chest and feeling that voice reverberate flashes through your brain. Quickly, you shake it away to applaud the end of the anthem and the first pitch.

"These seats are great," you offer to keep the conversation going. You're just far enough down the third base line that we've got a good view of the batter, but still close enough to action that we can hear the catcher trash talking the batters.

"How'd you score these?"

"One of my buddies has season tickets, but got called out to a new assignment and knew I was going to be in the area so he gifted me the rest of the season since he can't use them."

"Nice friend, if you've got these seats all season, I might be more likely to hang out with you again."

"Aha, so the way into the Ice Queen's heart is through baseball, who knew?"

"I've got a few passions in life, you just have to dig a little deeper to get to know them. So, I've got a question, how are you so well acquainted with Frozen? You’re not exactly the market demographic for Frozen. Are you a secret super fan of Disney?"

He laughs,

"Not a secret super fan of Disney, although the Lion King did break my little 10 year old heart. First time I cried at a movie. I've got two nieces who are eight and five. Right in that target demographic. I babysit them occasionally when I'm back in Texas."

"So what does the Seresin family situation look like?" you ask.

"Painfully middle class white, my parents have been married since the beginning of time, met in college. Had my brother pretty early, and a few years later I came along. Dad was a doctor, my older brother is too. Mom had a Physics degree from UT but never had a chance to use it as she stayed home with us and didn't work. Grew up in Austin as the all American family."

"Wow, high achieving family. Imagine being the disappointment as a fighter pilot."

"Who says I'm the disappointment? Mike is just a doctor." He says in mock offense.

"What does the…I don't even know your last name. I just saved you as Elsa Ice in my phone."

You give him a mock glare, "Matthews, so you can correct that now. To be fair I saved you as Jake Jackass in my phone. We'll see how the day goes to see if you upgrade that status. The Matthews family is also painfully bland and white. My Dad retired from the Navy after his service in Vietnam, came back to Michigan and met my mom at a house party at Michigan State. Dad's an automotive engineer and Mom taught high school math for many years. Grew up in a Lansing suburb. I'm the oldest, I have a sister who's 3 years younger than me. She's a tattoo artist in Chicago."

"That's at least a little bit interesting, do you have any of her work on you?"

A mischievous smirk creeps onto your lips as you respond,

"Yeah, I've got a few pieces of hers on me. She's the only one I'd ever let tattoo me. I'd show you, but that would probably earn me a public indecency ticket."

You slyly wink at the last sentence and enjoy the way Jake slightly chokes on his beer as the thought registers.

After a slight coughing fit, Jake regains his smooth demeanor. "As you informed me last night you've got a PhD in aerospace engineering from Stanford, did you go to Michigan State for undergrad?"

"Nope, love my family dearly but I needed some distance so I went to Notre Dame. "

He laughs and you can see those charming laugh lines peeking out from the sides of his aviators. "I get that, I've got some family legacy in the Air Force and wanted to earn my place on my own merits, not on my last name."

"You go to the Naval Academy then?"

He nods in the affirmative,

"That must have been anarchy when you made that choice."

He chuckles at the memory,

"Nearly gave my grandfather a heart attack and almost got my ass beat by uncles and cousins. But I kind of enjoy being the black sheep."

"Yeah, my dad blew a gasket when I got into Notre Dame. He thought he was going to have to pay for it all, private out-of-state tuition made his mind melt, but luckily I got an athletic scholarship that covered most of it."

"What sport?"

Before you can reply there is a high foul ball headed towards your seats. You're seated closer to home plate than Jake and you instinctively stretch your arms up to try and catch the ball. It's coming closer and you can see that it's going to sail over your head. You, for the millionth time, curse your shortness. Suddenly you feel strong hands on your waist and you're being propelled up high enough to catch the ball. You catch the ball with a satisfying thud and whip your head around to see how you're presumably flying in the air. Jake is holding you as high as he can above his head with his long arms. His muscles are rippling but not trembling, the thought of how he could hold you up easily while fucking you against a wall flashes through your brain and a flush of heat rolls down your body and straight to your pussy. You almost drop the ball at the thought as he returns you to the ground.

"I didn't expect that, the foul ball or the complimentary flight."

He shrugs,

"It was all you, I just gave you the boost."

"Well, thank you. I've never caught a ball at a game. This is going to be an excellent addition to my desk on Monday, it'll inspire so much jealousy among my coworkers."

The game continues on at the easy pace of baseball, plenty of time to talk but not miss the action. The Padres are playing the Milwaukee Brewers so it gives you a chance to talk about your mom's roots in Wisconsin and the family legacy of cheese making.

"So, you’re telling me that you’re the first person in five generations of your mom's family not to work in a cheese factory. That is so Wisconsin it hurts." He can't stop laughing maniacally at the thought. you give him a mock punch on the arm as you roll your eyes. "I might be changing your name in my phone to Elsa Cheese Queen." He is laughing so hard that he takes his aviators off to wipe at his eyes.

"Oh my god, you’re turning into a lobster. Did you put any sunscreen on today?"

"No, thought didn't occur to me."

"What is it about guys and sunscreen? Nobody remembers, here I've got some in my purse."

You pull out a small tube of sunscreen and pull his hand over to squeeze some on his fingers. He attempts to slather it on his face leaving a few big globs along his jawline.

"Here, let me help you with that."

You reach out and blend the sunscreen along his jawline, your fingers graze over a hint of stubble. Your apparently overactive and very horny brain sends the thought of feeling that stubble tracing up your thighs. You let the thought linger and quickly hand the tube to Jake and stutter out,

"Now do me."

You mentally cringe at the innuendo, "My back," you quickly amend and turn in your seat to present your back to him. You can feel the cool lotion spread across your back with calloused hands, he gently moves the thin straps of your sundress to make sure he doesn't miss a spot. Horny brain is already piecing together scenarios where that is your bra strap and is followed by exploring lips. Rational brain manages to squeak out a thank you and retrieve the sunscreen from Jake. You settle back into your seat and Jake rests his arm on the back of your seat. You let it stay.

The game ends with the Padres winning 8-4. You're shuffling out of the game and your stomach growls. In another one of those moments of impulse you'll attribute to your horny brain you ask,

"Are you up for a bite to eat? I know a good tapas place a few blocks from here."

Jake is visibly surprised at your invite, he smiles as he replies,

"Yeah, that sounds great. I must have grown on you if you're wanting to spend more time with me. I half expected you to bolt the minute the game was over."

He smirks and cracks that toothpaste smile that you immediately rename the panty dropper.

"Ah yes, like a cute little fungus, you've grown on me. You’re not so bad, once you drop the smug idiot act."

"Fair, I can work with that…so does this mean you’re asking me on a date?"

You pause and lower your sunglasses, it's your turn to be smooth for once in your life.

@mayhemmanaged

"Why yes, Jake Seresin, will you go on a dinner date with me?"

Chapter 3

@callmemana

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

#top gun fanfiction #hangman fanfiction #top gun maverick #hangman x you #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun smut

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