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lyjen · 2 months

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Permanent basis

Summary: When a firefighter transfers from the 226 to firehouse 118, Evan immediately doesn’t like the guy. He shares his opinion with his friends, who don’t agree. But when Evan catches him doing something, he loses it.

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“Okay 118 let’s gather ‘round and settle in. We have some outstanding tasks from our last shift, and I have an important announcement.” Bobby’s voice sounded over the floor of the firehouse. He was standing in front of the lined-up benches, ready to start the briefing.

Evan was standing behind the last bench, with (y/n) sitting on the red coloured bench in front of him. Hen was sitting next to (y/n), Eddie and Chimney were standing next to Evan himself. He let his right hand fall on (y/n)’s right shoulder, and he plants his lips quick on te back of her head. As he straightens his back again and opens his ears to hear what Bobby has to tell.

Everyone in the firehouse knew Evan and (y/n) were together, all of the members knew they would end up together before Evan and (y/n) did. They were the kind of people that would say: “we’re just friends” And “that is what friends do”. But at least they knew for sure their relationship had the right foundation.

“I’m gonna start with the important announcement.” Bobby started off. “As you know, we’ve had a few floaters for Lucy Donato’s spot at the 118. But we’ve found ourselves a replacement on the permanent basis. Everyone, meet Wes Hargrove.” He continued to speak as he held out a presenting hand towards the newest addition. Wes stood up and took place next to Bobby. “Wes transferred from firehouse 226. So.. let’s not scare him off.” Bobby said as he firmly put his hand on Wes his shoulder, as he proudly presents the newest addition to his crew. “Well I doubt if you can scare me out of one of the best firehouses in the city.” Wes spoke up as he smirked.

It took a few months before Lucy’s spot on the 118 was being filled. There was a firefighter shortage, which is understandable. Because volunteerly running into fires and other dangerous situations wasn’t for everyone.

Evan’s stomach made a turn when Wes stood next to his captain. He couldn’t exactly tell, but something was going on with this guy. He wasn’t sure what it was. But it gave him the feeling that he couldn’t be trusted. Why was he being transferred to 118? What happened at the 226 what made him switch houses?

“Hm. One of the best firehouses in the city and permanent basis? We don’t know anything about this guy.” Evan stated as he leaned over to his side to Eddie. Eddie shook his head with a grin spread on his face. It was typically Evan to react the way he did. “Yeah, well.. you also said you didn’t like Eddie but.. look at you now.” Hen said as she looked to her right, to try and face Evan.

“That was different.” He answered as he folded his arms and leaned forward. A confused look morphed onto Hen’s face. “How was that any different?” She asked Evan. It took him a few seconds to think of an answer to that question.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Hen said when she didn’t receive an answer to her question and turned back around to face the briefing of Bobby. Evan clicked his spine back in place as Hen turned away from him. Evan didn’t need to look at (y/n) to know that she was at this exact moment, was grinning at what just happened.

“Yeah.. okay that was a mistake.” Evan tried to defend himself. “But we all know you and Chim were right about Jonah. So.. what are your thoughts?” He continued as he looked at Chimney and back at Hen. But nobody answered Evan’s question. They were listening to Bobby’s story about the outstanding tasks.

“Okay so that was it. Let’s get to work!” Bobby ended his briefing. All firefighters stood up and spread themselves out into the station.

When (y/n) stands up, she turns around to face Evan. She offers him a small smile, “let’s just not.. judge a book by its cover okay?” (Y/n) spoke softly when she let her hand fall on Evan’s chest and her thumb rubbed softly up and down his shirt. Evan narrowed his eyes. “I’m telling you.. there’s just something about him, that doesn’t add up..” he says as he looked at Wes with a judgmental expression flooded over his face.

(Y/n) knew Evan wasn’t great with changes. Especially with new crew members. He had the same thing when Eddie joined the 118, but also when (y/n) joined the team. It was like Evan was scared to be replaced. As if the people who recently joined, were after his spot at the 118.

When (y/n) joined the 118 about a year ago, Evan wasn’t quite nice to her neither. She understood, a stranger interfering a trusted environment. But all of the attitude seemed to fade when Evan got hurt on scene and she took care of him.

(Y/n)’s hand slides from his chest up to his cheek, as she moved his chin back so he was looking at her instead of Wes. She let her thumb softly rubbing over his cheek. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt because we let him into our firehouse.” Evan spoke softly as he lets his hand rest on (y/n)’s waist. “Oh Evan..” she sighed, when she cupped his cheeks with both of her hands now and continued to rub her thumb against his cheek.

Evan let his forehead fall against hers, their noses almost touching each other. “I don’t know what it is about him, but I’m gonna find out.” he says as he leaned into the touch and close his eyes for a second. It felt nice, just a moment of no sirens, no adrenaline rushing through their veins, just a moment of silence.

“Really?” Evan said with desperation in his voice as he looked up, pretending to speak to the gods. The alarm sounded through the 118 firehouse, as they called out the ambulance number and casualty. “That’s my queue.” (Y/n) said as she breaks free out of Evan’s grip, and turns around to run towards the ambulance.

____

“Trauma bag” Buck says as he laid his eyes on the clipboard which he was balancing on his left arm, while he checked off another empty space with the pen in his right hand.

Eddie pushes himself off the truck as he walks towards the trauma bag, which was lying on the truck next to the ladder truck. “Yep” he confirms as he grabbed the bag in his right hand and put it in the right compartment. “I’m sorry. What was that?” Buck says as he puts two fingers next to his ear, pretending he didn’t hear Eddie clear enough. Eddie’s face morphed into an unamused expression. “Check.” He corrected himself. “Yeah” Evan nodded in agreement as he checked the box next to the trauma bag on the clipboard.

Evan turned into a whole other person when he was handed a clipboard. Everyone at the 118 thought so, it was not just Eddie. Evan wanted to prove that he could be a leader. Yes he could be reckless and impulsive at times, but that is just who he is.

“AED” he said louder, as he let the pen hoover above the checkmark box. As soon as he heard the word “check” fall off Eddie’s lips, he checked the box. “The..” Evan stopped mid sentence, as he heard the ambulance rig beeping as they drove backwards into the station. He peeked around the truck which was blocking his view of the ambulance. While Eddie leaned his forearms onto the compartment door as he waited for the next thing to put back into the truck. “Okay, saws!”

(Y/n) opened the passenger door where she was sitting as Hen turned the engine of the ambulance off. A sigh rolled off (y/n)’s lips as she shut the door behind her. She put a strand of hair behind her ear when she and Hen both walked towards the rack where they hung their fluorescent jackets.

“How was your call?” Evan asked when she was passing by the truck they were working on. (Y/n) stopped in her tracks, as she spots her boyfriend with clipboard and all in between the trucks walking towards her. (Y/n) made a think-full sound.

As Evan came closer, he lay his clipboard with pen on the other truck. He placed one hand on her cheek as he curled the other on her waist, and planted a kiss against her temple. She sighs. “Could’ve been better” she answered shortly as she creates some distance between Evan and her.

A confused look spread across Evan’s face, normally she wouldn’t pull back that fast. She would just lean into his touch. Something happened on the call.

She shook off her fluorescent jacket, so her uniform was visible now. “Jesus, what happened?” Evan asked when he noticed the enormous stain on her uniform, which looked like mud. Completely understanding now why she pulled back that fast and why she was probably annoyed.

“We got a call that there was some drunk guy faced down on the street. We turned him over to treat him and then.. this happened.” She spoke as she held out her hands to present sent him the huge stain she got on her uniform.

On Evan’s face was an distasteful expression projected. When (y/n) took a look down at the stain on her uniform, she almost threw up herself. “Ugh, I need to shower and change before I’m gonna throw up all over this floor.” she said and turns around to resume her way to hang her jacket.

Evan just laughs at her reaction, as he turns back around to Eddie to go and get the next object. But when Evan turns around, Eddie is gone. “Eddie?” he looks around the station floor, when someone yanks the clipboard out of his hands. “Hen! Seriously!?” Evan yelled after her. “Yep!”

A smile appeared on (Y/n)’s lips as she heard Evan yell at Hen. She had just hung her jacket on the reck underneath her own name, and was continuing her way towards the locker room. She walked into the locker room, closed the door behind her and walked to her locker. (Y/n) yanked open her locker and unbuttoned her shirt as she threw the dirty one into her locker. She was gonna throw that one into the washing-machine as soon as she had a shower.

“Geez what happened to you?” An unfamiliar voice rang through the locker room. She flinched and pushed the towel she had in her hand against her chest as she turned to her left, and sees Wes stopping in his track. He was walking past the line of lockers (y/n) was standing in front of. “Oh.. just a little accident on scene..” (y/n) said, wanting to cut the conversation short.

She wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the locker room. But maybe Wes came from the restrooms. (Y/n) continued grabbing her stuff together, as she sees in the corner of her eye Wes coming closer. “I think we haven’t met yet.” (Y/n) pushed the towel closer to her chest as Wes reaches out his hand. “I’m Wes.” she looked up at him, and back at his hand as she shook it. “(Y/n)” she introduced herself. Wes leaned with the side of his body against the lockers. “Nice to meet you, (y/n).” he said as he smiles at her.

(Y/n) wasn’t interested in a long conversation about his life and hers. All she wanted was a shower and wash the smell off of her body. She turned back to her locker, while one hand remained on the towel she was holding to her chest. “So you’re a paramedic?” Wes spoke up as he saw her grabbing shampoo and a new button up on a hanger out of her locker. She nodded, along with an agreeing sound. She smashes her locker with a bang, trying to give him a hint.

(Y/n) turns to Wes, “Wes.. was it? Right?” she asks. Wes nods, confrirming that it was his name. “Can we talk later? I’m really looking forward to a shower right now, after this call.” she continued. “Yeah sure” he says as he gives (y/n) a gentle smile. “Okay Thanks” she says with a small smile as she passes Wes, who keeps on leaning against the lockers.

Maybe Evan was right, and there was something up with Wes. Or maybe he was just trying to make friends.

_______

“Ah shit, i forgot my phone in the rig.” Wes spoke up when he reached the top of the stairs. Everyone was sitting at the table, waiting for Bobby to fill their plate with some Mac and cheese.

While Wes walked down the stairs again, Bobby started to fill up plates while Hen passed them on to the other firefighters who were sitting at the table. “Where’s (y/n)?” Bobby asked when her seat was empty and she was nowhere to be found on the loft. “Oh yeah, she’s in the shower, she’ll be here soon. She had a little accident on scene.” Evan spoke up as he took a fork full of mac and cheese. “An accident hm? What happened?” Bobby asked on as he took place on his chair. “Some drunk guy puked all over her when we tried to treat him.” Hen answered for Evan, who was chewing like his life depended on it.

“You really can’t eat properly Buck?” Hen said as she pointed with her fork towards Evan’s shirt. Evan presses his chin to his chest as he takes a look down at his shirt, “shit. No.. not again.” He mumbles, as he tries to clean his shirt with a napkin. “You’re not getting that stain out with a napkin.” Hen says as she takes another bite from her food. He sighs, as he pushes back his chair and walks towards the stairs.

He walks into the locker room and opens his locker. He could hear the water streaming out of the shower head down to the floor in a distance. Evan unbuttoned his shirt, and threw it into his locker. He grabbed his other shirt from the hanger, he puts his clean one on and buttoned up his shirt again. As he reaches the last two buttons, he hears a door closing. Which was weird, because he could still hear the water running. His eyes narrowed, as his face morphed into a confused look.

Evan closes his locker and continues his way towards the bathroom, he has to go to the toilet anyway.

He opens the door to the bathroom, and walks to the toilets. When he lays his hand on the door handle, he could see a shadow in the corner of his eye. He lets go of the door handle, as he turns around and walks in the direction of the showers. When he rounds the corner, he could see Wes in front one of the showers, with his phone in his hand. Evan was sure he could see the camera app was opened and Wes is coming closer to the cubicle where the water was running. With his girlfriend underneath the shower.

Evan’s speeds up his steps and gives Wes a hard push to the side of the room. Wes his back falls hard against the wall of the room. But as he bounces back, Evan roughly grabs his collar and pushes him harshly into the wall. While his phone falls to the ground. “And what do you think you’re doing?” Evan’s voice sounded through the small room. His voice sounded dark, as if his inner demon could burst out of him in a second.

“Buck? What the hell are you doing?” (Y/n)’s voice asked when she opened the door of her cubicle with nothing but a white towel wrapped around her body. “Hey take it easy man!” Wes says with a trembling voice. “Are you kidding me?” Evan spoke up at Wes as he pushed him harder into the concrete wall. “Evan!” (Y/n) spoke harder, to get her boyfriend’s attention.

“I found this pervert lurking outside of your shower.” Evan spoke now even harder. “With, his phone in his hand.” He continued. Wes nervously laughed, but stopped when Evan pushed him again. “You think it’s normal? To stand outside someone’s shower? Right after I told you I was going to take one?” (Y/n) said as she tightened the towel around her chest. “I-.. i can explain” Wes said. Evan’s face came dangerously close to Wes his face. “Get out.” Evan said and pushed Wes towards the exit of the bathroom.

“Come on man-“ Wes spoke when Evan continued to push him outside the locker room, onto the station floor where the rigs were stalled. “I didn’t do anything wrong” Wes said. Evan’s face turned to thunder.

Didn’t do anything wrong? He was literally taking pictures of (y/n) while she was taking a shower.

Evan balled his fist, and lashed out his arm until his fist met his face. Wes his hand shot towards his hand as he screamed out in pain. “Fuck!” Evan hissed as he shook his hand, he had hit Wes so hard that his knuckles were bleeding and hurting from the impact. “Buck! What the hell are you doing!” Bobby’s voice roared through the firehouse. Evan pushed Wes against the fire truck. “I found this guy making pictures of (y/n) while she was in the shower.” He spoke up as Evan could hear multiple people running down the stairs.

“What?” Bobby said with a confused sound in his voice. “That is not true!” Wes said trying to get Bobby on his side. “You fucking pervert!” Evan yelled as he pushed Wes back against the fire truck again. Chimney and Eddie were trying to push Evan off of the newbie. “Buck let go.” Bobby warned him as he looked him stern in the eye. When Evan quickly connected with Bobby’s eyes, he roughly let go of Wes.

Evan put his hands up as he backed up from the firefighter and roughly shakes off the hands from Chim and Eddie, who were trying to stop him from attacking Wes again. “It’s true.” (Y/n)’s voice sounded from behind Evan. Evan turned around as he sees his girlfriend walking onto the floor. Her hair was completely soaked, she had her uniform on but her shoes were nowhere to be found. She was walking onto the floor with her socks on and a phone in her hand. “He tried to record me when I was in the shower.” (Y/n) said as she bit on her lower lip and waved with the phone of Wes as if it was some sort of price.

Her eyes stayed locked on Wes, when she handed the phone over to Bobby for evidence. (Y/n) folded her arms over each other. “Don’t worry, you won’t see me naked on that video. Evan came in just in time.” She said as Bobby looked at her with a questionable look. Bobby plays the video and you can hear loud and clear what was happening.

“Your shift just ended. Eddie, make sure he doesn’t run off. I’m calling Athena.” Bobby says as he gives (y/n) the phone and walks away, starting a phone call with his wife. While the rest of the group returns to the loft, (y/n) turns towards her boyfriend. “I’m sorry.” She spoke. “Don’t be” Evan answered.

How could she be sorry? Because she was taking a shower? “No.. I’m sorry i didn’t believe you this morning.” She went on. “God I feel so stupid right now.” She says as her eyes looked at her feet because of the embarrassment. “Hey, hey.. you were right, I shouldn’t be judging people because they made me uncomfortable, or I do not trust them.” Evan said as he put his hand on her shoulder.

(Y/n)’s eyes traced over his hand as she noticed something red on his hand. “Did you hit him?” She asked him when her eyes wandered back to his. “Would you be mad if I said yes?” Evan smirked. (Y/n) laughed as she grabbed his hand which had some blooded knuckles. She inspected his hand. “(Y/n).. I’m fine. I swear.” Evan says as he hissed when (y/n) applied pressure to see if he hurt his hand. “Let me at least clean your wounds.” Evan sighed. He knew she wouldn’t take a no for an answer. So he agreed.

They walked towards the stairs which led to the loft and a first aid kit. “Didn’t you forget something before you left the locker room?” Evan laughed while he put his right arm around her shoulders. “Yeah I know. I didn’t have time to put my boots on when I already lost so much time putting on my uniform, while I was still half soaking wet.” She explained. He put his mouth close to her ear. “You know I wouldn’t mind seeing you in that towel again.”

#911 #911 fox #911 imagine #buck imagine #buck x reader #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #evanbuckley #imagine #911 abc #911 s7

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smeddiemunson · 1 year

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(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

The Harrington house is big and it’s nice to look at, or it would be if Gareth was into the boring minimalist style, but there’s no warmth to it.

That’s all he could notice while he was pulling off his jeans and neatly folding them up to place on the top of a chest of draws in a guest bedroom. The walls are white and the accents a single shade of brown. Even Gareth’s oppressively suburban home had more character than this.

And it just didn’t seem to fit with Steve. Steve, in Gareth’s admittedly limited understanding of him, was more suited to a smaller but still nice house, with appliances that made funny noises if they weren’t used the right way, and was always full of people. A house that had character built into its very foundations.

He met Jeff and Grant back in the kitchen, trying his hardest not to stare too long at the single family portrait hung at the end of the hallway. Jeff was wearing red shorts and Grant was wearing blue ones. It seemed that only Gareth got the memo about wearing black and committing to the Not-Cult Cult aesthetic.

“What’s the plan then, Gare-Bear?” Jeff asked as Gareth sidled up next to them.

Gareth grabbed a can off the side, it was fresh out of the fridge and had condensation trickling down the sides. He assumed it was alright to take it. “I’m gonna talk to Buckley, feel out how to go about this.”

“And what should we do?” Grant asked.

“Make sure Eddie doesn’t do anything stupid?”

Grant scoffed. “Dude, you’ve met him, be serious.”

“I am!” Gareth replied. “I want this to work out for them and that means keeping Eddie’s foot out of his mouth.”

They all paused to remember the many, many times that Eddie’s inability to shut up had gotten them in trouble. He was great at talking himself out of trouble as well, but it was always preferable to not be in trouble in the first place.

“So make sure Eddie doesn’t say something stupid before he can confess his love and get a pass for all the stupid shit he says?”

Gareth allowed himself to chuckle. “Yeah, something like that.”

He led them all back out to the garden, cracking open the can as he went. The cold liquid felt good sliding down his throat; it wasn’t quite the peak of the summer and it was only going to get hotter, but Gareth didn’t think there was much point in not enjoying the smaller things in life.

Eddie was perched on the edge of the pool, kicking his feet gently where they were submerged in the water, as he spoke to Steve. Steve who was in the pool but had pulled himself out enough to rest his crossed arms on the poolside and use them as a pillow for his head. They looked like they belonged in a movie; so caught up in one another that they didn’t react to the screaming from the others playing chicken (Nancy on Jonathan’s shoulders and Robin on Argyle’s).

Gareth was shocked to see the way Steve was looking at him. He knew Steve was into Eddie, that much was obvious, but until that moment he had just thought it was a little crush.

This put a bit of a spanner in the works of his original plan of getting everyone to play enough party games until they could get Steve and Eddie together in seven minutes in heaven.

“Eddie!” Jeff shouted, “Did you smoke all the weed while we were getting changed?”

Eddie gasped dramatically, clutching at his heart. “Would I ever do that to you Jeffy?”

“Yes,” Jeff deadpanned.

Steve laughed delightedly, bumping Eddie in the knee with his elbow.

“Fine, fine,” Eddie threw his hands up in surrender. “Stevie said we aren’t allowed to smoke and swim so we didn’t light it.”

“I don’t want you to drown,” Steve said quietly, a haunted look crossing over his face that left as quickly as it came.

Eddie reached out to squeeze his shoulder, something unsaid passing between them. “I’m still here.”

Steve nodded, then shook his head with a small smile, as if he knew he was being silly.

Gareth shared a glance with his band mates, Eddie pointedly avoiding it. Another thing that would never be explained to them.

Luckily the game of chicken came to an end with Robin crashing down into the water, her legs pulling Argyle with her, to the tune of Nancy and Jonathan yelling in triumph to break Steve out of whatever spiral he’d fallen into.

Steve turned towards them with a smile. He patted Eddie’s hand where it was still on his shoulder then pushed off from the wall to join his friends, calling for his turn.

Eddie’s hand hovered in the air for a second before falling back down to his side.

Robin broke off from the group, stating her intention to grab another drink as she furiously tried to push her now wet hair out of her eyes. Argyle eagerly called for Steve to go against Nancy this time.

Gareth nodded to Jeff and Grant. “Go cheer him up. I hate it when he looks like a kicked puppy.”

“Guy doesn’t know what he has with those eyes, I swear,” Jeff mumbled as he and Grant moved to sit either side of Eddie, both bumping shoulders with him.

Gareth waited until Robin was digging through the cooler and muttering to herself to join her.

She jumped slightly as she turned away from the cooler and realised that Gareth was there, evidently having not heard him approach.

“Buckley,” He greeted.

“Emerson.”

Gareth winced. This wasn’t supposed to be some sort of Mexican standoff. So he changed angles.

“Eddie says you know about him.”

Robin’s features softened. “Yeah and I know you’re protecting your friend, but I promise I will never ever do anything to hurt him. None of us will.|”

Gareth smiled. “I wasn’t worried about that.”

“So what can I help you with?”

Gareth rubbed his hands over his face. He was suddenly faced with no idea how to word his questions.

“Have you noticed that Eddie has a crush?”

Robin laughed loudly, waving away the bemused glances thrown her way from the pool. “Yeah, I have. I’ve noticed Steve’s too because I know that’s going to be your next question. They’re kinda unbearable to be around sometimes.”

“Oh,” Gareth chuckled, a weight lifted off his shoulders. “Good.”

“Why? Are you planning something?” She sat forward, a manic smile on her face and clutching her can so hard there were small dents in the aluminium from her fingers.

“I was thinking seven minutes in heaven but...” he sighed. “They’re too into each other to have their moment be during a stupid game.”

“You really care about Eddie, don’t you?” Robin asked gently.

Gareth narrowed his eyes on her. “Of course I do, he’s my best friend.”

Robin held her hands up in surrender. “I’m not judging you. I feel the same way about Steve.”

“Good. That’s good”

They both fell quiet as they watched their friends. Steve, on Argyle’s shoulders, laughing at Nancy and Jonathan arguing as they strategised. Eddie was squashed between Jeff and Grant, batting on their chests to release him. If it weren’t for his hair not being tied back, Gareth knew he would have thrown himself into the pool to escape. He knew Jeff and Grant knew that as well.

“So what are we going to do?” Gareth asked.

“I don’t know,” Robin said. “But we’ll figure something out.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the pool. Gareth and Eddie made a great team for the chicken tournament, but Argyle won the biggest splash competition they got going. It was funny to just act like teenagers, no school to worry about or crazy religious types out on witch hunts.

Steve handed them all towels as the sun began to go down. Their fingertips wrinkled and dry as Eddie finally got to light the joints to pass around. They laughed and shared stories; Gareth even got to share his favourite about Eddie calling him from a phone booth in the middle of the night so Gareth could steal his mom’s car to go get him since his plan to hitchhike his way home failed.

At some point, pizza was ordered while they lazed around. The joints had long since been smoked down to their cherry and discarded on the floor to clean up later when they were less drunk or high. Steve had told them not to worry about it.

Gareth spent his time watching Steve and Eddie pass tapes back and forth, heads leant close as they discussed the music on them, occasionally stopping the tape playing so they could switch it out for whatever song they were agreeing or disagreeing about. He made eye contact with Robin who just smiled gently, so fond of her friends. If he was able to see himself, her look was probably reflected on his own face.

The doorbell rang, heard out in the yard only because Steve’s parents had a device installed that rang a bell outside in case they weren’t inside to be able to hear the actual doorbell.

Steve jumped up to get it.

“Eddie go help him,” Robin said, pushing her toes into Eddie’s arm in a half hearted shove.

“Stevie’s got it,” Eddie moaned, clearly not wanting to move from his spot.

Robin shared a conspiratorial grin with Nancy, then both chorused, “Don’t ya, big boy.”

Jonathan and Argyle looked just as confused as Gareth felt. He never got the full story from Eddie about what happened over spring break, Eddie was alive and that was enough for him, but sometimes he wished he could know just so he understood what the fuck was going on.

Eddie flushed bright red all over his body. “Shut up,” he hissed. But it was evidently enough to get him to jump and follow Steve into the house.

Before Gareth could even attempt to ask about it, Nancy swung her legs around off the sun lounger and clasped her hands together.

“So,” She said as she pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. “We all saw that right?”

“Saw what?” Robin squeaked.

Gareth didn’t bury his face in his hands at her lack of subtlety.

“Steve and Eddie are very obviously flirting with each other,” Nancy said slowly, deliberately.

Jonathan hummed in agreement. “Yeah, it’s not the first time either.”

Robin opened and closed her mouth like a fish as she tried to come up with something to say. Obviously she couldn’t say anything that would out her best friend, but if she denied being able to see it then she ran the risk of being committed to a mental institution. She looked scared.

“And is that a problem, Wheeler?”

Gareth couldn’t be sure where the venom in his voice came from, he was sure that Nancy Wheeler was a nicer girl than her pinched features sometimes made her appear, but seeing Robin flounder and the thought of Eddie facing even more bullshit than he already had made something protective flare to life inside of him.

Nancy sniffed disdainfully. “Obviously not. I would die for those two, I just want them to be happy.”

A tense silence fell over them.

“They don’t know that we know,” Robin said quietly.

“So we can’t be obvious,” Jonathan replied. “Doesn’t mean we can’t encourage them in the right direction.”

Argyle, his eyes trained on the stereo still playing a Queen song, a thoughtful look on his face that looked completely alien. He turned to where Gareth, Jeff and Grant were all sitting together on the same sun lounger. “You’re in a band right?”

Shit. Argyle was right. Gareth mentally cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. Eddie had learnt Steve’s favourite song, they were going to play Steve’s favourite song as soon as they got it down; the drunks that usually watch them would probably appreciate something more country-rock than metal.

“Argyle, you’re a genius.”

(Part 5 (final))

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #gareth emerson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle stranger things #my fic #the queen song is you're my best friend; it's not important but it's also very important because #you're my sunshine and i want you to know that my feelings are true i really love you #you know?#corroded coffin

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anya-anya002 · 2 months

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ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫

ꜰᴜɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ! ᴀʟᴇx ᴛᴜʀɴᴇʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇɴᴛɪᴄᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ˢᵘᵐᵐᵃʳʸ: the block party that set everything off-

𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔: age gap relationship, your best friend’s dad, discussions of being a mortician, discussions of death…

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟻

𝟸𝟶:𝟺𝟻

𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚊’𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 *𝟸 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢*

The scent of ‘Pink’ perfume filled your nose as you entered Mara’s bedroom. Her constant spraying of the citrusy scent was headache-inducing, yet she clearly didn’t mind. Mara sat on the bench in her window with a brush and cranberry white claw in one hand. Her dirt-colored eyes were much like her father’s, they glittered in warm, soft, pink light much like how gold tells you it’s in soil.

Your eyes cast down to your beat up converse where your toes wiggled awkwardly. Mara hummed along to the bubbly, feel-good pop song that played.

“Y/N,” Mara said. A small crescent-shaped grin formed on her lips as she took a sip of her seltzer. You narrowed your eyes before taking a seat right next to her.

“What?” You asked but she just cheesed even wider, a ghoulish grin. Unfortunately, her skin gained a few more wrinkles which made you cringe. Mara then rested a hand on your lap before speaking,

“I heard Anderson would come,” she smiled as your eyebrow then raised. You scoff,

“Yea? And you’re happy about it for…” you said. You had no clue as to where this was going, but nonetheless, you entertained it.

“I’m happy because Emerson told me that Anderson likes you,” you felt all the blood in your body drain like slicing open a bottle and watching its contents crash onto the floor. You looked at Mara like she was from fucking Mars:

Anderson, meaning Anderson Durr, the guy who ate a fucking maggot senior year of high school.

“Oh really?” You asked. Your eyes nearly rolled out your skull; why the fuck did you entertain this shit? You sighed and crossed your arms and legs.

“I’m serious Y/N/N! He likes you.” Mara said, sitting her brush down in her lap and can only the sill.

“He ate a maggot Mar, and not in a cool way,” you said, apparently it was now her turn to give you a look.

“Oh, so there’s a cool way to eat maggots?”

“Duh, you lie and say you ate maggots in like a semi-acceptable place like a cemetery or something, not the trashcan of your buddy John’s house.”

She blinked, then looked at you; this time it was you who was the “martian.”

“Ew Y/N,” Mara grimaced before turning back to the glowing vanity mirror that sat across her on an ottoman. Picking up the flat iron instead and running through her long, chestnut hair that couldn’t be any straighter if she tried. The soft lavender sheets brush against your hands as you wait.

“That’s how I feel about Anderson,” you quipped, digging in your purse and pulling out your vape. Mara’s eyes rolled and before she could respond, the door opened. You hastily shove your nicotine back in your pocket upon getting a glimpse of Mr. Turner. He wasn’t too dressed up, ironically, you didn’t think he even owned a pair of shorts let alone shorts and a baggy tee.

“You girls ready to go?” He asked.

Your eyes were glued to his bicep, following this one vein that ran from the middle of his brachia to his wrist. You were speechless, your gaze full of amazement while Mara groaned loudly, throwing her head back dramatically as Alex shook his head.

“Daaaad, why couldn’t we have gotten dressed at Y/N’s house?” Mara whined, now powdering her face with foundation as her father rolled his eyes, shifting his gaze towards you.

“Because Mrs. Y/L/N said they wanted no one there until 10, anymore questions princess?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe and trying to stop himself from rolling his eyes. You turn to the window to see the sun beginning to make its slow descent while the two joked behind you.

“It still would’ve been more convenient,” she pointed out, to which you turned to shrug at her. Your eyes trying to return to Alex as you join in.

“So you wanna be setting up the party?” You asked again, rhetorically. You got an abrupt snigger out of Mr. Turner before Mara leaned back and groaned, sticking her bottom lip out as you giggle along.

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟻𝚝𝚑

𝟸𝟸:𝟷𝟶

𝚈/𝙽’𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎

Unsurprisingly, your parents did a damn good job for a pair of overworked lawyers, they out did themselves once again with games that had prizes like a mini Keurig or a really popular face cream that the neighborhood moms have been raving about for days. All while the chocolate fountain your mom must’ve dug up from the garage oozed with cheese fondue. You could smell the white wine she put in the sauce. At least they both seemed happy.

You leaned against the back of the house, completely enthralled with with a “tense game of cornhole” between your father and Mr.Turner as Mr. Durr, Mr. Camden, Ms. Erickson watched the two men become sore losers for 20 minutes.

Mara was busy playing wing lady…when you didn’t necessarily want or need one.

And by the looks of it, Mara was becoming more interested in him. She tugged on the straps of her bikini bottoms, leaning on the snowcone table while the blonde scratched the back of his head awkwardly. The maggot-eater’s eyes constantly tried to meet yours, yet you avoided him, turning your sights back to the riveting cornhole.

“You’re cheating’ Turner! There’s no overhand throws!”

“Christ Y/L/N, this isn’t beerpong,”

A laugh couldn’t help but come out of you as the two men turn to you, Mr. Turner’s gaze was more quizzical. You froze, clearing your throat, and then weakly waving. A tooth smile crept on your face as everyone chuckled and achingly reverted back to the game.

A grin began to grave Mr. Turner’s face as he tossed a bean bag into the ‘50’ point hole all while holding a bottle of ‘Blue Moon’ and hooting out hollering when it went all the way in. His smile big as he pumped a fist high into the air.

Never in your life had you seen someone, let alone Mr.Turner, this pumped for a literal block party game of cornhole.

To your father’s dismay, the two of them were tied. And for some reason, they both decided that to break said tie is to see who can throw the farthest. Your mother stood at the grill, scoffing and tutting at the two men bickering over who, what when, and where they’d even throw the bean bag.

Mrs. Parks-Turner shook her head as well while watching everything go down with Mr. Hannigan and Mrs. Jones. The three were throughly amused by the fools before them. The two men’s argument became a match of who should’ve won in the first place.

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟼

𝚈/𝙽’𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎

𝟶𝟸:𝟹𝟻

The party had long since died down as you kicked your feet in the pool as you hum tired and slightly tipsy as your heels sloshed against the surface of the water. In the backyard, everyone and almost everything from the party was gone— save for your father, Mr. Turner, and the cornhole set up your mother had told him to put away three hours ago. But the two still tossed their bags. The soft thuds of the bean bags fill your ears, followed by a whispered curse from one of the men, usually your father.

You couldn’t help but crack a smile as the thunks continued for 20 more minutes. The two of softly quarreling as you kick at the water more.

“You didn't make that,” your father pointed out, only for Mr. Turner to grumble in response. The ‘thwuaps’ against the wood followed as you watched a floating leaf glide atop your submerged feet.

“And you still have 50 points,” Alex teased before another, much louder ‘thonk’ filled the backyard.

After a few more minutes of them two tossing, sipping beers, and shit-talking, your father decided to call it a night.

“Fuck, you won this game, Turner,” your dad said, sucking his teeth at the score and sighing loudly.

“Y/N,” you turned your head to the two standing before the cornhole board. Your eyes crept to Mr.Turner, the beer had made his cheeks and nose all red. The swim trunks he wore were slightly damp, making the print in his shorts more noticeable.

"Sweetheart, make sure to show Mr. Turner out please," your dad finishes before strolling into the house through the house through the sliding glass door.

Your head then whipped to Mr. Turner who's now strolling towards you, still cradling his beer as he plopped down right next to you. The lukewarm pool water that hugged your ankles was quite pleasant as Alex looked at you with a soft grin.

"I heard you're talking up the same field as mine," he said. He was beaming with excitement as you nod in agreement.

"Yea, I wanna be like a coroner or like, the person that mainly works 'behind the scenes', y'know, you said, your fingers idly plucking at the blades of grass. Mortuary Science, it wasn't your first choice for a degree but it was Alex who made you run to it. You weren't too used to death, hell you've never even been to a funeral until last year.

He laughed his chest bobbing up and down as yours became icy. Your eyes shut tight before he breathed.

"That's truly a dream, Y/N," he said, the guards of his beer bottle fill your ears while you sigh.

"What we do is, we bring solace to those in mourning. Yea, we look at dead bodies and yea, it's pretty cool. But, we bring people back to life in a way-"

"You're Dr. West?"

He laughed loudly, the glass bottle still clutched tightly to his chest as a crooked smile appeared on your face. That laugh alone defrosted any cold you felt inside.

“No. Say, for example we get someone who was in a car accident, and their face has a large gash. Our job, is to give them their humanity— their personhood back. To reconstruct them back to what their family remembers them by,” he said, his gaze at the glimmering pool lights deepened as you gawked at him in utter adoration.

“Our job isn’t always ‘weirdos’ or ‘death obsessed freaks,’ it’s for the families of the deceased,” he finished. Your eyes big and glossy as your heart sped up.

“Yea? Is it a hard job?” You asked, your curiosity peaked as Alex took a swing of his beer.

“No job is truly easy, as much as I could and would love to write about the intricacies of human anatomy, there are days in which I can’t say is mature or natural,” he paused, his stare now blank as his eyes grew glossy as he gazes at the starry night sky. His legs slowly kick within the water as you breathe.

“It’s not a big city or anything so, yea, you see people you know every now and then and you try and put your feelings aside and do anything for them, but then you have to stop or you’ll become a perfectionist,” he said, his eyes reddened as he took one more swig of his drink.

“So, what— how do you— what do you do during that time?” You asked him, utterly dumbfounded by his words as he takes a breath.

“I can’t not embalm them, their family needs to view them before they fully go,” Alex said, looking at the big, golden moon as you could continued idly kick at the still water.

“Is it, is it possible to be a mortician if you’ve never experienced grief?” You asked shyly. You felt your heart crackle as he set the bottle of beer down.

“Of course you can, it’s not about death itself, it’s about empathy,” Alex said, his voice soft as you nod slowly.

“Y/N?”

“Yea?”

“Do want to know who I had to embalm on my 27th birthday?”

You looked at him, both your giggles had stopped and Alex’s glossy eyes were becoming pink.

“Who?” You asked, the silence was thick, tense, and palpable as he shook his head mournfully. A small, silly smile cracked on his face as if he heard a joke. However, there’s no joke to be told.

“My favorite uncle, he died of sepsis,” he whispered. Your eyes widened as he covered his eyes with his palm. His breathing now heavy as you gawked at him in disbelief.

“He was an old man, lived a good life, but…seeing him, all bloated and stinkin’, it did something to me. He was partially decomposed from the summer and being in his apartment for two weeks.” Your eyes were bigger than the pool lights as he continued. His voice laden with sorrow as you press your lips together tightly.

“But, his face—I can’t ever forget how…pained his face was. And to imagine that—that was his last moments on this earth; pain.” He said, looking at the crisp, blue water as a tear trickled down his cheek.

“And, I embalmed him, did his hair real nice and put on his favourite mustard crushed velvet suit, but I just…couldn’t, I couldn’t bring myself to touch him up or even set his features,” he said. Somehow, his voice stayed still while he lamented.

“Vivienne had to finish the rest— I couldn’t take it anymore I had to hide in the bathroom,” Alex whimpered towards the end, his tears damn near tricked down his chin. His breathing ragged, you’d never seen anyone cry like this. Your heart wrenched as he attempted to shield himself from your sight.

Trembling, you scoot closer, your eyes locke on the reddened tip of his nose that had a fat tear hanging of it. Your fingers twitched as Alex tried to calm himself, your mind screamed to do something. But, how does one comfort anyone on something they’ve never experienced?

You decided to wrap your arms around him.Pullling him in by the shoulders and breathing just as raggedly as him, like the embrace stole your breath.

“You made him look the best before his send-off,” you whispered, caressing his shoulder blades as he continued to weep. His face buried deep in your chest as muffled sniffles filled your ear.

“Yeah, I did,” he croaked. You smiled at him as your fingers idly brushed against his back more.

“And knowing you, you probably picked the best floral arrangement for him,” you whispered, your eyes big in confusion while you continued your shot at comforting Mr. Turner. His sobs finally died down.

“Yea, his girlfriend told me everything I needed to know for the memorial,” he said, his eyes red andand stinging from all the crying as you pluck a napkin from your paper plate and dabbed away at the remain tears.

“I'd say that's all that matters,” you coo. Mr. Turner pulled away to look at you. His eyes were still glossy and bright red as he gazed into yours. The look you gave him was one of pity, face soft as the soft splashes of the pool and shrill chirps of crickets fill the quiet yard.

“I mean,” you stammer. Ripping your eyes from his while your stomach twists in knots.

“If I were to die…it’d be nice to know that my remains is truly in good hands,” you praised, then cringing internally at the statement while awkwardly rubbing the backs of his shoulders as he cracked a grin.

“Dare I say it, it seems quite intimate,” you said. To which Alex’s head shot up, his big brown eyes looked into yours as the knots in your stomach twisted tighter.

“Intimate you say?” you nodded, your face scorched at the way your hands were firmly wrapped around his shoulders as you stared deep into his eyes again.

The crickets, splashes, and gusts of a rare breeze fill the yard once more before you spoke,

“To know that I'm putting my image or memory in the hands of someone who knows me, it means a lot,” you said. Alex blinked, his arms still snaked around your lower waist as you shuddered.

“It is isn't it?” he said, his eyes softened as both of you grew lost in each other.

“Yea,” you breathed, watching him look down at your lips for a moment before returning back to your eyes.

“So,” he coughed, trying to ease your apparent tension. You turn back to the sliding glass door only to see the lights were then off.

“So, being a mortician is…not always just organs and cool tools?” you said. Not necessarily asking him, yet Alex nodded in agreement.

“Yea, its not very glamorous honestly,” he joked, his arms still around your waist like their only job was to hold you.

“But, I think you'd make a wonderful addition to the Parks’ home? If that's what you want,” he finished, his voice hushed.

“What do you mean?” you asked, raising an eyebrow and perplexing at him.

“I mean…maybe you become, my student— of sorts,”

As soon as he finished his words, you felt like doing backflips or exploding into batches of sugar. You gasped in surprise as Mr. Turner leaned in close. Your heart boomed in your chest while he came closer. Cool breath brushed against your face and lips as he pulled your hips in close.

“You'd really do all that for me?” your voice airy as your grip on his shoulders tighten in anticipation. Your face burned as the yellow moonlight glittered against the bright, blue pool water,

“Of course, I would,” he finished. A grin formed on your face as your lips inch ever so close. His plush pink lips ghosted over your lip gloss-covered ones as you sighed. And then, during the quiet excitement that buzzed between you, he kissed you.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you lapped up the taste of beer on his tongue. Your hands crept up his spine as you melted within his arms, shuddering beneath him while he reached a hand towards your cheek.

Both your lips moved in sync as your bodies pressed together tightly. The air was dense as you tangled your legs with his.

You both were completely entangled in the little world you created for each other. His hair brushed against the side of your cheeks while his thumbs stroked your cheek.

Everything was…fine, even great dare you say.

(🧎🏿 work is ass)

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅: @yourstartreatment @himesuedi @disfordangerous4 @harrysbestiee

* 4 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 🫧~

#anya—anya #my fics #alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x reader #practicum #mentor x mentee #best friends dad #funeral director! alex #mortuary au #tw.death #weird death talks #angst to fluff #fluff to angst to fluff?#the last shadow puppets

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bratshaws · 2 years

Text

goodness gracious 3. brb x oc

a/n: god i love this chapter already. Btw, this might be... a long fic? Maybe? WHO knows i have so much planned for it. s o many ideas....... so little time. btw, Bea has a fc and body claim : its Tara Lynn

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

chapters:

1/2/

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter

She woke up at five in the morning, her eyes snapping open with so much force she felt a headache the moment her vision cleared. She stood up, had breakfast then sat on the couch for fifteen minutes staring at nothing while Jolene licked what was left of her yogurt inside the bowl since her owner didn’t seem to notice.

Beatrice then thought she should do her morning yoga, since it always helped. So she did, but she stuck in downward dog with her eyes glazed over, looking at nothing as she remembered yet again he was coming over.

Then she decided to clean her already clean house. Trying to fight Jolene once she tried to end her mortal enemy: the vacuum. Then she decided to wash her dishes only to remember she already did. Looking at her phone she just groaned when it just turned into six a.m.

So then she decided to check her fridge, what if they got hungry? What sort of diet were they following? Should she get something gluten free? What if one of them was vegan? She didn’t have anything vegan, oh my god why doesn’t she have anything vegan????

So she went to the only grocery store open at this time, trying to get a bit of everything she thought they’d appreciate? Lemons too, she’d make lemonade. She tried to appear casual and not like she ran out of her house wearing her yoga pants with a large hoodie and hair up in a messy bun looking like a crackhead trying to find her next hit.

Done with grocery shopping she got back home and checked everything, even fluffing her pillows even more, putting the striped one on the left of the couch and the mustard one to the right…only to replace positions three more times before giving up. She returned to the couch,sitting down with her back straight, letting Jolene climb on her lap and stay there while her owner tried to calm the hell down.

She sent a message to Shells, at seven in the morning on a Sunday asking her when she’d be over with more than five question marks. Bea tried her best to relax, following the breathing techniques her therapist taught her to control her anxiety, slipping her eyes shut.

Smell the flowers, blow the candle.

She repeated the motion for a few more seconds, until she felt her heartbeat go back to normal. Then her body relaxed and she enjoyed the sounds of the ocean, the wind and cars passing by her house. Good, this was good.

Once she calmed enough, she decided to take a shower, but then came another dilemma: what could she wear? Nothing too fancy but nothing too casual either. Shorts? Out of the question. She might just wear ripped jeans and one of her t-shirts. Right, okay, that was good, yes.

She ran up the staircase, Jolene following her close by, while she opened one of the boxes her clothes were being kept. Tugging her dark ripped jeans out alongside fresh underwear, digging deeper while checking which shirt she could use, furrowing her eyebrows before pulling out a Metallica Master of Puppets shirt, placing the clothes on the cook of her elbow rushing to her bathroom where she stood probably too long trying to make sure she looked presentable.

It was too warm to keep her hair down so, hair bun it was. She wondered about putting on make up - the most she wore at the bar was eyeliner,light foundation and lip gloss - then chose against it when she felt how stuffy it was getting already, choosing to just use some moisturizer and hydrating lip gloss instead.

So, she was decent. Tugging her Metallica shirt for a bit too long, frowning when it seemed tighter than it once was, but shook it off. No time for that now! She just smiled at her reflection the best she should, walking out of her bathroom with Jolene in tow.

Checking on her phone she saw Shells sent her a message, with even more question marks, saying she’d be over around ten o’clock and to please not send her messages so early in the morning. It didn’t take long for her phone to ring, a number she didn’t know calling…but there was only one person who it could be.

“Oh Jesus…” she clenched her eyes, “Please don’t let me mess this up.” her hand shook with nerves before she accepted the call, lifting it to her ear, “Hello?”

“Beatrice?”

She covered her face with a hand, cheeks flaming at the sound of his voice “Hmhm, i-it’s me.”

“Hey, good morning. Did I wake you up? I know it’s early.”

“G-Good morning and no, no I was awake already.” she replied, sinking lower on the couch, feeling like a teenager. “So um…what time is good for you guys?”

“Well I– hey man cut it out!” She heard a chorus of ‘ooohs’ and mixed voices coming from behind him, “Sorry, you are on speaker, let me just–okay, there, finally. So, is ten thirty good for you?”

“Oh, yes, sounds good!” she licked her lips, then furrowed her eyebrows “Listen, if…I mean if you guys think it’ll take too long you guys can just leave it! I don’t want to bother your day off or anything–”

“No, no, you won’t, really. We don’t mind.” there was something in his voice, something soft, but then she heard the not so subtle sound of a slap being followed by an ‘ow! the fuck Rooster???’ “So…see you in a few then.”

“Yeah.” god her voice came out breathy , take a hold of yourself woman, “I-I’ll see you then.”

“Okay… Bye.”

“Bye.” she hung up the call and tossed the phone to the couch, covering her face with her hands only to squeal against her palms. God he sounded so hot, GOD he was so hot! What was a girl to do with that?? The reverie disappeared only for the anxiety to take over…this was really happening.

Beatrice wrung her hands nervously while still partially on the couch, then stood up to pace around the living room with Jolene following her movements with her eyes, her sock monkey toy lodged between her maws as she lay on the floor, “Okay, okay I can do this. It 's fine! It’s totally fine, it’s nothing serious!It’s just something to help with. Nothing more! They’ll come over, take the armoire upstairs and go! Right?” she turned to face her dog, who just chewed on the toy lazily “Right! Yes. It’s fine!”

She had to prepare. God she had to prepare!!

By the time Shells came over, using her own spare key for Bea’s house, she greeted Jolene who was already whining. Closing the door to crouch near the dog, scratching her behind the ears, Shells blinked behind her sunglasses when she smelled something, “Bea?”

“In the kitchen!”

“In the kitchen–why are you in the kitchen?” Shells tossed her bag on the couch much like the day before, running a hand through her shoulder length blonde hair to pull it up on a ponytail, her sneakers squeaking on the wooden floor until she reached the kitchen. “Woah.” Bea stood by the counter, finger foods trays, some salad, lemonade - was that ice cream?? “Is there a birthday party coming up?”

Beatrice wrung her hands, looking from the food to her friend, “Is it too much?”

“I mean, pfft, no but…I wasn’t expecting you to cook them stuff.”

“I just– I just thought if they didn’t have lunch, they could snack on something!” Shells approached the tray with tiny sandwiches, swiping her finger on some of the beige colored paste that spilt on it to lick it up, humming to herself, “It’s hummus.”

“It tastes fucking great.” she said, picking up one of the sandwiches to snatch a bite, lifting the bread to check the insides, “Chicken, hummus, julienne carrots, some tomatoes…”

“There’s also the vegan version but it’s in the fridge, I didn’t know if any of them are vegan– and the bread is gluten free.” Shells stopped her chewing to tilt her head with a small smile to Beatrice. “What?”

“Bea, you are absolutely adorable.” her friend’s cheeks turned red, “If this doesn’t snag Rooster, I’ll gladly take over his place.” she took another bite, humming in delight, “Cause this is fucking good, you are a great cook.”

Beatrice chuckled, crossing her arms, “Oh really, you’d date me for my food?”

“Babes, just let me paint on a mustache and wear Hawaiian shirts, you won’t see a difference.” that made the brunette laugh, turning to place the food inside the fridge for safety, “What time are they coming?”

Beatrice sucked in a breath, pulling her phone out of her pocket to check once she closed the fridge’s door, “Ten thirty…so…in ten minutes.” all the calming exercises she had done earlier went down the drain, she leaned her lower back on the kitchen counter, clenching the black marble countertop with her phone clenched in her other hand, “I’m nervous.”

“Hm,” Shells lifted her index finger, her cheek bulging out as she chewed, “Don’t be, it’ll be fine.”

“What if I mess something up? What if I say something weird?” but her friend made a non-committal noise, too busy shoving the rest of the fresh sandwich inside her mouth, clapping her hands to get rid of the crumbs. Once she swallowed the mass that the sandwich became, she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

“You won’t, now,” she held her friend’s shoulder, “Relax,” she shook them up a little bit for emphasis, “Relaaaax, and breathe. Everything will be fine.”

“Yeah…yeah, okay.”

“Now, step aside, I'm gonna get another sandwich.”

With the two women in the kitchen Jolene was the one responsible to announce sudden visitors. She chewed her little monkey severely, until she heard the sound of a car parking right in front of her house. Her ears perked up, being followed by her head, the monkey still in her mouth as she slowly rose to her paws. She nudged her pink nose through the curtains, pulling herself upwards to stand up on the window sill.

“Oh my god! Look at the dog! Hi!!” a voice said, she didn’t know who said it, but she was already wagging her tail, whining happily at the attention. The sound was enough for Beatrice to walk out of the kitchen, seeing the silhouettes on the outside, quickly marching over to where Jolene was, mentally preparing herself before opening the door.

Shells came right behind her picking Jolene up with a quiet ‘oof!’, holding her away enough for the door to be unlocked. Beatrice stood with her hand clenched on the door handle, squeezing her eyes shut ‘you can do it,Beatrice. Open the door.’ she repeated in her mind. Then she opened the door, face to chest because God sure is humorous with her isn't He, with Rooster. She blinked, gulping quietly, then turned her head upwards to meet his sunglasses, “Hey.”

“Hey.” he replied, removing his shades to slip them inside his tank top. She stepped aside once the shock passed, allowing him and the rest of his team to wander inside. Jesus, her house was way too small for so much muscle power, “Shells, you are here too?”

“I’m just here for mental support.” she chuckles, having a hard time keeping Jolene still, “Okay, okay, fine, you go.”

The pitbull straggled to her feet, her hind legs slipping with excitement as she greeted every single one of the officers by sniffing their shoes, butt and tail wagging excitedly to the new friends that just got in, running to pick up her little monkey toy to show them, “Oh my god, you are so cute!”

Shells and Bea could only watch the usually tough officers suddenly melt into goopy puddles of joy, their voices high as they pet the dog. Jolene however ran to each one, ending up showing her toy to them all, finalizing with Rooster.Standing on her hind legs so he too would show her attention. Which he did, crouching to the floor and cupping the giant puppy’s head, flopping her ears playfully while complimenting her toy as if it was the most important thing in this room.

Bea’s chest clenched, her cheeks flushed “oh no.” she thought, “oh no, he likes dogs too?? I’m doomed.” Shells not so subtle jab to the ribs snapped Bea out of her thoughts, giving the brunette a knowing smirk, then nodding in the direction of the backyard, “Right! Okay, Jolene, down!” The dog ran away from Rooster’s arms to settle herself onto the couch, chewing her monkey toy happily.

Bea cleared her throat, “Well, hi guys.” mixed voices replied back, “Um…follow me. It’s right here.” she turned on her heel to the sliding glass door, opening them up all the way so Rooster and the others could see it.

The sandy haire pilot whistled low, placing his hands on his hips, “Yeah there was no way you girls could do it alone.”

“It’s really big,” Payback added, standing beside the other officer before running his fingers on the surface. Below the armoire was a bunch of newspapers and ripped magazine pages, dripped with dark mahogany varnish, “You painted this?”

“Yeah, two coats of varnish. Sanded it too.” she added, tucking the hair that slipped the bun behind her ear “I got it from an online store selling vintage furniture.”

Rooster walked around the armoire, the top of his hair peeking from behind it. The armoire tipped backwards just enough to be put back on the same spot, “Whew, yeah, this will need three of us at least.” he walked back to the front, looking back at the two other guys who stepped out in her tiny backyard, tilting his head when he noticed Bea practically squeezing herself behind Jake, “Hangman.”

“What?” Rooster nodded his head to Bea, who blinked in surprise, “Oh, sorry sweetheart, didn’t see you there.” Hangman however winks, giving her a brilliant smile “I know you want the best view, I don’t mind showing it to you.”

“Um…I…”

“He’s all bark and no bite, Bea. Don’t worry about it,” Rooster’s voice came quickly, being followed by a grunt, “Okay, me, Fanboy ,Hangman and Payback will carry it up the stairs. I think we all fit there.”

Bea nods, stepping back inside to see Shells already holding Jolene still again. She couldn’t hear what he was telling them once she got inside the living room, but it sounded…dangerously attractive. Phoenix and Bob were on either sides of the door, waiting until four distinct grunts were heard from the outside, the sunlight being blocked by her armoire.

She stepped back, giving them enough space to pass. They looked…way more relaxed than she expected, while they were being careful, it didn’t seem the armoire weighed so much for them. Once they reached the stairs, she couldn’t help herself “Please be careful!”

“aw sweetheart, I’ll make sure you kiss my bruises later, what do you say?” Hangman was on the fifth step alongside Payback, while Rooster and Fanboy held the opposite side. She blushed deep red and he laughed even more, his chuckling being cut short when Rooster pushed the armoire up a bit more “I’m going! I’m going!”

She watched the four of them climb up, trying very hard to not look at how nice Rooster’s ass looked when he went up the stairs. She slowly went up once they disappeared on the top of the loft area. The space for the armoire was quite obvious since she only had her bed in the center of the area, some boxes on the corner and her bathroom right on her bed’s left side.

They talked amongst each other, Rooster questioning the direction where they should put it and she pointed to the space they were currently standing at, so they quickly set the armoire down. Her lips parted in wonder, watching her oak 1965 armoire stand in it’s full glory where she planned it to, a soft gasp leaving her lips.

Rooster leaned his elbow on the armoire, “What I said? Best moving business you’d ever get.” cue to Hangman flexing his arms for emphasis, smiling at her yet again. She dipped her head with a small smile, nearing the armoire to press her hand to it, “Is there anything else you want us to do?”

She blinked,”Huh?Oh! No no! You guys don’t have to! Really,” but Payback looked behind himself to see the shelves neatly stacked to the wall with the baggie of screws and toolbox next to it, “Oh, no, no that’s okay, I’ll do that later–”

“We are here already.” Rooster smiled, giving her a shrug, “We can help.”

She hoped her heart eyes weren’t obvious, but she nodded her head, whispering a gentle ‘okay’ with a smile.

–

What would’ve taken her weeks, they did in a matter of hours. Her sleek brown shelves stood beautifully on the corner of her room and in the living room, Bob made sure they’d stay straight there alongside Payback. Phoenix joined the boys later, when Hangman denied needing help building her computer desk. Meanwhile, Rooster carried her box of books down the stairs - her two fully stacked boxes mind you - once she told him what it was. They opened the boxes and Rooster arched his eyebrows at the book that hit him first “ You like Dune?”

She blinked, looking inside to see the premium collection she got months before the movie launched, “Yeah,” she licked her lips, picking her copy from the box, “Do you?”

“I never really even saw the movie.” he chuckles, “Is it any good?”

“Oh the new movie? It’s great, probably the best adaptation of Dune I’ve seen. I know they tried to be as loyal to the book as they could.” She held the set up to place it in the middle of the shelf, the gold illustrations shining against the black of the books’ thick spines. “Of course there are things you can’t add, but they made references and it was good enough for me.”

Rooster continued rummaging through the box, holding up the books for her to place however she wanted while asking questions about them. Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Frankenstein, Lord of the Rings, comic books…she had a bit of everything. It was when giving her another book that he noticed the tattoos on the arm grabbing the books from him.

He could see a tiny heart close to the inside of her elbow, a little snake near her wrist, the quote ‘In a hole in the ground lived a hobbit…’ on the underside of her lower arm, with the tiny version of what he assumed to be a Hobbit house right next to it. He watched Lord of the Rings, he could identify that. He knew she had more, but the shirt she wore hid most of her upper arms for him to see anything else.

Rooster’s eyes met hers, seeing a confused look on her face as she tried to curl her arm close, “I was just checking your tattoos.”

“Oh.” she looked down at her arm, trying to not focus on how fat it was, turning it to herself but smiling at him for a short while before moving it forward again to grab the next book, “Sorry, I’m not used to people looking at my...arms” she bit her lower lip “You got any?”

“No. Want to though.” he grabbed three more books, handing them over to her so his hand was free “Never know what to get. There’s so many options, I can’t choose. But for the place…” she hums, flitting her gaze quickly to his bicep once he lifts his arm up to roll his sleeve up to his shoulder, rubbing the golden skin with his fingertips, “Maybe here?”

She almost choked on her spit when the muscle flexed ‘Um…um, the arm is nice! I-It has a lot of space.” Jesus Christ his bicep was huge. Bea blinked hard, moving her gaze away to focus on arranging her books “You can do something big there.” really big.

“Like?”

“Hm?”

He shrugs, smiling at her, “Like what? What’s your suggestion?” he nods to her tattooed arms, “You have more experience than I do.”

Beatrice slowed her movements, the Carrie book almost slipping out of her fingers as she translated his words “Oh!” she cleared her throat, “Um…I dunno? It could be something meaningful first? Like…I don’t know, something to do with the Navy. Or something you really like. I don’t know the options are endless. It’s all up to you.”

Rooster’s eyes somber for a second, his gaze leaving hers before returning with a bit of a strained smile, “Right,” oh no, what did she do? “I’ll think about it.”

“O-Okay.” she frowned to herself, chastising herself for whatever was it she said that bothered him. They continued filling the shelf in silence, once they were finished she took her phone out of her pocket “Oh! Um…” she bit her lower lip, looking up at him, “You hungry? I mean– you guys hungry?”

“Why? Is it noon?”

“It’s almost two in the afternoon.”

“Oh shit.” he ran his hand through his hair “Didn’t even notice how time flew by.”

She chewed her lower lip harder, tapping her fingernails against her Michelangelo phone case, “I um… I prepared some things… in case you guys got hungry.” she walks past him to the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab the snacks she prepared earlier. Setting them all on the counter, including the vegan ones, she jumped to see Rooster standing right next to her, with his eyes wide.

“You made all this?”

“...I…yeah?” Was it too much? God it was too much wasn’t it? He’d be freaked out and just think why the hell would she do that to them when they weren’t even—

“Oooohhh, snacks!” it was Phoenix’s voice that broke her turmoil, stepping between the two to grab a sandwich herself, humming happily when she bit into it, “Oh this is good! Is that lemonade?” Beatrice nods, opening her cabinets to grab a glass so Phoenix could fill it herself “I wouldn’t wait too long, Roos.” she jabs him on the ribs playfully, “It’s delicious.”

In a matter of seconds, whoever wasn’t in the kitchen suddenly showed up. She didn’t have a table, yet, so they all helped her take the food to the living room, setting on the round coffee table. It was a tight fit, but it worked. Beatrice couldn’t help but smile shyly at the compliments thrown her way, nor the way everyone seemed to enjoy her quick cooking. Rooster especially was on his third sandwich already, sitting on the edge of the couch while Shells was on the other end.

Shells, who once she saw her friend standing up like a tree, offered her seat to her while she slid to the floor herself. Bea hesitated, but sat down, tucking one of her legs under herself before grabbing a glass of lemonade. She didn’t say much, choosing to listen to the officers chat amongst themselves. Something about Hangman almost losing a finger as he tried to nudge pieces of her table together, much to the blonde officer’s annoyance.

They ate everything. Nothing a crumb was left. and at the right time too, since it was getting closer and closer to the sunset. They helped her set the things on the sink, to which she said she’d wash it and to not to worry, before walking them to the door.

Jolene licked them all goodbye, not only did she get new friends the new friends also fed her scraps of their food! Sitting cutely on the couch as Beatrice led them to the door, “Thank you guys again for helping me.” she smiled, keeping the door open for them.

“Not a worry, if you need anything else you can give us a call,” Payback said, being the first one out, giving her a goodbye, being followed by Fanboy and Bob. Phoenix however stood in the doorway, holding Hangman and Rooster back as she pulled out her phone.

“You got instagram?” Bea nodded, “Cool, I’m going to follow you, is that okay?”

“Yeah! Sure, it’s um, it’s bumblebea, no capital letters.” she heard the notification ping coming from her phone from her back pocket. She waved Phoenix goodbye, dipping her head when Hangman winked at her again,wiggling his own phone in her direction before she heard another ping.

Once Rooster was on the doorway, she parted her lips, “Thank you.” he looked down at her, “For…for helping me.”

He gives her a small grin, pulling his sunglasses out of his tank top, “It wasn’t a problem. You can call if you need any more help and if we are around, okay?” she nods with a shy smile, her cheeks turning red before he slips on his sunglasses, “See you at the bar?”

“...sure. See you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

She holds onto the door with her eyes following him once he reaches the bronco, Bob and Phoenix sitting inside already while Hangman had Payback and Fanboy in his car. She rolls her lower lip into her mouth when Rooster adjusts himself on the seat, one of his hands on the steering wheel already. He looks up back at her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk, two of his fingers around the wheel loosen up so he could give her a partial wave. One she reciprocated quickly.

After that the cars left her driveway, one after the other. She slid the door shut, trying to bite back a smile until a figure stood to her side, so she tilted her head to see a very smug Shells…who pulled her own sleeve up, exposing her bicep, “Should I get it…here?” she made a weird face by squinting her eyes and biting her lower lip, “Damn, Bea, do you wanna feel my muscles? My big muscles? I’m so stroooongg.”

Beatrice laughed, pushing her friend’s chest when she figured out who she was playing, “Shut up and help me with the dishes.”

“Oh fine,” she sighs playfully, “If I must.”

“You must.” Shells walks past her to the kitchen, Bea following before stopping when she heard another ping from her phone. She pulled it out, pressing the power button to see the notifications. Her cheeks warmed up again.

b.bradshaw started following you.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader

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sdaomine · 9 months

Text

'til death do us part... or 'til i kill you first

Things take a sharp turn when Marius and Vyn discover each other's secret identities. Filing a divorce is on the table, but Vyn takes matters into his own hands—after all, he'd rather end the marriage here than in court.

A/N: Finally, FINALLY done with this fic that has long been rotting in my drafts! I've been wanting to write a Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU for my favorite gay ship but lacked the time to actually finish it (but here we are!). I wrote this in 2022 but only concluded it today, AMIDST my many, many university backlogs <3 Anyway, I know some stuff here won't make sense but this is a self-indulgent fic so... yeah.

wc: 13.8k words.

Six years in.

Six years of a wonderful marriage. Six years of black tea and chocolate drink during early mornings. Six years of intoxicating kisses, sweet and zealous; six years of what the youngest von Hagen called the best fuck he’d ever get in his lifetime.

You see, when you marry the love of your life and spend wild, beautiful years with them, you start to think you are building your relationship’s mighty foundation—that sooner or later, the two of you would be able to finally lower those invisible walls which had always separated you, because admit it or not, there is no marriage built without deep, dark secrets.

But six years in and Marius von Hagen finds himself holding tightly onto his gun—a pretty sleek silencer he so cherished, a gift from his brother—his back pressed hard against the wall just beside the stairs, waiting.

“Hah—shit. Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his chest heavy, almost suffocating. Marius pressed one hand against his heart, feeling its erratic pace and, at this very moment, he was all but trying to calm his rapid breathing.

But then there was a quiet creak on the wooden stairs.

Marius’ eyes screwed shut. Fuck fuck fuck—

Marius threw himself to the side, hiding further beneath the wall, just in time—just in time before a series of raining bullets holed through the wooden wall and the staircase banister, which was soon followed by another round of rapid firing. Marius shook his head as he waited for it to stop.

With one arm protecting his head, Marius leaned slightly against the safer side of the house. Deep down he cursed and cursed the sheer agony of having to prop himself like that against the wall, right after he had dived into the floor like it was some massive pool of water. “Goddamn,” he cursed quietly, and however could he not? His once neatly painted Victorian walls that probably cost some other person’s soul were now ripped into shreds, the wood falling off, their deadly splinters scattered around. There were holes all over, both small and wide, and Marius took a little peek.

There he is.

Vyn Richter, Stellis’ most esteemed psychiatrist: well-mannered, elegant, so fucking pretty. Marius was in awe even when the doctor, who still wore his pearl, white coat, carried two massive rifles in both of his hands. Fucking assault rifles. Just where the fuck did you keep those in our fucking house, Vyn?

A sly smirk curved the doctor’s lips. Vyn caught a glimpse of his husband peeking through the small holes and asked, a little too seductively for Marius’ taste, “Darling, you are still alive?”

Dammit!

Vyn held back a scowl when he heard nothing. Marius used to surprise Vyn whenever he came home from work, so it was not impossible the young CEO had already switched hiding places. And so Vyn, as silently as he could, made his way down the stairs—

“Still am, baby.”

Vyn dived down the stairs instinctively, hissing out small, foreign curses as he landed—crashed—on the floor. He helped himself up with animalistic speed and grabbed his weapons, dashing towards the room opposite the wall where Marius continued to fire his silencer gun.

The doctor clutched his side and winced. Two minutes in and he already got himself a bruise.

“Stupid brat,” he muttered sharply as he reloaded his rifle. “Whatever crossed my mind? I should have killed him that fucking night.”

Two nights ago.

Vyn—in his white Mercedes—took a sharp turn round the bend of his English garden, leading out of the mansion gates. He was running, no, driving away from Marius. Why? Nothing much, really. Just that after six years of marriage Marius found out that aside from being a psychiatrist, his dear husband actually worked as an assassin. Learned that Vyn was a killer from another agency, which unfortunately for Marius was PAX’s worst rival with… well, dirty work.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Marius was an experienced killer, too, a secret even the best psychiatrist in the country must have somehow missed.

So… shit.

It was supposed to be a romantic dinner date. Vyn came home earlier than usual (he had to call off his assassination schedule that night) so he could cook his husband’s favorite dinner. The ever-so-loving Vyn Richter even lit candles on the table, did some last-minute flower arrangements, all so they’d have a good time (He even had half a mind to light candles and scatter rose petals across their bedroom, for a change). It had been a while since the last time he’d eaten a proper meal with Marius, anyway.

But there was something amiss, and Vyn was upset. Upset with the fact that he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Or what could possibly go wrong.

Although he was quite certain it involved his husband. And involved he was indeed because Marius was all but suspicious that whole evening, asking this and that, inquiries Vyn himself often utilized whenever he questioned a target or a client. And he wouldn’t have been a renowned psychiatrist if his husband’s dubious actions went unnoticed. Marius. I did not know he would be this daft.

Until the bottle of wine Marius was holding suddenly slipped from his grasp, and Vyn—who was seated, his back turned away, his attention wholly fixated on anything other than Marius and his wine—caught the bottle swiftly with one hand.

It was then he realized he’d made a grave mistake, because if anything his husband’s grip was always firm, and not in this life would Marius von Hagen let a million-stellin wine slip from his hands.

Marius let it slip on purpose.

And now Vyn drove his Mercedes the way a lunatic would their car, ramming on the trash bins and fences and even some of the patches of roses from his beloved garden, all to escape from his husband. Because apparently, his dirty secret’s out, and Marius is out to get him (perhaps).

The car screeched as he took a sharp turn, finally out from their mansion. Was he a free man, now? Not exactly—Marius von Hagen suddenly appeared in the middle of the road, running. Vyn muttered under his breath. Goddammit. He took the shortcut. I forgot about the shortcut—

A bang sounded, and the next thing Vyn knew, there was a crack on the windshield. The car halted abruptly.

Vyn scrutinized the crack. A bullet.

“Did…” he mused—hissed, rather—as his eyes trailed to where Marius was knelt on the ground, slowly helping himself up. “Did this bastard just try to shoot me?”

Marius almost flinched when Vyn, just a meter or two from him, slammed his hands on the car horn repeatedly. If it wasn’t his pretty little husband Marius would’ve just shot the car until the tires go off and the driver dead; but then again it was Vyn inside that car, and—

And the windshield… has a crack. And I have a gun. And I…

Marius swallowed. And he must’ve accidentally pulled the trigger when he hopped out of the bushes from the sidewalk and tripped. And now Vyn thinks he tried to shoot him.

“Baby, accident.” Marius now stood in front of the car, and the sight of his husband—who looked angry as hell—could be seen clearly from his line of vision. He hoisted both arms, the way a cornered, guilty criminal would, and repeated his words gently, “Baby, accident. Accident.”

Marius gestured to his gun. “I tripped. Accident,” he shouted. Marius didn’t really give a damn anymore whether or not the neighbors would hear him. “Baby, accident—no, stop!”

Marius inhaled sharply as he heard the engine rev—and it revved loud, as if a warning, more than enough to tell Marius if he didn’t step out of the way at that very moment Vyn would drag him to death by way of a hit and run.

And he did not hesitate.

“No, stop! Wait!” Marius waved his arms frantically, almost throwing away his gun just so he could show Vyn he wouldn’t dare hurt him. However it was his mistake that he pondered it at all, because Vyn Richter was the pettiest man alive, petty enough to actually hit the gas and hurl the vehicle towards Marius.

Oh, shit. Is this my end?

The car steered forward, its speed almost inescapable (for anyone in Marius’ situation). Marius gathered all his weight and lunged at the car, and Vyn then piloted the steering wheel in a rapid pace, left and right, in an attempt to haul his husband—probably ex-husband soon—out of the car, but to no avail. “Get off my fucking car!” he yelled irritably. “Marius von Hagen!”

Marius even managed to smirk as he held onto the side of the car (for dear life). “Stop the car—” he shouted back, his face almost hitting the windshield. “Vilhelm von Hagen!”

“Fuck you.”

“When?”

“Saturday, if I have not killed you yet by then.”

“Sweet.” Marius took advantage of Vyn getting carried away by their banter—Vyn could only hiss out in frustration as Marius broke the passenger seat window with the handle of his gun. It didn’t take long before he was halfway inside the vehicle, and Vyn was fumbling with his seatbelt.

But Marius was a second too late. The moment he’d gotten inside entirely, Vyn had already thrown himself out of the vehicle, and the Mercedes, along with Marius, was heading straight to the dark woods.

“Fuck you,” Vyn spat, still lying on the asphalt, catching his breath. He had wounds and scratches all over his skin—so much for all his skin routines—but that did not matter at the time. He fished out his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

“Good evening,” he greeted rather blandly. “Yes. Please fetch me, and bring something sweet. I need my sugar levels to spiral.”

Present times.

And so they are here, trying to shoot one another’s head. Marius had initially come to gather his hidden weapons, only to find them gone. Vyn must’ve found out. The psychiatrist, on the other hand, returned home and got his guns ready. Heck, Marius even considered the great possibility of his husband setting up traps within the house.

Now we can tell who loves who more.

Yeah. That would be me, Marius would say. I love this sick fuck more than he loves me.

He peeked at the stairs. Marius caught Vyn claiming the opposite wall as his barricade, swore to god heard his muse wince at what could’ve been new bruises. He chewed on his lower lip as he crouched and stalked along the hallway with confident precision—he moved the way shadows would devour the night, utterly soundless as he coursed towards their dining area, which was also a connecting room to their massive kitchen.

To Vyn’s kitchen, his mind noted, almost like an instinct. His beloved had always been the one to cook all their meals, bake mouthwatering desserts and mix their cocktails and most times they’d end up hot that Vyn would find himself bent over the counter with Marius railing him from behind. Sometimes atop that long table, where Marius would feast on his husband the way he would his favorite meal; in return, Vyn knelt on the carpet under the table and sucked Marius’ hard cock until he moaned and screamed his name and squirted his cum on Vyn’s crystalline smooth face.

Marius was never in the kitchen, that sacred place. Sacred to his husband, at least, but when he did go there, it was always to admire Vyn while he prepped their meals.

He let out a bitter chuckle as he entered the dimmed space. Good old days.

Marius scanned the room, one he was most familiar with, before he proceeded to check under the table and chairs, ran his hands along the wall, removed the exquisitely-framed portraits hanging on them as a precaution. He knew Vyn couldn’t have been here for long; he wouldn’t have ample enough time to set up his baits within the house, but just in case.

He’d learned well not to underestimate Vyn. Vyn Richter, of all people.

Keeping his steady stance, Marius trod towards the high archway that led to the kitchen hall. He moved with a spy’s practiced grace and quiet, walking about the area as he quickly drafted a plan in his head. It was safer here, he thought, for almost little to no lights were switched on, and none of them would dare, since the lights could only be opened with two claps or a snap. Even without Marius’ careful movements, Vyn won’t be able to locate him that quickly. Especially since their house was a goddamn mansion.

No, screw that. A goddamn castle. If Vyn had not declined his husband’s initial offer with regard to housing, their residence would have looked like Buckingham Palace, except it was in Stellis.

Well great. How nice would it be to reminisce while your husband’s lurking in the same house, trying to kill you? Marius blew a sigh through his nose, frustrated. Couldn’t this be resolved with yet another delftware imported from France—

Marius went cold. “Fuck.”

He went cold because somehow, he’d forgotten that he didn’t really own this kitchen. That even though he’d been here a lot of times to fuck his husband on that table and over that counter, he wasn’t there enough to fully know and memorize each tile, each wall, each delftware that perched on display. Because somehow, Marius had focused on the possible threats that he’d missed the most unsuspecting yet lethal ones: Vyn’s decorative collection of teacups and teapots and plates.

And perhaps the odds were not in his favor tonight, because Marius accidentally bumped into one, and the teapot—even though he had caught it with his hand at first—proceeded to take its fall and break itself into hundreds of tiny shards. Marius stilled, his blood thrumming in alarm.

At first, there was silence. The eerie kind.

And then rained a series of bullets from the dining room entrance.

“Fuck fuck fuck—”

Marius dived into floor, clutching his silencer. He crawled swiftly under the long table until he reached the archway to the kitchen. He stood on his feet and snatched his other pistol from its belt holster, scanning the kitchen—a fucking enormous kitchen—for efficient shields, weapons, or if the heavens somehow favored him again, a possible way out. An escape from his deranged husband.

He’s too beautiful for someone demented, though.

He heard footsteps. Slow and steady, its familiar, elegant cadence enough a warning for Marius to keep his guard, his guns hoisted and at the ready. In one stride, he took refuge beside the fridge, the opposite side of it facing the entrance.

And then there was a distant, honeyed voice. “You dare break my delftware.”

“You fired because of a fucking teapot?” Marius sneered, but cackled all the same. “You’re crazy.”

“Your fault for marrying me.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

Vyn pulled the trigger and fired, the bullet merely grazing past the fridge. A warning. “I gathered. Seeing how you are out almost every other night, only to a foolish spouse will that go unnoticed,” Vyn uttered, his voice laced with venom—bitterness. “Tell me, darling. How many ladies have you fucked while you were gone?”

Marius resisted the urge to step out of his hiding spot and confront his husband head-on. “Fucking stop it, Vyn. Are you serious? This again?” he complained, the grip around his silencer tightening in his simmering anger. “I never cheated on you, godammit. I told you—I was out for business. How many times do I have to drill that into your head?”

“Ah, yes. Business. And what exactly is your business, Marius?”

Marius chuckled. “I could ask you the same, baby,” he said in his smoothest, sweetest voice, then strode out from his refuge, aiming his silencer at Vyn. In those few, shared seconds of conversation he’d noted where his husband stood, where he was facing, the appliances which surrounded them—Vyn won’t be able to duck anywhere, and could not possibly sprint too fast to shield himself from Marius’ attack.

But then again—he shouldn’t have underestimated.

Because when he’d stepped out, Vyn was not there.

He was already behind him.

“Shit—”

He did the most possible, most horrible thing he could think of: as he swiveled round to Vyn’s direction, Marius hooked his fingers under the fridge’s recessed handle, pulled it open, then slammed its massive steal door against Vyn.

“Scheisse.” The fridge door rammed against him face-first—Vyn’s nose throbbed with a nasty pain, and he sensed hot liquid leaking from it, tasted the coppery tang of blood when it drifted further into his mouth. “Fucking. Swine.”

He knew the fridge door would be a serviceable shield, knew the bullets he’d fire would protect Marius no matter what and doing so would only be a disadvantage. However Vyn blasted back that instinct, that knowledge, and proceeded to rain yet another series of bullets towards Marius (or the fridge, actually), all because of sheer aggravation. How dare he slam that door into his face—was he not his muse, his darling? Was he not this ethereal man Marius had always drawn and sketched and painted on his canvases for he wished to preserve his beauty?

Goddammit—the curse looped inside Vyn’s head, his nose flaring with rage. His nose fucking hurt.

And Vyn screamed along his firing, both weapons aimed toward the fridge. The kitchen was dimmed, with no lights on and so all he could see were the blazing yellows and oranges and reds, could only hear the all-too-familiar bangs and booms as the shots blasted through the metal.

He stopped attacking. Vyn wept the blood from his face with the sleeve of his once immaculate, white coat, wincing as he did. His nose stung so much and it rendered him so very, very furious. “Marius von Hagen,” he said. Hissed.

A low chuckle. “Vilhelm von Hagen. Or would your surname be back to Richter now?”

And there was silence, utter silence, before Vyn’s life flashed before his eyes.

The psychiatrist could only slide back as the fridge—which was a whole lot bigger than him in all aspects possible, completely towering over him—started slanting from above and down to crush him. It was too swift that he could only clumsily stumble back, almost slipping on the tiles and making a fool out of himself.

Marius heard Vyn curse in a vague, foreign language—German, no, Svartian, probably—as he scurried to save himself and dodge his husband’s pretty little trick. Actually, screw that, Marius thought. Pushing this goddamn fridge might very well be his disadvantage: one, it was too heavy it took a lot of effort and energy, and two—the kitchen was a spacious room and he threw his only barricade away.

No matter. He will just have to remedy that, in whatever way he can.

Like taking advantage of his disoriented, recuperating rose by means of taking their electric stove and throwing it in Vyn’s direction.

He’d turned away before that stove hit his husband.

No. He didn’t want to see that.

Didn’t want to see his husband hurt.

He released a sharp breath and looked skyward, then blinked his eyes repeatedly, well-aware of the stinging tears threatening to flow. He ran to the exit all the same, his only goal to escape—he didn’t wish a violent shoot-out with his love, inside their home, no less, but he needed to return the act lest he got killed.

All this—the thought of killing Vyn would kill Marius just the same, anyway.

Heh. He didn’t seem to hesitate shooting me, was what roved in his mind as he made his quick escape. God. That hurt. That fucking hurts.

And he was now well on his way out, finally, with only a step before the archway when Marius peered over his shoulder—then regretted it shortly after.

A kitchen knife had grazed past his ear, the tip of its blade hitting the wall with a dull, slicing thud.

Marius stood there for a while, utterly shocked. Vyn hurled the blade too skillfully that blood trickled down his ear—only a slight brush with the knife, truly, and there was only a minor sting—and Marius recalled it again and again, the way that knife went past him so swiftly, almost like a soft winter’s breeze.

Maybe he deserved it. He’d broken not only Vyn’s delftware but his nose, too.

“Just to remind you, my darling.” Vyn stood steady far across him, his gun hanging by his side, his other arm still held forth after throwing the knife like a sports dart. He was bleeding, his nose and his arm, yet his poise was much like a prince’s, still, as if he hadn’t partaken in this chaos of an indoor shoot-out.

Oh and despite himself, Marius swooned when Vyn had addressed him darling.

“That you destroyed my fridge.” He leveled his gun, his aim at Marius’ direction. “And inside that fridge were all the pastries I had worked so hard for this goddamn week—more particularly that matcha cake.”

Ah, Marius thought, almost nodding unconsciously. I’m thoroughly fucked, then.

The psychiatrist fired another time, only once, but close enough to shoot off Marius’ ear.

Thoroughly, completely, perfectly fucked.

If that bullet blasted a few inches down Marius was sure he’d only have one serviceable ear left. Fuck it. Vyn’s aim was as good as his so thank the heavens the odds somehow favored him tonight because if they didn’t, his head would be pounding with a static burn at this very moment for he got his ear blown off to oblivion.

Marius sprinted. Not out, because the hallway was narrow and with how accurate Vyn’s aim is, he was certain he’d get shot at some point. So instead he darted to the side at lightspeed. “Goddammit, Vyn!” he shouted as Vyn fired constantly, following his every stride; thank goodness there were no kitchen lights and Vyn couldn’t see clearly even with those ugly glasses. “You’re really going to blow off my ear? How am I to hear your needy moans then?”

“You will not hear them again.”

“Not of pleasure,” said Marius as he slid behind the mid counter, hiding away from Vyn. He tugged open the small cabinet and swiftly made a slice on the gas hose before he slithered away like a madman and out to the archway. It would be nasty with that leaking gas and Vyn’s shotgun.

Wow, thank god we weren’t all into electric shit.

When Vyn fired, the kitchen exploded in flames.

Vyn threw himself back, and he crashed into the wooden floor, breaking his glasses in the process. Every part of him ached, and his head pounded; his vision was obscured without his glasses, the narrow hallway a distant horizon he was not sure he’d reach because he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—

His thighs burned, a hot, searing pain pulsating within his loins, and it was only then that he realized he was on fire. Like it was his second nature the doctor halted thrashing and crawled to the nearest open space, that area near the archway, and rolled himself across, exhausting the flames on his person.

He wouldn’t dare glance at his burns. He couldn’t stomach them for sure.

Not because they were gruesome, no, but because he cared greatly for his vanity, and now his efforts had been all in vain. So much for face and body value.

He snatched his gun, then, and hastened out of the burning kitchen and into the dining area.

Vyn didn’t mind the burn, the throbbing, the pain that wished to devour him. Not when his adrenaline was spiraling and begging to be put to fucking use. His instinct—an assassin’s or a husband’s, he couldn’t discern—led him out and around the lobby, up the stairs, to that one, distinctive chamber his husband treasured most.

The Atelier.

The memories rushed in with each step, every soundless stride. He’d designed that room with Marius, had decorated it day and night with him. Had baked cookies and delivered them there, so Marius would have something to eat as he worked on his new opuses; had stayed by his side as he recounted stories with his paint.

Had taken off his silken robe as he perched on the chaise, naked, looking so ethereal as Marius painted him, brought his beauty to canvas.

The reward? Marius had fucked him silly all through the night, on that very same couch.

Vyn took deep breaths. He acknowledged those memories, accepted them. Then locked them all away.

He hoisted his gun, and tiptoed close, closer. No signs told him Marius was inside, but Vyn steered forward, trusting his gut as it churned at his intuition—he is here. I do not know why, but I know he is here.

He ticked that box with a check.

As he entered the room a silencer shot, hitting just behind him. Marius stood by the opened windows, his weapon in hand; a thick cable wrapped around the atelier’s metal handle and it fell outside, down to Vyn’s precious garden. He was escaping.

“Heh.” Vyn aimed his gun at Marius, the smirk on his face menacing. “Planning for escape?”

Marius threw him an annoyed glance. “You put the house on a fucking lockdown.”

Vyn shrugged his shoulders. “You were able to open that window,” he said. “Whatever happened to the alarms?”

“Switched them off first.”

“And the window?” No one was supposed to open any part of the house when it is on lockdown.

“I know shit on this house that you don’t know of.”

“Ah. Well, that does not matter.” Vyn trod forward, careful. The weapons were still aimed at one another as he neared a small, circular table where Marius’ rarest pigments sat in glass bell jars. “What matters is… oh, look. These are your pigments.”

“Vyn.”

“Such rare pigments,” mused Vyn, eyeing the expensive, imported, rare set of paints atop the table.

Marius took a cautionary step forward. His hand reached towards his husband, the gesture as if attempting to halt whatever deranged thing Vyn framed out to do. “Vyn—”

“Imported from Italy, yes?” The older man trailed, his finger brushing against the glass. “Ah. And this one was from our Grand Tour—France, if I remember correctly. From Louvre.”

“Don’t shoot it.” Marius’ voice shook. “Don’t fucking shoot it.”

Vyn stopped. He chuckled—then looked up at Marius. “All right,” he said with an innocent smile, “I won’t.”

Then struck the table’s legs so it tumbled down, onto the floor, the special paints now mere, vibrant stains that tarnished the wooden tiles.

Vyn sneered at Marius. “Screw you.”

And proceeded to fire not to his husband, but everything inside the atelier: the canvases, both empty and brimming with colors, the vases and the chairs and stools, the portraits on the wall, the unfinished sketches and all the works in progress—the Seti Falls among other brilliant landscapes of their travels in Skadi, in and around Stellis, all the way to Europe.

Marius seethed, and one may even argue he was about to breathe out flames. “You fucking fiend—”

Vyn halted his advances when his aim pointed to an unfinished portrait of him.

Gods, he looked beautiful in it. Like the image of a prince, one of which a hopeful maiden would see only in the fairytales she reads, wondering if she’d ever snag a man as handsome as him. His lips were curved into a half-smile, all so lucious, and Vyn felt that familiar, rancid guilt tug at him—only a little, he wanted to deny it—as he wondered the many hours Marius had worked to capture him as beautifully as he could. Not that it was a hard task, for Vyn had always been a most spectacular muse, but still…

He lowered his gun and spared that portrait from his rage—saved himself from his own, unfettered violence.

But soon enough, Dr. Richter would realize that only portrait Vyn had been granted salvation.

Vyn nonchalantly aimed at his husband another time, did not hesitate, even a sliver, as he pulled the trigger toward Marius. But Marius dodged and rolled to his back, deftly until he tumbled against the wall under the window, and with a terrifyingly calm expression poised himself to kneel on the tiles.

Vyn reloaded his gun. “What are you doing, kneeling there?” he seethed. “Have you given up, darling?”

“No,” said Marius, a chuckle rumbling down his body. His amethyst eyes had darkened, and Vyn tensed, feeling gooseflesh all over his skin as Marius took something out of his person—a hand grenade.

“You know what,” the young von Hagen began, his voice low and cold, “I shouldn’t have tended your garden during the days you weren’t here.”

“You are to stop this instant.”

“What do you say? Fuck off and say adiós to your precious little garden.” It only took a split of a second as Marius pulled the pin with his mouth, and tossed it behind him, the grenade hurtling over his husband’s precious sanctuary of roses and lilies.

Only a split second before Vyn Richter’s garden exploded into a thousand, splendid fireworks.

And if it weren’t for his unmitigated, passionate fury thrumming with each breath, each step, and every thunder of his heart transcending over the harrowing, golden flames burning in the dead of night, of which singed the beloved flowers he’d tended to for years, Vyn would’ve fallen to his knees onto the wooden tiles, and cried his heart out in heavy grief.

But Vyn stood there, not moving an inch, as he watched the scorching fire. The flares flickered in his eyes, round and round the deepest trenches of those golden hues, until all he could see and feel was…

Well, nothing. As if unbothered.

However his mind, his brilliant mind toiled clearly—too vivid, the thoughts smooth-sailing in his ocean of schemes.

“Dieser verdammte Marius,” he muttered—that goddamn Marius—as he strode near the doorway, opened an emergency cabinet, and pulled the heavy, metal handle, activating the manor’s fire sprinklers.

Wet chemicals erupted from the ceilings, all over the house. Vyn navigated the halls and the rooms with precision, checking the bedroom, the lounge, the bar, in a search for a certain von Hagen.

He hoisted his gun as he trod to each chamber, each corridor. Vyn went down the stairs and proceeded, with much caution, to the main living room—

When a click sounded behind him.

“Let’s stop this now, Vyn,” Marius said quietly as he drew closer, his silencer only a meter or two away from his husband’s back.

“Unlock the house, and we can separate in peace—”

Vyn swung around, pivoting on his heel, and knocked Marius’ weapon out of his grasp.

Marius stumbled to the side, but maintained his balance almost as instantly. “What the—”

“You are naive to think that after all this, I would let you out.” Now it was his time to brandish his gun, leveling the weapon slowly to Marius, who now had both hands raised in surrender. He was on the farthest corner of the room, trapped; his only escape was the very path Vyn stood on, getting in his way out, deliberately so. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

“Your loving husband.”

Vyn’s brow raised, and his features scrunched into disdain. “I would not say that—”

He was cut off by Marius pouncing onto him with all his weight, Marius’ hands wrapped around his own, restricting him and the gun. And before Vyn could even try to get away Marius sent him to the ground—Marius had forcefully slid his leg against Vyn’s, and when his husband lost his balance, the two of them plunged into the floor.

At the impact, Vyn’s grip loosened, and Marius kicked the gun away from them as he helped himself up.

Oh, zounds. Why did I kick it away? I should’ve taken it—

A flower vase came hurtling toward him, and Marius shielded his face from the glass, letting it break into tiny shards as it fell to the floor. And his jaw might’ve been broken, too, for Vyn had suddenly appeared in front of him, and threw Marius the best jaw-breaking punch he had ever received.

“Fuck—”

It was painful, to be sure, but he had no time for such. He caught Vyn rushing to the doorway.

What’s he doing?

Marius’ face scrunched and he winced, the pain in his jaw utterly excruciating.

Oh.

Fuck.

He’s going for the gun.

“No way in hell.”

Marius the nearest object he could find—a mini coffee table—and hurled it in Vyn’s direction.

He stood on his feet and sprinted to the doorway. The table had hit Vyn’s torso, the impact heavy on his waist, and he dropped to the floor, groaning in pain.

But before Marius could reach for the gun himself, Vyn held him by the leg.

He landed face-forward. His arms, thank goodness, saved him from rendering his handsome face wretched. Marius rolled onto his back, only for Vyn to lunge at him.

Vyn first threw a punch to his jaw yet again, but Marius caught his wrists. With a mighty force Marius was able to toss Vyn to the side—he was the stronger one, after all—and Vyn ended up with his back against the couch.

Vyn was still recuperating when Marius came to wrap his hands around Vyn’s neck, restricting his breathing. His hands went instinctively around Marius’, punching and pulling and desperate to get away. At last Vyn gathered enough strength to move away from the chaise and to the side, bringing Marius with him; Marius who, despite his strength, admitted to struggling with Vyn’s futile attempts to escape.

But the next thing Marius knew, he was throwing his husband across the room.

Vyn flew directly to the massive grandfather’s clock, the glass shattering and raining over him.

Blood now stained the doctor’s face, his body. But at that very minute he wouldn’t feel any wound, any injury. Just the unfaltering will to fight to death with his husband.

He felt betrayed.

He was scared. He was so scared he would lose him—to a woman, to PAX, to this. Add the five consecutive nights he’d prepared dinner for them and Marius never came home.

He’d rather end the marriage here than in court.

Marius dashed towards him, ready to pounce. Vyn caught sight of the expensive wine bottles on the table beside him.

And so he snatched two of the wine bottles and smashed them on either side of Marius’ head. The bottles crashed, and Marius bellowed in pain. Crimson leaked in his skin, his clothes—was it the wine? His blood? Vyn swallowed as took in the sight of his husband, hands on his head, moaning in deep pain; he looked away immediately and strode out from Marius’ reach.

Marius chuckled. “Of course you’ll go for the gun.”

“Do you not think it the easiest way out?” Vyn merely said, his voice higher, obviously vexed. Yet the way he spat those words was honeyed, still. “I shoot you, I win.”

“Is that what this is all about?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Marius staggered, but pressed onward. “Then you’re not getting that gun.”

In quick strides Marius threw himself at Vyn, but the older man rolled himself easily over the couch. Marius pushed the chaise to the side with one swift move, and only the oval glass-lined coffee table separated them.

Like that table’s gonna do shit.

And it all began with footwork. In his fighting stance, Marius assessed his husband, the two of them circling around the table slowly, vigilantly. Waiting for the other to hint at their weakness, to give away their hidden cards—neither knew the other’s tricks, having only found out their secret careers this evening.

But goddammit, Marius cursed inwardly as he observed his muse with that perfect sparring form, however his bearing elegant, still. The lock of his shoulders, the way his forearms were bent to his elbows, his knees curved just right; that determined face, his brimming confidence—goddammit, goddammit, goddammit.

Perfect.

He’s perfect.

I love him.

“Well fuck me. You always made me carry your heavy stuff, but now you look like you’re ready to carry me to my grave.”

Vyn smirked—then pushed the table with his foot.

The force was too strong that Marius knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it on his own, and that he’d only hurt whatever part of him that met the table’s edge. The table slid forward, launching straight at Marius, and all he could do was leap on top of the table.

It was small, that table. Marius lost his balance and fell face-forward to the marble tiles.

“Fuck it,” he groaned, his elbows stinging. “I fucking hate you—”

Vyn gripped his shoulder and swung him around, his back now on the floor. “Hello, my love,” he purred as he pinned both Marius’ hands atop his head, then straddled him. “Do you like this?”

Marius smirked. “You on top? Hell yeah.”

Vyn’s fist went flying to his face.

“FUCK—” Marius groaned, his nose stinging. He could almost taste the metallic tang of blood. “I can’t believe you ordered me to carry your shit around when you can punch this hard.”

“You betrayed me.” Vyn landed another punch. “You are a liar! You lied to me!”

“Look who’s fucking talking!”

“Go to hell.”

With his weakening grip on Marius, the young von Hagen was able to snatch his arms and finally turn the goddamn tables. He wrapped his legs around Vyn’s torso and flung themselves to the side.

Vyn gasped. Marius now sat on top of him, towering over him. His grip on Vyn’s wrists was too tight they could’ve been red with the mark of his fingers, or a nasty purple because of bruising—god, they could’ve been a pale blue for that grip might as well halt the blood from coursing through.

“Now, now, sweetheart.” Marius pinned his lover’s wrists on the floor. He noted the slightly frantic tussling, Vyn’s… sexy labored breathing. “I think I like this better,” he whispered. “Me on top of you.”

And Vyn could only gasp as Marius grappled his throat. Not to kill him—to weaken him, somehow. To make him lose consciousness. And then he’ll decide from there.

“Hck—” Vyn’s choking filled his ears and, even when he wanted to, he couldn’t look away. “M-Marius—”

Stop it. You’re hurting him.

His grip did not weaken.

“Hck… P-Please—”

Don’t say it. Don’t.

Say it. Vyn hurt you. You’re just returning the favor.

I can’t...

“Look at you. I love choking you like this,” Marius spat, his eyes dark and wicked. I’m going to hell for this—I’m sure of it. “If only this were a different circumstance.”

He caught Vyn’s arm flailing to his sides, and Marius wondered why he’d suddenly stopped grasping the hands that throttled him—until Vyn seized something and smashed it to his head, sending him backward.

A lampshade this time. From yet another small desk drawer just beside them.

Well, Marius thought. I should’ve seen that coming.

Vyn was, however, still frail from Marius’ attempt to strangle him. His breathing was strained, his face breaking out in cold sweat.

And hot tears rolled down his pale, bloodied cheeks.

However his adrenaline pumped again, and again, and even when his head pounded a fire burned from within, and he tried to go on all fours, a futile attempt to stand.

Marius now stood, albeit unsteadily due to the impact of the lampshade on his temple. “Come on, honey,” he managed to say despite himself, imitating a sparring stance, “come to daddy.”

Vyn inhaled a sharp breath.

He turned on his back, then, and used all his remaining strength to kick his husband’s groin.

“Fucking fiend—” Marius moaned in agony as he fell to his knees.

“Heh,” Vyn chuckled darkly. “Who’s your daddy now?”

“Ahahaha,” Marius managed a laugh. For some reason, it did not sound even the least sarcastic. In fact, it sounded so… genuine. “That’d still be me, Vyn,” he breathed, “still me.”

Then he rolled to the side, Vyn the other way around.

When they got up to their feet, nimble as men who were yet to be injured and beaten up, Vyn and Marius found themselves in a rather precarious situation:

Their guns on each other’s heads.

Blood coated their faces. Some trickled down, some already dried from earlier’s violence, the crimson-brown marking their skin as if pinpointing just where they had tried to inflict pain on one another. Desperate breaths filled the thrashed room, heaving in attempts to ease the thumping hearts, seemingly beating for something other than the desire to kill—perhaps beating for love, still.

The room had now quieted. No more crashing and shattering and heavy thuds brought about by relentless kicking and punching and hurling. The once catastrophic space was now but a peaceful one, at least in terms of sound and every other external force of nature.

“Let us end this here.”

Vyn’s tone never wavered. It was still as honeyed, elegant. But neither had the strength to actually ask, is that what you really want?

“Baby.”

“Stop,” he said, or rather breathed, as if Vyn had drained all capacity to speak, and Marius almost didn’t hear it, but he did. He always did. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

“Okay.” Marius nodded. His gaze remained fixated on Vyn, who so determinedly held out his gun, although Marius wondered why his finger was a little far off from the trigger. He took that as a good sign—something to hold onto. “So,” he began, his silencer still aimed towards his husband, “what now?”

I do not know, he had the urge to say. But he wouldn’t say it. Not in this life.

“Are we to stay like this the entire night, Vyn?”

“No, of course not.”

“Should I worry now?”

“As you should.”

“You’re going to kill me?”

Vyn’s eyes snapped to him, meeting those eyes of dark amethyst, and Vyn realized he hadn’t been looking at Marius this whole time, only to a random part of his face so it would seem like he was strong enough to take this head-on. But when their eyes met he felt his breath catch, and gods did Vyn want to whip everything back in time just so this didn’t happen. Just so he would have him back.

It is still him, he told himself. This youthful man, so willingly returning his gaze even though Vyn bore some brutal promise, always the man who could see him, who chooses to see through him and accepts what sought refuge beneath the facade—still Marius.

My Marius.

Vyn gasped, more loudly than he’d intended, when the silencer dropped to the floor.

His line of sight panned up to Marius. “What are you doing?” he hissed with unmistakable, rising fury. “Pick it up.”

Marius raised his arms, slowly, in surrender. “I don’t want to.”

“Pick up the gun.”

“I can’t.”

He inhaled sharply that the air could cut his throat, which was painfully drying, his heartbeat starting to race another time as he attempted to persuade him, “Pick it up, Marius! Pick the fucking gun—”

“No,” Marius said, shaking his head in regret.

“FIGHT. FAIR. THIS IS NOT FAIR.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Believe me.”

He was pleading, and Vyn knew that. Not pleading for his life, but pleading his love.

Until Vyn asked, “Why did you do it?”

His eyes lit up. It didn’t matter whether Vyn would accept his answer, he didn’t even care if he would believe him, but he was so damn happy Vyn was at least interested to know. And he deserved the truth—he ought to grant his husband that.

“I’m…” He breathed in, his line of sight entirely on the floor, trying to find the perfect explanation. “I don’t know. I guess I just love—”

“Killing other people?”

He looked up at Vyn. “Bloodlust—that’s it, yeah?”

Vyn scoffed. “Bloodlust. Are you kidding me?”

“I had killed someone for Giann. Accidentally,” he began, “an act of self-defense, to save myself and him. He was drugged and unconscious and we were alone, and we were kids.

“And I felt like a different person, you know? Stabbing that man to death. Torturing him until he begged that I end his suffering. Instead I got a blunt knife…” He trailed, his voice now dripping with that familiar longing, that familiar tone of satisfaction Vyn so knew about him, “started carving the family insignia deep into his skin while I listened to his pleas, his screaming, and watched the way his blood leaked from his cuts…

“It was, to say the least, a feast to my senses.” Marius chuckled, his voice dark, almost evil. As if Vyn’s kind, youthful husband had gone, had turned into someone unspeakable, someone he didn’t know. Or perhaps, a Marius he has yet to meet. “That was when I realized I let another me live within. He’s someone who loved drawing blood, someone who craved for violence. All of this, Vyn—I do it all for fun. I couldn’t get it out of my system. So, yeah.”

“You could have told me,” whispered Vyn. Marius wanted to believe he saw those golden irises soften, even only for a passing beat. “You could have trusted me.”

“I trust you, baby. But no,” he said resolutely, “I love you, so damn much, and I wanted to be perfect for you.”

Marius took a step forward. Vyn’s grasp tightened around the gun.

But Marius pressed forth. Arms falling heavy on either side he took yet another step, his mouth curving on a slight, sad smile as he walked closer, and closer, dangerously closer to the beautiful man who carried such a hideous promise.

“I want to be the perfect man…” Marius halted, just a few breaths away from the gun aimed directly at him. He crouched a little, leaned forward—

Vyn gasped. His whole body tremored, a sudden chill running all over his skin.

Marius wrapped his long fingers around the gun’s barrel, tugging it towards himself, pressing his chest against the hot muzzle. “The perfect husband for you.”

He observed as Vyn continued to nibble on his lower lip, biting it hard that it reddened with the threat of blood, and Marius’ chest tightened as he saw those golden hues now glossy with emerging tears. Vyn’s breathing had gone from composed to ragged, and soon the hand which held the gun started to shake.

“Vyn,” his husband called softly, “I love you, okay?”

He was surprised to feel hot tears filling his eyes, a stray of it rolling past his bloodied cheek. “Marius…”

“Vyn?”

“I…” he paused, grasping for words, suddenly losing all the vigor to fight. His heart shattered at this, at everything—at himself for being such a petty husband who never truly gave Marius the chance to prove himself, all because of some missed dinners. Who never gave Marius the benefit of the doubt even when Vyn saw in his eyes a flicker of hope.

He was so lost swimming in his ocean of thoughts that he never noticed Marius, who started easing away the gun ever so calmly, and Vyn—exhausted and drained out of his wits—allowed him his weapon to make its descent, down until he himself decided to drop it to the floor.

And he seemed to be in a daze indeed as Marius pressing closer to him went unnoticed, until Vyn realized, only after almost a minute, that Marius had gotten their bodies closer, almost skin to skin…

Marius knew he was quite awake now—from all his little reveries—and while he expected Vyn to land another blow or finish him once and for all, he was surprised when his husband’s gaze flitted from his lips before it settled up to his eyes, his pale, slender hands sliding to his chest as he whispered, “I love you too, Marius.”

Then Vyn was pushed onto the couch.

The doctor gasped, too surprised that it was a pitch higher than usual, and for a moment he was afraid that Marius had gotten the upper hand with his trick and now he ought to strangle him, but his gut believed otherwise, and his gut turned out to be right because Marius leaned down to kiss him—rough and wet, hungry as his tongue lapped in his mouth, a quiet sentiment of how Marius would rather kiss and touch and fuck him instead of sending blazing bullets all over their house.

“Mm—oh, Marius…” he whined as Marius pressed against him, almost straddling him, his hands relishing the softness of Vyn’s face and disregarding the feel of dried blood there, and now making their way towards the back of Vyn’s head, fingers brushing, tangling, pulling on those silver locks.

He felt his pants tighten at the sound of Vyn’s moans, and he grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his head back, suddenly feeling the lust of tasting Vyn’s exposed neck. Marius leaned down, his mouth pressed against his neck, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along soft skin, tasting blood and hot sweat. He bit lightly at the hollow of his shoulder—

“Ah!” Vyn cried in perhaps both pleasure and pain, his fingers clutching desperately on Marius’ sleeves—sleeves that were rolled all the way up near his elbows and it was so sexy Vyn almost wanted to wave the white flag, in the middle of their shoot-out, just so he could fuck him. So he could kiss him, kneel in front of him, fulfilling his husbandly duty of sucking his cock. “Marius…”

“We literally just started,” Marius said as he looked up to meet Vyn’s eyes, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

“Fuck you.”

“Darling, I’m about to.”

“Well why don’t you get on with it? Or would you rather waste my—oh, fuck—Marius!”

Vyn could only screw his eyes shut, and Marius could only let out a satisfied groan as he ground his hips against Vyn’s, biting his lip as he felt that hard erection, the proof of his husband’s growing need and oh, how he’d love to satisfy him. “What was that?”

“Will you ever stop talking—”

Marius shut him up with another kiss on the mouth. Vyn tasted sweet, as usual, however Marius made out the metallic flavor of blood, but it’s not like he would mind. It’s his husband’s blood, anyway, and he’d be most willing to take a sip of it, drink it, chug it until it sank down his throat the way he would his chocolate drink.

Ah, but Marius loved it more when it was Vyn who did that with his cum.

As he kissed Vyn he continued moving, grinding his hips until all he could hear were the melodies of Vyn’s whines and sighs, and gods was he so distracted Marius failed to notice Vyn already taking the matter into his own hands unbuttoning Marius’ shirt, and with fervent speed at that.

He suppressed a laugh as he bowed his head, watching in awe as Vyn fumbled with the buttons of his black shirt, breathing so hard and sensually as if he could wait no longer. In fact it felt like Vyn would be very much happy to just tear his shirt apart—not that his husband would mind, either.

“You were so determined to kill me earlier,” Marius said as Vyn unbuttoned the very last one, “but now you’re so hot and horny for me. I told you I did like your mood swings—hmph!”

He was cut off by Vyn’s mouth claiming his own—much to his delight—and soon he found himself hooking his arms under Vyn’s spine and the back of his legs, his feet then making way to their bedroom on the second floor. Vyn wrapped his arms around Marius’ neck instinctively, even pulling him closer as if he needed more, plenty more of him, and Marius loved the way his husband craved for his kisses that it must have given him some omniscient power to navigate the halls and the stairs in the dark so precisely.

In a minute a heavy thud reverberated, echoing across the massive bedroom as Marius opened the door—or rather twisted the knob then kicked the door—and went towards the bed with much haste. He’d licked, bitten, lapped at Vyn’s mouth one last time before he dropped him to the king-sized bed, covered in midnight-lacquered sheets, and proceeded to take off his shirt—

“Wait,” Vyn protested, but before his husband could respond he hooked his two fingers round the belt loop of Marius’ pants, and tugged him closer. It was so damn hot Marius’ cock twitched.

Suddenly he wanted to grab a fistful of Vyn’s hair and make him suck his dick. He’d fuck Vyn’s mouth so well with his hard cock the man would be a beautiful, crying mess the moment he swallowed his cum.

“I…” Vyn turned a little red. “I want to suck you.”

Marius swallowed as he hurried to comply, feeling a certain heat within him intensify. Vyn was already kneeling on the bed, making quick work unbuckling Marius’ belt and letting his cock spring free and fuck, Marius’ cock was heavy and warm and slick with precum, and Vyn felt his own twitch against the fabric of his pants.

He did not waste time. Vyn wrapped his long, slender fingers around his husband’s cock, feeling Marius throb against his palm, his cold fingers. He had sucked Marius dry since god knows when, but suddenly he felt like this was all new, that he was nervous and shy again, and it was as if he was taken back to their first night as two married men. That first night after Vyn said Yes, I do, I shall marry you, and Marius beamed and Vyn thought his husband could rival the sun. Funny what some husband quarrel and house violence could do to you—

“Just so you know, Vyn.” A low, impatient voice pulled him away from his thoughts. “I’m this close to shoving your face down my cock, if you don’t mind.”

Vyn bit his lip as he saw yet again that massive, hard cock staring right in front of him, waiting to be devoured. God, his husband’s cock was so beautiful, thick and velvety soft that his breath caught. And realizing once again that someone was getting impatient, Vyn leaned in and licked gently under the crown of Marius’ dick.

“Fuck.” Marius’ head dipped back, feeling his cock twitch against Vyn’s tongue. “Please—”

He rasped as Vyn complied, letting his mouth close around the head of his husband’s rock-hard cock—

“Fffuck,” Marius breathed, panting as Vyn made swirling motions with his tongue as he slid halfway down his length, “Fuck, Vyn!”

His eyes screwed shut, his hands clutching onto Vyn’s silver locks, and moaned out a broken cry as Vyn sucked his whole length, deep throating him, his wet, warm lips touching his Marius’ hot skin. “Fuck, Jesus.”

Vyn moaned around his cock, and as Marius felt it vibrate around him he dipped his head back again, seeing the goddamn stars. Vyn’s moaning didn’t stop even as he sucked his husband’s dick, Marius’ cock moving in and out of his mouth. Marius tasted so good. Every time Vyn sucked him it seemed he tasted even better and better, as if there were new flavours to his taste of clean sweat, of salty skin, and god even his precum seemed heavenly to Vyn’s tongue, melting like chocolate. His eyes fluttered shut as he sucked. God, he would suck this man’s cock forever.

Until Marius tugged Vyn’s head back, “Fuck, wait.” He panted heavily, and as he saw Vyn lick his lips—still glistening wet from his own saliva and Marius’ precum—Marius wanted to plug that pretty little mouth with his dick again. But he held himself together and said, “Wait. I’m… I was about to…”

“I’d swallow everything, Marius.”

“Fuck, stop it. Stop it or you’ll have to choke on my dick the rest of the evening.”

“What is the matter?”

Marius’ cheeks tinged a bit pink. He looked much like a teenager who wanted to try sex with his crush. “I want to… I—”

“Too good?” Vyn smirked.

“Fuck you.” A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. Marius caressed Vyn’s hair, as softly as he could. “I want to come inside you.”

Vyn swallowed, his mind once again drawn to their little memories of fucking every night until both their legs had given in, and Marius thought the same. God, he couldn’t stop staring at his husband. Vyn looked ethereal bathed in the bedroom’s soft orange glow…

However this time it was Marius who was stripped—so quickly—from his reveries as he was pulled, thrown to the bed, with Vyn taking off his shirt, leaving his necktie around. His shirt was hauled off to the floor in a second, and now Vyn looked like some fallen angel as he straddled Marius, untying the silken tie with deft fingers, his wet lips parted in awe…

“What are you gonna do with that, huh?” Marius’ hand slipped round his husband’s waist. We’ve been married for years but goddammit, your waist is so fucking small.

“You’re gonna use that on me?” he added, whispering against the shell of Vyn’s ear, making his husband shudder. God, he loved it when Vyn did that. Loved it when his ministrations, even the smallest ones, had a great effect on him. “And look at you, don’t you think you’re a bit overdressed for the occasion?”

“I—ah—”

His cock twitched again that it almost hurt, as if begging to be hilted inside Vyn’s ass. Vyn had the sexy habit of whining and making those kinds of sounds whenever he’s surprised or caught unawares, like that very moment when Marius stripped him off his vest with one go, the buttons clinking on the floor in unison. Marius didn’t waste a second and gripped the sleeves of his doctor’s coat, tugging it off him.

Until Vyn caught his wrists and said, “Let me.”

The muse started taking off his vest—slowly, tantalizingly. He knew all too well this act was a feast for his husband’s eyes, for his cock. The slutty bottom that he was, Vyn removed his clothing alongside his heavy, sexy breathing, his mouth slightly ajar, with some stray, silver strands falling over his eyes.

The vest went abandoned. Thrown to the floor just like all else. The shirt followed, Vyn making sure the sounds he made were heard, acknowledged—oh acknowledged indeed, what with his husband’s erection poking against his leg—and he couldn’t help but suppress a smile knowing Marius was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

When everything was unbuttoned, Vyn let the right sleeve slide down his arm, revealing some skin on his chest, his collarbone, his shoulder. Marius had seen it all, but still he thought he looked so ethereal, and so hot all the same that he was torn between treating him right—sweetly, gently—and fucking him so rough and so hard he won’t be able to walk the next day.

By instinct, Marius looked away. He bit his lip as he did, setting his sights away as he was suddenly so overwhelmed, so doubtful—do I even deserve this, he asked himself, realizing that it had been his fault why the shoot-out occurred in the first place: he missed a lot of dinners with Vyn. He was always out for his business of killing other people. He hurt him in all ways possible, especially tonight.

But then, “Marius.”

His gaze returned to Vyn. “Darling?”

“Do not look away.” Vyn’s hands, soft and cold, reached to caress his face. “Just look at me,” he said, his voice like that of an angel’s, “this is all yours—all of me. I am yours.”

Marius made sure that shirt was off his husband immediately.

He’d kissed him again, a mix of love and dominance, of lust and longing. Arms tight around Vyn’s waist he pulled his muse close to him, skin to skin, but he wanted them to be closer. He wanted to be inside him—to own him, body and soul.

He loved Vyn. Marius wouldn’t know who he is without him.

“I love you,” he grunted as Vyn ground against his erection, “I love you.” His hands wandered up his spine and down his ass, squeezing it, eliciting a moan from Vyn. “I love you.”

But it wasn’t long until Marius took his black, silken tie, staring intently, lustfully at Vyn before he hoisted it in between them, “May I?”

Vyn raised his wrists in answer. “And my tie?”

“For your eyes,” Marius said, his eyes darkening. “I was thinking your mouth, but I love hearing your noises.

“I love hearing your moans. Your whines. I love it when you scream my name.”

Marius licked his lips, and his chest swelled with triumph as he saw Vyn shiver again, turned on by a few words. Vyn gasped in surprise as Marius finished tying his wrists, pulling on the knot a bit harshly than he’d intended.

“Now,” Marius said as he worked on Vyn’s red tie, “you love the dark, don’t you darling?”

A whine escaped his lips as he was pushed to the bed. He couldn’t even recall how Marius looped and that red, silken tie around his eyes. All he knew now was he’s on the bed, on his back, his hands tied in front of him. “Ah, Marius…”

“What was that?”

Vyn could only nibble on his lower lip. “Please… oh!”

He moaned as he felt his husband’s mouth, warm and wet, close around his nipple. His toes curled at the sensation, especially at how Marius knew just how to kiss, lick, and suck his nipple and make him cry and moan so loud. His body moved frantically, the pleasure almost maddening now that his vision was obscured, and not knowing what Marius was gonna do next was killing him.

However soon he felt large hands grip his thighs, hoisting them, and Vyn most willingly submitted by wrapping his legs around Marius’ hips. He was now on top of him, could feel his hot, ragged breaths against his skin.

“You’re so hot,” Marius whispered as he kissed Vyn’s beauty mark, that one on his collarbone, “I just love fucking you so much,” he said, before unbuttoning Vyn’s pants and sliding his hand down under, wrapping his fingers around Vyn’s length.

“Oh! Marius, ah—”

“Yes, just like that…”

“Please!”

“You like that? Damn, you’re actually making this harder for me… let me just…”

Marius stopped, his hurrying hands fumbling on Vyn’s pants, in much haste to get inside him. Oh how badly he wanted to fuck his husband when he all but looked like a willing captive, writhing underneath him—he let his fingers travel down under, lingering on Vyn’s back, then trailing further south, massaging his arse, lifting Vyn a little in the process.

Marius did not waste any more time and took the head of his own cock, moving his hard-on closer until it rubbed softly, carefully over Vyn’s hole. He rasped as he did a little push inside. “Shit.”

“M-Marius…”

Marius took that as his signal to push further, letting out a small grunt as he moved another inch, then another, and he took satisfaction witnessing Vyn’s mouth parting as he whined, silver brows furrowed in pleasure. “Ohh, Marius—”

Marius gripped on his husband’s waist and hilted his entire cock inside him.

Vyn whined again, so loud Marius wondered if his voice reached the outside, even with their windows closed. Vyn cried as Marius moved inside him, his thick, warm cock fitting perfectly in his ass, hilting deeper and deeper with each thrust that Vyn couldn’t stop muttering curses and Marius, Marius didn’t have any words for it—just sounds, low and needy. Just grunts, and moans, and whines and cries.

Marius thrust again. Harder, deeper—

“Ohh, just like that!”

“Yeah?”

“Mm—ohh, f-faster please—!”

Marius nodded frantically, and he thought how much Vyn had an effect on him that, despite Vyn being the one tied up and writhing underneath him, Marius was actually the one in his mercy.

Good. Deservedly so. Vyn Richter was his Saving Grace and he’d worship the man forever.

“Ah—fuck! Marius…!” moaned the older man, biting his lip as he welcomed the familiar pain—and pleasure—down his nether part. It was only then Marius realized he had been too excited to claim Vyn that the thought of using a lubricant or even covering his dick with saliva never crossed his mind.

“Fuck, Vyn. Does it hurt?” he asked, but never stopped moving, pulling and pushing back in.

“N-no! It feels good. You feel good…” he moaned as he shook his head, “I’d rather you—ah!—fucked me hard.”

And it was enough to make Marius pin his husband’s hands atop his head, cursing as he thrust in, and out, so hard and so deep tears started rolling down Vyn’s pale cheeks. “Faster?”

“Y-yes!”

Marius gripped hard around Vyn’s wrists, railing the man as hard as he could, making Vyn cry with each powerful thrust. The sounds of wet, forceful squelching echoed across the room and, partnered with Vyn Richter’s needy moans, Marius thought damn, I should’ve brought a recorder.

Well, it’s not like he couldn’t do that soon. Pretty sure Vyn would be most willing to film all their blasphemous activities together. “I’m close.”

“M-me too…” Vyn bit his lip, his back arching in ecstasy brought about by their bodies, skin to skin. Marius pounded faster. It felt like fire, really, and he felt his stomach surging and ebbing and surging again and again with pleasure. They moved in sync now, Vyn’s hips thrusting to match his husband’s pace, and he knew he was close when he felt that electric sensation zipping through his veins, his loins, his cock. “M-Marius…!”

His balls drew up tight as Marius slammed into him, again and again. Vyn could only let out a broken cry as he sensed Marius’ hand grasping his cock, jerking it as fast and as hard, perfectly matched with the way Marius pumped his dick inside him in a relentless rhythm.

Vyn came. Loud, majestic, his hot cum spurting on Marius’ stomach and making a beautiful mess there, much like the way he was one. His head was fucking spinning and he thanked Marius for it. And he kept on crying out even as Marius came, his fresh seed filling Vyn up like he was always meant to.

He kept on going. Grinding in him so deep, so sensual, thrusting again and again and letting his very hard cock feel inside Vyn, helping both of them through the very last of their orgasms. Again, then again. One last time, until Vyn croaked weakly, and Marius grunted as he fell on the empty space on the bed, beside his husband.

Despite the exhaustion, he shifted to his side. Took the blindfold off his husband. Vyn’s eyes fluttered open immediately, albeit blearily, the fringe of his long, silver lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He gave Marius a weak smile. “That was…”

Marius let out a soft laugh, feeling the last bits of his energy dripping away. “I want to fuck you again.” He relaxed, but felt himself stiffen at the sight of his husband: ethereal. Beautiful with his cheeks flushed and mouth parted, his neck and chest gleaming in sweat. Vyn Richter, once again, in the afterglow of mindblowing sex.

“I love you,” he whispered, though he was not sure if Vyn heard. His eyes were already closed, and he looked like he was fast asleep. Marius smiled and snuggled close to him, with Vyn’s soft breathing lulling him to slumber.

Sometime around his dream, if he ever truly dreamed, he heard a silken voice say, “I love you, too.” Felt a gentle kiss on his forehead once, twice. Then another, “I will love you forever.”

When he awoke in the middle of the night, the quiet surrounding them, he saw Vyn was sound asleep. He rested his head against the hollow of Vyn’s neck, inhaling his sweet scent, and wrapped his arms around him. “Vyn,” he whispered, “I’ll love you forever, too,” before he kissed him on the cheek.

Somehow, Marius knew he hadn’t dreamt it.

Vyn awoke three hours earlier than usual, his eyes bleary, almost blind as he stared at the digital clock which blinked 5:58 AM. He wouldn’t be up this early, but his phone rang so alarmingly in the distance—atop that couch beside their bed where Marius fucked him the whole night—and with a ringtone he wouldn’t dare not pick up, lest he received yet another lecture. An hour or two of it, even if that lecture came from his, well… not his superior, because he was the superior.

He sighed—it was his junior calling. “Good morning, my rose.”

“DON’T ‘MY ROSE’ ME, RICHTER-VON HAGEN!” came his beloved junior’s rather sweet response, and Vyn instinctively pulled his phone away from his ear, unless he wanted his hearing damaged forever. “WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO YOU?”

“Language, beloved.”

“VYN!” Ah, there it was. He knew she was suppressing those sobs. It was conspicuous she had been pulling back tears the moment Vyn answered the call, the moment she’d heard his voice and confirmed he was alive, although not much well. “I was so, so worried about you… I thought… I thought you were—” she paused to take a light sniff, “dead. The squad is on their way. What happened?”

“I… I cannot tell you right now. I am sorry, dear,” he said, his gaze drifting to his husband who was still snoring in his sleep, and gods did Vyn thought Marius looked ethereal even during his most vulnerable moments. He fucked me so well last night…

“And please, Rosa,” he said, “tell the squad to halt their mission. I am all right—harmed, but I am faring well. And so is my husband.”

“Oh, my god. Mr. von Hagen was a witness?”

“Sort of. I shall tell you all about it when we meet.”

“Which is when, exactly?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied, his fingers running across the bare skin of his chest, wincing at the hurt from where Marius bit him. “You are in charge for now. Make certain the HQ is still up and about,” he said, “you are my second-in-command, so do what you must in my stead. Meet me tomorrow, same place.”

“Oh, uh—tomorrow, you said?”

“Yes. Is something the matter, dear?”

“Er, well…” she trailed, and Vyn’s brow arched in curiosity. He tried to rewind their past conversations, see if she’d mentioned anything she ought to accomplish tomorrow. There was nothing in particular, and Vyn was about to tell her twice until she cleared her throat and answered, “I actually… have a date tomorrow, Vyn.”

Ah. Understandable.

However, “I have taught you of the risks which comes along with our line of work. I hope you do keep your emotions out of your job—”

“What a hypocrite,” Marius muttered beside him. Was this idiot fake-sleeping the whole time?

“Never you mind. I am not against your relationships. I will meet you in two days, then,” Vyn continued—not without glaring at his husband first and foremost in the morning—and added, “but of course, what is this lucky lad’s name? Age, hair colour—”

“Luke Pearce, thirty years old. Coral eyes, chestnut blonde, and very cute.”

��Make certain you put up his records in the office. That aside—please enjoy your date, Rosa.”

Vyn pressed on the end button. He was thinking whether to check up on his husband or do a background check on Luke Pearce first, but he heard another phone call—this time from Marius’ phone—and even though he never truly meant to listen… well, however could he not?

“Hey, Luke?”

Vyn’s ears perked at the sound of his name. Luke.

“Yeah, sure. Wait, you can’t tomorrow?” Marius asked through the phone, his voice getting inaudible as he yawned, “oh, man. Congrats on bagging your first date—oh, wait a minute. Is this girl Rosa you’re going out with?”

“Who is that?” Vyn mouthed to him with those piercing golden eyes. My junior, his husband mouthed back, shrugging his shoulders. It’s not like I can hide it anymore from you.

Well, Luke was not his junior since Luke was older by a few years, but Marius had been an assassin earlier than him. And, well… he was Luke’s boss.

Vyn didn’t need to do a background check. He’d have to pester Marius for it. Just great, what are the odds that their juniors were going on a date?

The first thing Marius did when he ended the phone call was tackle Vyn into a hug, which the older man reciprocated much lovingly (despite his grumpy morning face). He was still scowling, but it was a contrast to the warmth which he gave Marius in return, and the eagerness emanating from him as he pressed closer against Marius’ exposed chest. It wasn’t very soon that Vyn had started nuzzling his face against his husband’s cheeks, like a cat trying to be sweet.

“Vyn.”

“I thought you addressed me as darling or love or baby, but I suppose we—”

“Really, Vyn? This early in the morning?” Marius laughed as he cuddled him more. “You know, I was just gonna ask you something…”

“You want to fuck me again?”

And there it was, that familiar pout and puppy eyes, all too powerful even for Vyn that he knew immediately he wouldn’t be able to deny him. Well, it’s not like he’d decline some more good fucking. “Don’t you want me to?” Marius said, his pout much guilt-enducing now.

But not until Vyn pushed the sheets down until it reached his thighs, revealing his now bulging erection, his sudden craving for Marius. “Whatever are you waiting for?”

“Fuck. You sure know how to—”

Another phone call.

Vyn sighed and took the phone. His eyes widened, only for a fraction of a second, upon seeing the caller ID.

“Please tell me you’ll ignore that.”

“Unfortunately for us—” he slid a finger down the green button, “we cannot decline this one.

“Good morning, Captain Morgan.”

“This is Artem,” came that deep, familiar baritone, and Vyn felt himself shiver from the way Artem sounded in the mornings. The senior lawyer had always been a morning person, but there were times too wherein he was too lazy to get up for work—can you actually believe that?—so Vyn had to do all sorts of things to get him moving. His voice during those moments hadn’t changed at all: deep and husky, almost seductive.

“Artem,” he repeated, and the name seemed to capture Marius’ attention, too. “Good morning. Why are you calling this early in the morning? And why are you using Captain Morgan’s phone?”

There was a sigh at the other end of the line. “Darius forgot to bring his phone,” he answered. “I called to let you know he’s coming, along with his squad. Too many noise complaints last night. They’re going to investigate.”

“Just so you know, Wing—my house is an estate. I am quite certain no one was bound to hear us…” Oh, shit. Marius threw a grenade in my garden.

He shot Marius a glare before he returned, “Tell Captain Morgan to go home.”

“I kept telling him that,” he replied, quite vexed now. “It was supposed to be our day off, Vyn. Our only day off, and you just had to ruin it.”

“It is not my fault you cannot persuade your boyfriend to stay in bed with you.”

“Are we—”

“Hello there, Artem.” Marius had snagged the phone away from Vyn, having felt that impending argument that would probably last hours—he wouldn’t admit that he was only jealous because Artem was Vyn’s only ex-boyfriend, almost husband—and had taken matters into his own hands. “We’ll meet Captain Morgan when he gets here, all right? I’ll tell him to go home, so let’s have peace, yeah? Bye!”

“I could have handled that, Marius,” Vyn spat, but not before Marius hopped out of bed and went to browse through his cabinet. He got himself a clean set of sleepwear in pastel green, Vyn’s most adored colour, and threw the shirt in Vyn’s direction. “Give me the pants as well.”

“No,” said Marius, already in the process of wearing it, “you take the shirt, I take the pants. It’s too long for you, anyway.”

Vyn crossed his legs, folded his arms. “What are you planning?”

“We’re gonna give ‘em a show.”

When Vyn opened the front door to their house, he was met with the rather hot welcome of flashing lights, towering video cameras, fully-dressed reporters and papparazzis in all black. He could make out the faint sirens coming from the police cars parked outside the estate, and he only hoped no one was able to round the bend leading to his recently-bombed garden.

“Vyn Richter, is it true there was a shoot-out here last night?”

“Vyn, did you have a quarrel with Mr. von Hagen?”

“Vyn, the people are curious—is divorce on the table yet?”

“Are you and Mr. von Hagen are going to be available in the marriage market again?”

“Vyn, rumors say that you and Mr. von Hagen are involved in matters of Mafia and secret services. Is that true?”

“Vyn, are you pregnant?”

His eyed widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“VYN!”

If he really ought to be true to his role of being a… babygirl who would pretend to be lightheaded or unwell after coming across crazy reporters with no sense of privacy, he would’ve done it after a few more moments or so. However Vyn truly was made unwell by said blinding lights and mad interviewers, and by instinct he pressed a palm against his temple and leaned against the doorframe, suddenly dizzy at the commotion. “Please…”

“Give him space, everyone. Move, move!”

Oh, dear. Thank goodness for Captain Morgan, he thought as Darius practically shoved the reporters out of the way as he reached for Vyn. A strong hand gripped him by the arm, enough to steady his slowly unstable body. “You okay, Richter?”

“von Hagen,” he corrected. “And not quite, Captain.”

“You can hold onto me,” he said, then faced the crowd of reporters again, “stop it with the cameras. If I see another shot I’ll have you all arrested—”

“You better listen to him.” Marius stepped beside Vyn, and in a heartbeat slipped his arm around his huband’s slender waist. Vyn felt his cheeks grow warm at the feeling of Marius’ hand holding him around the waist, in front of all these people—not to mention he was only wearing a green button top and Marius only in his pajamas. Thank god the cameras had stopped—courtesy by Darius who threatened an arrest—because those dark red hickeys and bite marks were clearer than the clearest of blue skies.

This man, Vyn thought as he leaned against Marius’ chest, he really likes to show off, doesn’t he?

He tried to hide a chuckle. It was true Marius loved to show off, but he loved it most when Marius showed him off for everyone to see, for everyone to know who owned him. At this moment, the message was pretty clear. Even the most senseless person would make sense what Marius wanted to say—that Vyn was his, and Marius was Vyn’s. It was written all over the young von Hagen: from the smirk on his lips, the red marks on his exposed chest. The top which covered Vyn’s probably hickey-filled body.

And so Vyn acted the part, pretending to be nauseous as he rested his head against his husband’s shoulder this time, and hooking his arm around Marius’. “I am not feeling very well…”

Marius squeezed his waist gently. “I’ll get you inside,” he said, and Vyn nodded faintly. Marius then turned to Captain Morgan, who was staring at them rather incredulously. It was conspicuous he never wanted to be here, to witness all this—he’d rather spend the day fucking Artem. “Sorry, Cap. I’ll give you a call and help you fix our mess. For now…” he paused and gestured to an exhausted Vyn, “my husband needs rest. You’ll handle this for now, yeah?”

Darius sighed, massaging his temples. “Yes. I’ll also let Artem know.”

“You better go home to him. He was pretty pissed with us this morning.”

“And whose fault is that, Mr. von Hagen?”

“Ehh ~” Marius pouted, but before he could say another word Darius asked, “What am I going to report? There were a lot of noise complaints. Some said it sounded like a grenade.”

“The answer is right in front of you.” Marius winked. “You see, this is what happens when you’re away for work too long. You tend to really, really miss your husband…”

Darius wanted to roll his eyes—no, he wanted to punch Marius. Does this brat really expect me to write ‘very loud, earth-shattering sex’ as the reason for those noise complaints?

Whatever could he do, though? He couldn’t possibly deny the Marius von Hagen of all people. Besides, he was not anointed as the newest NXX member for him to report Marius and Vyn just like that. Fine—he was going to write that unreasonable reason.

Marius seemed to know Darius was not going to deny him, and so the captain was met with the von Hagen’s signature, youthful grin that seemed to say: Hehe, you can’t deny me, can you?

Darius eyed Vyn one more time. He didn’t seem as sick as he appeared, but Darius knew he was indeed exhausted. However he wondered, as he waved the couple goodbye and ordered the reporters and paparazzis to keep out lest they get arrested, how can Richter—er, von Hagen—be this radiant after that violent shoot-out?

The moment Marius closed the door, Vyn muttered:

“Tell Vincent to arrange you an appointment with me,” he said, almost half-moaned, “based on my findings last evening, you need psychiatric help.”

… This hypocrite!

#vyn richter #mo yi #tears of themis vyn #tears of themis #marius von hagen #tot artem #artem wing #darius morgan #rosa tears of themis #tears of themis luke #luke pearce #vynmarius #marivyn #vyn richter x marius von hagen #artem wing x darius morgan #lukerosa

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norgbelulah · 7 months

Note

Listen you said as many as I wanted, you said that:

“Baby,” Boyd said, taking Raylan’s face in his hands. “We’re going to be fine.” He was talking true here, Raylan knew, but his expression changed and he didn’t look him in the eyes as he added, “It’s easy to start over with that kind of money. We wouldn’t even have to go nowhere--”

“And watch them rip apart the hills? Pollute your precious hollers?” Raylan hissed, pulling away. He couldn’t talk about it without getting pissed. His head hurt so fucking much.

“Raylan--”

“Later,” Raylan said, pulling out his phone. “I wish you’d’ve said something, really, because I have to call Art now. Her wanting the property puts me far enough in this shit that I can’t be a part of the detail. It’s a conflict of interest, no matter what we do now.”

“What we do?” Boyd asked quietly. “It’s still just your land, Raylan.”

“Fuck off, Boyd,” Raylan growled. “I’d have married you years ago if that was something we could do.”

Boyd leaned back in his chair, eyes wide, at that and Raylan wondered if that was something he shouldn’t have said when they were fake fighting like this.

They stared at each other for a solid minute at least and Raylan couldn’t hold it in anymore. He said, “I’m sorry I said, fuck off and then that, I--”

Boyd smiled and shook his head. “Go make your phone call, baby.” He didn’t even add anything about the fake argument. “Tell Art--”

Omggggg. I'm SO glad you picked this to ask about because just right before this part is one of my favorite exchanges I have ever written. It's basically what I now think of the thesis of this entire fic series. Boyd and Raylan could never have come this far together if not for Raylan letting Boyd live in his house and nest in his heart and refuse to leave. Okay??

This part:

“We can start over,” Boyd said. “We’re good at that.” Raylan looked at him like he was crazy. “No, we’re not.” They’d never started over at anything. The only reason any of this was happening was because of the house, that they needed, because they couldn’t make a change without a crutch. It was just built up and built up from everything that happened before and the house was the foundation.

And then Raylan spirals because he can't see a way out of this situation even though he knows Boyd is actively taking it in hand. (He's going to figure it out, Raylan!!) And part of Boyd's plan is to get this exact reaction from Raylan, because he needs to convince Carol Johnson he really is on her side and also make things difficult for her because Raylan is so adamantly opposed to selling. But! He doesn't expect Raylan to profess his unshakeable commitment to their relationship in that very moment!

Boyd in this fic, even up until now, does not think about the house in Harlan as theirs, per se. It's Raylan's house. Always has been. He thinks of their apartment in Lexington way more as something they share. But he spent so much time over the years working on the house, specifically FOR RAYLAN, that it's like really hard for him to take on any kind of ownership for himself until Raylan is like, yeah but we would be married by now???? If life was fair??? SO ITS YOUR HOUSE TOO BOYD.

I'm also like perpetually *kisses fingers* at myself for immediately having Raylan apologize. He's Just! So! Hungover! that he cannot control his mouth or his emotions and they are all over the place because he is so! pissed! off! at Carol Johnson! This "oh shit I really said that just now" moment for Raylan is so funny and sweet. I love them so muchhh.

AND THEN THEY GET INTERRUPTED.

Anyway this is a great little collection of scenes and writing about how good it is is actively making me want to rewatch through season 2 so I can try and fucking untangle what needs to happen to end this beautiful story! AND THEN I want to write several little short fics about parenting Loretta and getting married for real and and and

#justified #justie author commentary #boyd crowder #raylan givens #ask meme #answered #set fire to this house #is this too much?#i just love this scene a lot

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bravevolunteer · 5 months

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VERSE — THE H.UNGER G.AMES ( tw for canon typical themes )

The Aftons are from District 3, where Michael grew up watching his father contribute to its technological industry. There was little room for individual innovation, only mass production based on the Capitol's demands, but that didn't stop William from working on his own inventions in private: he and Henry Emily began to create new achievements in robotics.

By carefully pulling the right strings, William managed to attract Capitol attention, causing their inventions to grow in popularity among its citizens, which was shockingly unique for a concept originating in the districts and elevated status for the Aftons within 3.

Loose concept centers around robotic/animatronic technology that could be used for "menial work," but rises with a strong focus on entertainment. The Capitol loves a good show!

This relatively stable foundation is shook when Michael is reaped. Hopes weren't very high, given the lack of winners from 3 and Michael's uncooperative tendencies ( he quickly became known for what was deemed a reckless temper ).

During the games, he operated alone for the most part, too distrusting of potential alliances. He didn't risk the bloodbath, so he had to scrounge and fight for it, but he eventually acquired some supplies: most notably parts for traps.

Michael decided to use anything he could find to rig various traps using a lock and release method shown to him by his father: springlocks. A simplified version to be achievable within the games, but good enough to catch other tributes

This was late in the game, so he only made a few kills with it, but it was undoubtedly how his win was achieved.

The officials didn’t take well to it, appalled by Michael’s use of technology growing in Capitol popularity mocking what was allowed in the arena and the fact that they let this tech take off. Something clearly learned because of district innovation, something now punishable to show that it will not be tolerated again.

Michael had barely been pulled from the arena when the Afton household was barged into, killing Evan as punishment for Michael’s actions ( didn’t kill William because of his value as a manufacturer and intended to silence both of them with Evan’s death ).

When Michael sees his remaining family again, they are struck with grief, it’s only then that he is told what happened, met with bitterness in his father’s eyes instead of relief, the man who seemed to encourage violence and control angry with the results, Michael using something that should’ve been a source of pride to win and being met with resentment.

The atmosphere in their new house in Victor’s Village is tense at best, explosive at worst. Michael suffers extreme PTSD, paranoia, and nightmares from the games and his brother’s death… he isn’t a very cooperative or sociable Victor either, though intense guilt holds potential further punishment over his head, keeping him relatively at bay and complying with Capitol demands, although he isn’t very good at it.

His father does take advantage of the power that comes with a family with victor status, also heavily holding this over Michael’s head to control him both as a means of making sure they aren’t killed and so Michael doesn’t ruin his chances of rising through the ranks again.

William does eventually spiral into… the other side of the Afton family business, simplifying the concept of remnant into developing a highly enhanced drug/technological alterations that strengthens the body and extends the lifespan… using young victims… idk hunger games science- ( as for when Michael finds out about this/what it unfolds into that’s open for now )

Michael as a mentor. Losing a lot of will to keep going but still fighting for the kids to live despite it being a losing battle. Themes and motifs.

#im spinning around more vaguer thoughts about michael’s games/the aftermath & him as a mentor but this is long enough as is #as always i can never just make things simple i HAVE to talk about the whole family so all i’ve said about william #is flexible on the off chance that anyone’s interested lmao #i’m just. having brainrot #local deranged guy somehow translates the plot of the afton family into the hunger games #also. disorganized bc the thoughts themselves are scattered #thg verse tbt.

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tinyhuman826 · 6 months

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A Downpour in Po Town - Guzma Fluff Imagine (Part 1/?)

I'll probably make a part 2 to this at some point if you guys like it

It wasn't the good side of town. Run down buildings, graffiti everywhere, overrun by a group of troublemakers... Oh, and it's storming. You trudge along the worn sidewalk, weeds growing from the cracks in its foundation. You don't know how you got here in the first place. You were supposed to be home by now.

As the rain soaks your hair and clothes, you grow more fatigued with every step. You look around with a squint, the downpour of rain making it difficult to see even 10 feet ahead of you. Most of the houses had large holes in their roofs, so you couldn't find any decent shelter from the storm. The pouring rain continued to pelt you, leaving chills in its wake as you shudder and hug your arms over your chest. You have to keep going. After a while of looking around, you settle for a small patio, sitting down to rest your exhausted muscles, hugging your knees to your chest and closing your eyes...

"...Hellooo? You hear me?" An unfamiliar voice gradually gets louder as you start to wake up. You slowly open your eyes, groan, and look up at the figure standing over you.

"Huh..?" You mumble, glancing around. The rain stopped, and it was lighter outside. How long were you asleep? You shiver as a breeze blows over your body, your soaked clothes ice cold, and your hair sticking to your skin.

"You deaf or sum'?" The man placed his hands on his hips, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry...who are you..?" You slowly come to your senses. He seems oddly familiar. Maybe you've seen him before.

"Name's Guzma. Big bad boss of Team Skull." Great. Now you know why he was so familiar. He offered his hand and helped you up. "So, uh, what brings ya to Po Town? Not really the best place for a midnight stroll, ya know." To be honest, you can't remember. You took a wrong turn...or two...maybe three...shit, how far are you from home?!

"I don't know, guess I got lost.." you said quietly.

"Well you're damn lucky I found ya before ya froze to death out here. What were ya thinkin' stayin' outside during a storm?" He crossed his arms, taking off his jacket and throwing it over your shoulders. It was slightly oversized on him, and it practically went down to your knees, but it was warm and much better than the wind making you feel worse.

"Wasn't a lot I could do with all these broken roofs." You glanced around again, subconsciously pulling his jacket tighter around you. Guzma grabbed your wrist, pulling you along as he walked along the road.

"If ya walked for a few more minutes, ya would've noticed the house with a decent roof." Guzma motioned toward Team Skull's base. It was still run down, but in at least a little better condition than the rest of the town. He led you inside, ignoring the confused glances from the grunts.

"Hey Plumes, ya got any spare clothes?" He called as he led you down the hallway. You heard a response from behind a door.

"Yeah, why?"

"Some dork decided to sit out in the storm." He glanced to you, nudging you ever so slightly. A girl with pink and yellow pigtails came out of the room, holding some spare clothes. "Thanks, Plumes." He called as he took you to the end of the hallway, opening the door and handing you the clothes. "Just, uh... let me know when you're done -" He shut the door, leaving you to change. You slip into the dry clothes, feeling an immediate surge of warmth throughout your skin. You wring out your hair, trying to dry it at least a little, and place your wet clothes in the corner before opening the door.

"So I'm assuming ya don't got a place to stay the night." He was right. You didn't know how to get home from here and couldn't call anyone at such an unreasonable hour. You shook your head in response. "Well, uh... you can sleep in here... or if ya'd rather share with a girl, that's cool too.. I probably won't be in here for a while though, so just holla if ya need anythin'."

"I'm okay in here... thanks for..well, letting me stay. For tonight I mean." You shivered again, sniffling.

"Ya feelin' sick?"

"Just a little cold." He didn't seem satisfied with that answer, gently putting the back of his hand to your forehead.

"Damn, you're burnin' up. You should lay down before you faint." He gently nudged you toward the bed. You lay down on the bed, and he puts the blanket over you. "Sorry, don't got any more medicine. And none of the stores are open, so just... hang in there. I'll send someone in the morning." You nod sleepily as he leaves, hearing faint rap music in the background that slowly fades as you fall into a comfortable, warm, dry sleep.

#pokemon #fluff #pokemon sun and moon #guzma pokemon #team skull #imagine #guzma #fiction #pokemon imagines #headcanon

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fanficwriter284 · 5 months

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BECAUSE BENNY AND CHELSEA!

(I’ve had this in the drafts so…I thought why not put it out there. It’s a short mini fic)

Gloria belongs to @twyz

It was a late afternoon, autumn leaves beginning to settle, a few crunching beneath two sets of kids feet. The set belonging to none other that the youngest Ray, Chelsea and her best friend Benny Adler. He was a bit nervous since Chelsea had invited him over to her house to work on a school project. He had been there once and had met her parents and the twins. Both seemed good and jolly…well Tiffany and Glen did, Chucky and Glenda had been yelling at each other arguing if water was wet or not, but there was one sibling he had yet to meet, Chelsea’s older sister Gloria. Gloria seemed nice from what he heard or more so interpreted from sign, from Chelsea. He hadn’t got to meet her since Gloria was volunteering at the schools Gardening Club after school.

The two entered the Ray house hold it was calm for once, Chucky sitting reading the novel Frankenstein sipping a warm cup of joe as his eyes traveled across the page.

“Oh hey kids. Welcome back Ben”

Benny stared for a moment reading the man’s lips before realizing he could simply flick his hearing aids on.

“H-Hi Mr. Ray…Nice seeing you again”

“Likewise kid”

“Pa we’ll be upstairs working”

Chucky’s eyes fell right back to his book, not really paying any mind to his surroundings.

“Alright Sweetheart have fun”

The two kids scurried off upstairs to Chelsea’s room. The room was neat, the walls painted a light periwinkle with one stuffed bear sitting upright on her bed.

Benny searched aimlessly for the paints until he grew bored of digging through Chelsea art bag. Lifting his two hands he signed to her.

“Hey Chelsea where are the paints?”

Chelsea couldn’t help but Chuckle at her own negligence.

“Sorry Benny! I left them in Gloria’s room. Could you go grab them please? Her rooms right across from mine”

The youngin simple froze, his feet let cement, he was terrified of entering new places especially that of someone he has never met. He tried to deny her ask but Chelsea had already been off drawing out the foundation…Now he couldn’t say no. Inhaling a great amount of air he pressed forward quickly exhaling, he gave a soft knock, waited for a moment and entered since he couldn’t hear if there was a given response. The room had been covered with paints and plant life, an art easel at the side of the room right by the window next to a large wooden desk where paintings had been drying off. He took a set closer noticing opened paint tubes and a canvas having a familiar looking canine painted on it.

Benny grinned at the sight of a fluffy Beau belly up taking a sun bath on Gloria’s carpet enjoying the warmth and comfort with his slobbery tongue hanging from his mouth. The young boy jolted feeing a light tapping on his shoulder, he flinched falling backward on his rear.

“Oh sorry!”

He took a moment to recollect himself seeing a fair skinned, lightly freckled girl, with hair similar to Chelsea’s only longer and lighter with a light blonde hue at the end. The boy could only reply with the sign “sorry” continuously before finding his voice.

“I—Its o—okay…s—sorry…I—I’m B—Benny”

The quickly jumped to his feet extending his left hand. It hadn’t crossed his mind that Gloria was most likely Right-handed unlike him and Chelsea. Much it his relief she gently too his hand she shook it.

“Gloria and you’re Chelsea’s friend. She’s told me a lot about you”

The youngster could only blush at her response. The mere thought that Chelsea talks about him to her sister, someone who she trusts with his life was baffling.

“Don’t worry all good things”

The whole commotion and conversation had awoken the snoozing wolf-dog, he stood shaking off his fluffy body sending fur flying everywhere and making a loud exit downstairs.

“Damnit Beau I just dusted, so what being you in here?”

“Um well…C-Chelsea a-and I are d-doing a p-project a-and we need paint….so-“

“Oh right! Here! She left her kit in my room yesterday” she gleefully responded hoisting the peck into his arms.

“T—Thank you a—and nice meeting you”

Gloria could only grin at his shy demeanor.

“Likewise”

#Benny Adler #Gloria Ray #Chelsea Ray #Chucky #Beau Ray

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fiction-giga · 2 years

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"I missed you more"

30 Day Blurb Challenge - Traveling

blurb prompt list here

Day 3 - Traveling long distances just to see them

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings - Mentions of homelessness, scaring, fluff

Word Count - 1456

Your mom had to practically drag you out of Hawkins after the gates earthquakes shook the town to its very core. Your house was unlivable, the foundation crumbled into nothing but a pile of rubble.

When she announced the move to Chicago, you were less than thrilled. Your relationship with Eddie was stronger than ever before, bonded by the trauma the two of you had just gone through.

Hopper managed to get his name cleared under some godly miracle. Apparently there was enough evidence to pin the brutal killings on Jason. But that doesn’t mean the town believe it. Most people still believed it was Eddie, noting that he was spending a lot of time with who used to be his sworn enemy, Hopper.

Everyone settled back into their old positions just fine. Luckily the Byers house had yet to be purchased, something to do with an electrical problem, so they just settled back in. Steve and Robin put their money together and started renting a house. Nancy and Jonathan followed in their footsteps with the welcomed addition of Argyle, leaving Eddie and his Uncle Wayne the only ones shit out of a home.

The trailer was split right down the middle, no salvaging left possible. So they did the next best thing. They grabbed some trash bags and started to collect all their stuff that managed to survive the split in the earth's crust.

You would have offered Eddie a Wayne salvation if there was anywhere they could stay. But at the moment, you and your mom were in a very similar position.

Finding a hotel room was practically impossible, seeing as most homes were damaged severely and the rooms were all booked up in a matter of a few hours. That left a lot of people homeless, but have no fear. That’s what friends are for?

Wayne and Eddie managed to strike a sweet deal with Hop for his old cabin. He pretty much just handed it over to the four of you. And you will admit, living with your boyfriend, his uncle, and your mom was far from comfortable. You and Eddie found it nice, being able to go home together, sharing spaces. But it got all awkward as soon as you walked through the door, your parents as far away as they could be from each other.

So it was only a matter of time before your big move was inevitably announced, but when it happened, you were not on board. Packing was easy and quick, considering you never really got to unpack. So that meant zero time to say goodbye.

The party rushed out to the cabin as fast as they could due to the very little notice of your goodbye. Just a few hours ago your mom told you about the move, and now, with what little you had left was thrown in the back of your mom's minivan ready to go. She granted you five minutes. Five minutes to say goodbye to a lifetime of memories.

Tears were shed, even Wayne cried a bit, but once those five minutes were up, you were gone.

But none of that mattered now because you were on your way back. It has been a year since you left. You and Eddie spoke on the phone as frequently as your lives would allow. Sent packages to each other, pictures and letters from the kids all shoved in decorated boxes. It wasn’t easy trying to keep in contact from such a distance, but you both made it work.

Now that your little community college has let out for spring break was upon you, you jumped at the opportunity to visit Hawkins. You hurried your mom through all her packing and loading up the van before shoving yourself in the driver's seat and speeding off. The drive was long and miserable but the thought of Eddie growing closer by the second kept you on your toes.

When you arrived you noticed not much had changed. The town was still in shambles but it wasn’t as dramatic as it had been a year ago. The flames were long extinguished and the walls rebuilt. The gate still pulsed with that sickly orange glow. You even passed a few makeshift government camps along the side of the road.

You pulled into Robin and Steve’s driveway. All the kids a solid foot taller, everyone accounted for. You smiled so big it hurt your face, barely putting the car in park before leaping out of the door and tackling the kids. All their high pitched voices now a solid octave deeper as they all burst into conversation, talking and yelling over each other.

“GUYS! Slow down.” You giggle.

Everyone explained to you, slowly, what all had happened since you were gone. New mayor, government in and out, steady stream of people still moving out of their homes.

"So when is Eddie getting here?" Dustin asked.

"About that...he um, doesn't know I'm here."

A chorus of boos and no's were thrown your way.

"What do you mean, 'doesn't know I'm here,' ?" Lucas mocked.

"Well I was hoping to surprise him, if you guys want to help?" There was a beat of silence before all your friends, big and small, shook their heads.

So ensued the chaotic planning of scaring the shit out of Eddie with you. It took several hours, the kids wanting to plan everything out perfectly instead of doing something "makeshift" like you had suggested. Before you could even take control, the plan was already out of your hands.

So by the time everything had finished, you were standing in Dustin's dingy dungeon basement, the moon high in sky. The setting was spooky, but all you could really think about was seeing Eddie. Not that you didn't enjoy the others' company, but your patience was growing extremely thin. Your mind constantly echoing the reminder of how close in proximity Eddie could truly be.

"Okay! Okay! Stay down here and don't move!" Dustin waved his hands around in the air before he pulled the string to the one little lightbulb that swung in the middle of the room. He scrambled back out into the night, slamming the heavy door shut, leaving you in complete darkness, not a sound piercing your ears.

"Okay, you're all freaking me out!" Eddie's voice cut through the stale air. He was right outside the door.

"We just need you to take a look at something." Steve chimed in.

"And why do I have to be the one? I mean seriously, there's twelve of you? I gotta get back home, I'm supposed to be calling my girl here shortly. She gets reeaaallll agitated when I don't call exactly at nine-thirty, on the dot."

"Oh will you just open the damn door!" Robin shouted. You tried your best not to snort at her exclaim.

"Jesus, alright." You could imagine Eddie with his hands like he is surrendering. It was something he used to do all the time when you two would play fight.

The door creaked open, landing flat on the ground with a deafening rattle. You moved further back into the darkness until your back was flush against the cold concrete wall. You were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt, but it would soon all be worth the wait.

"Do I get a flashlight or...." Eddie trailed off, waiting for an answer.

"No." Erica told him bluntly.

He huffed dramatically. "If I die Henderson...make sure my guitar is buried with me."

His hesitant footsteps echoed around the cold room as he slowly descended.

"I can't fucking see anything!" His voice now much louder than before. He was close.

"There should be a light in the middle of the room!" Dustin was already on the verge of giggling, as were you.

The clicks of his boots grew louder the closer he got before they abruptly stopped. It was quiet for a second until the dim light flooded the room.

"AH!" You yelped. You were expecting to see Eddie standing a few feet back, but instead his chest was practically bumping yours.

"JESUS CHRIST!" Eddie screamed, landing hard on his ass. "THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?" He yelled up at you.

"I'M HERE TO SURPRISE YOU, DIPSHIT!" You clutched at your chest.

You both took a moment to gather yourselves before bursting out into laughter. The rest of the gang was already laughing outside.

You took a few steps closer to Eddie, holding out your hand for him to take. You pulled him up off the ground with a huff. He clutched your intertwined hands to his chest, tightening his grip around yours.

He let out a breathy giggle. His free hand brushed a few strands of hair back behind your ear. His warm palm cupped your cheek, his thick rings just as cold as you remembered. You just stood there staring into each other's eyes smiling like a pair of idiots.

"I missed you." You whispered up at him.

"I missed you more."

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yottakitsune · 1 year

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You stood at the glass door at the back of your apartment and stared. The woman on the other side was begging to come in, and she swore she would pay you handsomely to let her spend the night as she suggestively pressed her breasts against the pane keeping her out. She said her name was Ava Rice, and she promised she would make your wildest dreams come true. You didn't much care about that and were actually pretty comfortable where you were at in life. However, it was cold, and you offered to let her into the warmth. No payment required.

She gladly accepted the offer, though she looked confused by the concept of "no payment". Everybody wanted something, right? She followed you around until sundown and did everything you did, all the while eagerly accepting anything you offered her. It turned out that you and she shared many interests and hobbies, and when you talked about your thoughts on them, it was like she read your mind and mirrored your thoughts perfectly. By the time night came around, you offered her your bed and said you would sleep on the couch. This was the first time she offered to share something you gave her, and the two of you spent the night in each other's arms.

Over the next few weeks you started dating and she found her way into every facet of your life. She was somehow always on your mind and you couldn't bear being away for long. Only a few short months after that you were married.

Once she was at the altar, you realized that you were staring pretty far up now. She was nearly two feet taller than when you first met. That was weird, but you put it out of your mind. She was yours, and nothing would change that, no matter how big she got.

She always pushed you to get more. To have more ambition. All of her plans and schemes always seemed to involve you taking anything you could.she made you feel like you deserved the world, and every few weeks you would realize she was so much larger than before. Bras that could hold beach balls. Shirts you could use as a tent.

She pushed you to follow a job opportunity in New York one day, and you obeyed without question. You needed that. A better job. A bigger house. A newer car. You craved it all. The job came when all the other applicants disappeared, but you didn't care. It should have been yours to begin with.

Your darling wife seemed to thrive in the Big Apple, seemingly growing larger by the day. "There were so many greedy people," she said. "They were fools. They wanted what they didn't deserve. Not like you. You should take it all, Babe."

You stood on the balcony from your apartment and she bent down to give you a kiss on the head. "I'm off for work, Babe. I'll see you tonight." You didn't know what her job was, or who would hire a green vixen that could boob hat Godzilla, but so long as she brought in more everything you were happy. That was what happiness was, right?

"You did it, Babe!" squealed the titanic fox in delight. Her voice alone shook the apartment building to its foundations, and a good portion of the city found itself buried under her body. "I told you the promotion was yours!" You practically ran the company now, and you were always looking for more opportunities to advance and grow even wealthier and more powerful. Some thought you spent money faster than you made it, but those people were idiots. You made so much more money than they knew.

Every day saw you gain more wealth as your company grew and flourished. You bought out rivals, rebranded their products as your own, and made sure any loophole was exploited to get yourself a bigger share of the pie. Ava couldn't have been happier, either, though she had become so massive that it was a wonder she could even hear you anymore. There wasn't a market on earth you hadn't wormed your way into, and most of the planet was giving you money faster than you could get rid of it buying more stuff.

Sometimes you could see Ava visibly growing and that thrilled you. Now there was even more of your darling wife. More was always better, but you hadn't reached 'best' yet.

One morning you woke up and Ava had doubled in size overnight! It looked like that deal went through and you practically owned the whole world. "I'm almost there," you heard her say. "Almost ready to consume everything. Just a little more." You wondered what she meant by that. It wasn't like she could get big enough to swallow the world, right? You were pretty sure she wouldn't do that to you even if she did. Even though she had never said it out loud, you were positive she loved you. Besides; she was yours. There wasn't a chance in hell that it was the other way around... right...?

As these thoughts swirled in your head, Ava groaned as her body stretched and grew. More of your deals were finalizing. The last thing you saw was a breast as big across as the state of Rhode Island rushing towards your penthouse as it grew to even grander sizes, crushing everything in its path forward.

#breast expansion #furry art #giantess growth #ai art

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borrowedtimeandspace · 2 years

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Arrival

5. Flower

From this list of gt prompts.

AU: BTaS; A scene from Zepheera's past

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The early morning was Orrick's favorite time to take a walk and find something to draw. Only a soft glow shone down from the sky, and a blanket of dew coated the garden in a way that made things sparkle.

His sisters used to tease him, since sketches wouldn't exactly keep food in the pantry. Orrick kept them and his parents satisfied by keeping up with his borrowing practice, even if it wasn't his favorite thing. It could be so stressful, taking things from the gigantic human beans.

It didn't bother him as much anymore; he was twenty years old now, not twelve. Still, these morning walks did wonders for his nerves. Drawing was a meditative process, it allowed him to slow down and take his time to sit with his thoughts.

Orrick made sure his hood properly covered his ginger hair and shaded his pale complexion from the sun. Being outside was dodgy business for a nearly five-inch-tall man, and he couldn't risk drawing the attention of predators.

A small speckle of light purpleish-pink caught his eye. It had been a while since he last walked around the garden, and it seemed the beans missed a few new weeds. Upon closer inspection, Orrick found them to be quite beautiful. Their flowers were tiny, almost perfectly scaled for a borrower. Four skinny petals reminded Orrick of lilacs in their color, if not their shape. They grew in small clusters, almost like natural bouquets.

Inspired, Orrick walked a slow circle around the patch he'd found until he saw a pleasing composition. Then he took a few steps back, held up a thumb for scale, and then settled on a small rock a short distance away that had just the right lighting. There he could pull out his homemade sketchbook and a broken pencil lead, and he began sketching.

Thanks to the way he could remember things he'd seen, Orrick didn't need to glance back at or even face the subject of his drawing. It was as though his mind knew exactly where things needed to be, and all he had to do was let his hand do the work. He could truly let himself relax into the activity. It always felt good to turn his brain off for a while.

During a short break to scrape the lead against the rock to sharpen its point, Orrick frowned at his work. He wasn't a perfectionist by any means, but something felt...off. Wrong. Like there was something out of place. He stared, scanning the quiet scene he'd put down on paper, trying to find the flaw that he just knew was there.

He went paler than usual when he finally noticed it. Not a mistake like he thought, but a detail in the background he'd barely paid any mind but had drawn anyway.

There was a dew-coated leaf on the damp ground a few feet behind his flowery subject. Underneath it was a shadow, and a shape sticking out from the edge.

A foot.

Orrick jumped off the rock immediately, sketchbook shoved unceremoniously into his bag as he rushed toward the leaf. Lifting it up, he found a young borrower woman on the ground.

She was curled into a ball, nothing to protect her from the elements but the clothes on her back. Her olive skin was clammy when Orrick shook her arm to wake her, but she merely continued to shiver. Tentatively, he trued to roll her onto her back and met little to no resistance. He brushed her messy brown hair out of her face and opened one of her eyes to find it a deep violet color. It didn't focus on him, but the woman did suck in a startled breath and pull away from his grasp to blink in a bleary, disoriented manner.

Somewhat responsive, yet not overly aware of her surroundings.

Orrick didn't know where she'd come from, but she clearly needed help. He hesitated only a second before murmuring, "Forgive me for this, miss." Then he scooped her into his arms and made for the grating in the house's foundation that would take them safely inside.

The woman put up no fight, curling into the heat of Orrick's body. He had a feeling that this might be one of the most important things he would ever do.

#gtjuly2022 #gtjuly #BTaSAU #Orrick #Zepheera #the borrowers #borrower OC #drawing #photographic memory

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thesilmarilchick · 9 months

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The War of he Dead, Chapter 13: All the World is a Stage

Arda, Middle-Earth, The Shire, The Dragon’s Keep Playhouse: T.A. 2990, S.R. 1388; February 15th

The Burglar’s Players, as they were known throughout the Shire, had staged many a play. Often of their own composition, but never before had they had an actual stage of their own to play it on. Their past plays had been staged out in the open, on the grassy banks of houses or in the local pub. To be fair, the Green Dragon did put out a wonderful spread for the actors and their audience, before that bar-fight and they had to stop mid-play to run for cover. But all that was to change.

When Mayor Taft had approached Bilbo about building them an actual stage, the well-to-do hobbit had had to restrain himself from laughing right in the old boy’s face. It had been almost inconceivable that a structure of this magnitude would be built on Shire soil in his lifetime. Let alone by a lazy slug of a hobbit like Hilbert Taft, but Bilbo supposed anyone could change their ways in the middle of the play, if the fancy took them.

The players: Colon KettleBum, Parsley Overhill, Dollo Bottlenose, Radish Underhill, Heather Proudfoot, their leading lady Rubella Took and of course Bilbo himself, who funded as well as wrote most of their productions… stared at the massive structure. Just from the outside Bilbo could already guess the cost of the thing must have been astronomical … Bilbo was not entirely sure how even he was ever going to be able to pay old Taft back for this.

At nearly forty feet tall the ‘Dragon’s Keep’ was by far the largest and most ornate structure that now, or had ever, stood on Shire soil. It had taken almost six months to properly lay the foundations and a full five years to complete the rest of the structure. At last though, all the many workmen and craftsmen that had laboured tirelessly to complete this splendour…were finally finished.

Rubella Took, ever the one for dramatics, swept through the newly furnished pews that would one day hold her captive audience as if they already did. She flounced onto the stage that still held several carpenters, and turned with a twirl, to the rest of the company. She swept her arms up in an elegant, sweeping gesture and her voice rang out to every corner of that mighty theatre.

‘My fellows no longer are we the houseless minstrels of yester-year… for now we are home.’ As Rubella bowed to the applause of the others, Bilbo had to stand there in stunned silence…he had never known her to give such a short and to the point speech before. Rubella was family, and more to the point a dear friend …but Bilbo would be a liar if he said she didn’t love the sound of her own voice.

Around them the carpenters and seamstresses had paused at their work to add their hands to the applause. Before long the stage shook with the sound and Bilbo had to cover his ears lest he go deaf from the very volume of it. It was as if the very theatre itself were giving its leading lady a grand standing ovation, it practically shook with excitement and all Bilbo could think of was that it was a pity Gandalf had had to cut his stay so very short. The wizard would have loved this.

A boom from somewhere outside the theatre echoed through the open doors, and suddenly all were silent.

***

Bag-End Gardens

From atop the Garden wall of Bag-End, May Gamgee heard the explosion far clearer than Mister Bilbo down in his grand play-house, heard it so clearly that it made her ears bleed. She saw it right enough too, down below her hobbits still ran from the blast, and debris flew through the air smashing into hobbit holes and houses alike. No one was safe, no one…not even up here on the hill.

Another boom, this one far louder than the last, sent May hurtling backwards off that wall, and the blast-wave that followed tossed her down the garden, till she landed face first into Mister Bilbo’s potato patch. Her father and brother, who had been bent over the patch, now picked themselves up from similar positions on the ground.

‘Da?’ May managed to get out just before the second blast-wave hit and threw them against the Smial. Hamfast Gamgee struggled to his knees and hissed at his children to get inside and hide themselves in Mister Bilbo’s larder…and to not make a sound while they did so. May barely had time to grab Samwise and haul him in past that grand green door, before the third blast hit and trapped them inside.

***

Hamfast struggled down Bagshot Road, the tremors through the ground making his stride more of a stumble. Around him dust and ash had begun to gather and swirl like fog, making it difficult to see…well…anything. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of colour, bright yellow like the daisies in his garden, that…that might have been his home, but he couldn’t be sure unless…unless he got closer. He turned and made his way to the quickly fading colour in the near distance, something wacked him on the shoulder as it moved past, and he toppled over onto what had been a fence.

‘Bell!’ The hobbit screamed his voice hoarse and choked under the weight of the ash. He screamed again and again until there was barely any air left in him. Then from amidst the ash clouding his failing vision someone emerged: a hobbit lass…dressed all in white she was. Her long yellow hair, yellow as daisies, curled and twisted into a braid down her back. Her face was round and kind, not made to be a pretty decoration for some gentlefolk up where it was fine, she was sturdy stock. She looked more like a farm girl from up in Tightfield, like his sisters…but sadder.

The Ganyman reached out to her, but she passed through him like nothing more than a gust of air…yet with that gust of air he found his strength again. He pushed himself up and forward, until he now stood where seconds ago, she had: in the doorway of Number 3 Bagshot row.

***

Bilbo had been the first one out of the door after the boom, if the others had followed him, he didn’t know. But quite frankly he didn’t care…there were other things…other people … more important than that, now.

He ignored the screaming around him, he ignored the hobbits that tried to throw him to the side in their desperation to get away…his entire being was drawn to the hobbit-hole on top of the hill. So, intent was he on reaching that hobbit-hole, that he didn’t even notice when he himself shoved a hobbit out of the way, or who that hobbit was.

Finally, he reached Bag-End, but there was no one in the garden, which, considering the damage that had been done was probably a good thing. His feet had taken him to the door before he could fully get his bearings on just how much had been destroyed. He grabbed for the door-handle and tried to wrench the blasted thing open. But no matter how hard he pulled the thing just wouldn’t budge. Finally, in desperation Bilbo rammed his fist against the wood of the door and waited for any sign that there was someone inside. At the first knock, all that answered him was silence, at the second there was a small scuffling sound like the noise of someone small scrambling to the door, and at the third knock, there was a voice.

‘Da?’

Bilbo’s hand stilled upon the door, and he could hear his heart-beat in his ears. Memories of long buried nights of kissing games, of Daisy yellow hair, of missed cycles, aborted ceremonies, and of bastard babies hidden with kin, flooded the gentlehobbit’s mind and he felt quite faint.

‘Da? Is that you?’

The voice tried again, and Bilbo gathered his courage and finally answered.

‘No Samwise it’s not Da…its Mister Bilbo…I…I need to find your Da…do you know where he is? Or could…could you open the door for me?’

Bilbo’s voice shook more now than it had ever done before, and he could barely breathe as he waited for the reply…though that could have been the ash in the air. At last a voice answered him, all though it wasn’t Samwise’s voice, but May’s.

‘He went to go find Ma and the others…please Mister Bilbo the door jammed behind us after the last shock…we…we can’t get it open. Please sir…we’re trapped.’

Bilbo’s teeth sank into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, he felt torn and guilty at that. On the one hand, the desire to see Hamfast safe and whole was more over-powering now than it had ever been before. Even when the boy was a boy, and Bilbo could only watch from a distance. But he couldn’t leave Hamfast’s children…not even if it meant losing everything else…he’d never be able to live with himself afterwards. So, squaring his shoulders, Bilbo decided.

‘Alright I’m going to try and pry the door open… okay? Now I want you children to push as hard as you can from your side of the door…you got that?’ There were two small noises of understanding from behind the green wood.

Steadying his foot against the doorframe Bilbo gripped the door-handle tight in his left hand and pulled as hard as his tired arm would let him. With his right, he scraped his fingers up the door and wedged them just barely between the wood and its frame. He could feel the pressure from the other side and his arm was nearly yanked out of its socket when the thing burst open. He was most certainly crushed under the weight and flailing limbs of the two children that fell upon him…but he didn’t care. Crushing them to his chest he let out a sob of relief…he hadn’t failed in this, at least.

***

Nearly crushing her to his chest Hamfast let out a sob of relief, he hadn’t failed in this, at least. Cradling his wife in his arms the gardener pressed a kiss to the top of her head and lifted her up into the air.

‘Daddy!’

Hamfast whipped round and beheld his small daughter Marigold picking her way across the ash filled mess that had once been the Gamgee kitchen.

‘Don’t leave me behind, Daddy.’ She toppled over mid walk and Ham nearly dropped Bell making a grab for the wee girl.

‘Easy there, lass…now, where are the others?’ Marigold sniffed, and half buried her face in her father’s shoulder. A thick layer of dust coated her golden curls and her chubby round face, she looked like she could barely breathe, but she answered her father anyway.

‘I don’t know! Daisy went out to the market and Ham went out looking for Hal…because…because he’d wondered off to go….to go see the Halffoot…the Halffoot trial. But…Mrs. KettleBum said that’s gonna be in…in Michel Delving. So, I don’t know where any of them are now.’

Tears were rolling down her cheeks by the end and her breath was coming in low and shaky. Hamfast held her closer and attempted to rock her back and forth, but all that ended up doing was jostling his wife.

‘Easy there now my girl…I’ll sort everything, we’ll just get you up to Bag-End now won’t we. Sam and May are hidden up there, you’ll be safe, while I go looking for those siblings of yours.’

***

February 15th of the 1390th year in Shire Reckoning, would be forever remembered as a tragedy of such magnitude that few could put words to it. The first set of explosions had taken out almost half of Michel Delving. The second had been smaller and situated closer to Hobbiton, so it was mostly just the farmers round those parts that suffered casualties from those. But however great the loss most minds in the Shire, certainly all in Hobbiton and what was left of Michel Delving, turned to one thought, and one thought only: someone had to be held accountable…someone had to be punished for this.

Then from out of the mists of this despair emerged a saviour…the hobbit who, in the hearts of many, would make all that had gone wrong right again. And more importantly would punish all those found to be at fault for this. And that marvellous hobbit’s name was… Faldo Proudfoot.

#the hobbit #fanfiction #lord of the rings #fanfic #the silmarillion #the lord of the rings

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candied-cae · 10 months

Text

And Who Are We At The End Of The World? - Please, Be Gentle with My Breaks - III

Chapter 18/? - - - Read it on AO3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20]

Word Count: 10,480

Summary: There's a difference between being broken and having a few breaks. But a lot of these kids and been dealt a lot of blows, and not just from physical monsters of the Upside Down. There's still a lot of stuff hidden just under the surface that they haven't been able to show just yet.

TW: Depictions of PTSD - Triggering events and flashbacks

More ST Fics

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Friday morning - the morning Family Video was set to re-open its doors and begin taking business again - had finally come.

It was a sunny morning. The kind that starts with birds chirping from the trees and the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen. Robin and Steve had made plans to be at the store early, a few hours before opening, to eat breakfast together in the back office and take care of any possible final business that could come up. It was going to be a very good day. They'd decided that much.

Robin was still asleep and a little while away from starting that very good day when a noise that was less pleasant than birdsong rattled through her window.

It had been a week since the morning after the earthquake, and the construction crews had finally made their way to the suburbs near the Buckleys to take care of refortifying, structural concerns, and general repairs. One such house that required their attention, was the neighbor's from right behind them. The one that happened to be closest to the wall of Robin's room.

She was woken up when the racket started.

There was yelling, the workers shouting across distances and making their plans. Her neighbor's house had a lot of worry. She usually wouldn't mind the yelling that much. She could ignore it until Steve arrived to whisk her away. But she had been asleep and would've liked to stay that way. And all the noise outside made it impossible to fall back asleep. So she rolled out of bed and pulled her thin, red curtains closed, trying to block out just a little bit of the early morning sun.

It was about then that the foreman of the crew grunted with displeasure and came to a decision.

“Too much mess here. The whole foundation's got cracks in it, I don't like the way these wooden support beams are splinting, these warps in the flooring don't look good, and that roof damage is only going to get worse with bad weather. Call the homeowners. They can bitch about the facts all they want, but this house is going to be next with the demo team and need a complete reconstruction before anyone moves back in.”

Robin had already finished getting ready. She was washed up and dressed, and finally, the noise softened. Maybe they were done for the day. And she probably had another hour before Steve would be rolling around. So she dove back under her covers and tucked them in around her. Closing her eyes and drifting back off to sleep for just a little bit longer before she'd be taken away from her warm, comfy bed, and would be made to face the daunting trials of customer service.

Maybe forty minutes later, Robin was in that slippery state between sleep and awareness while the heavy machinery of a demolition team rolled down the street. All at once, those titans of force began to unmake the house right behind theirs. So close to where she peacefully slept. And the house did not go down easy.

Robin was startled awake in a red-tinted room, with the impossibly loud sound of destruction erupting from right behind her. The strength of it was rumbling the bed under her body, accompanied by the shriek of over-used and under-cared-for mechanical parts.

And all of it just sent her.

It felt like Thursday night. In the Upside Down. Where the red-tinted sky opened up above her, and the ground shook under her feet so hard she almost fell over. When the groans of an old house moved around her and filled up her ears. Until it all became echoes of screams instead.

Lucas's screams.

“Erica! Call for help!”

She felt it. She felt the fear again. Like it was all occurring to her for the first time.

Max was dead. Lucas was hurt. Eddie was going to die.

Her hands started shaking. She felt the sweat stick to the back of her neck, on her forehead under her bangs. Her arms and legs almost felt numb- or maybe they felt disconnected from her? They didn't feel right. Or useable.

She was frozen. And she tried to reason with herself. Thursday night was Thursday night. It was over a week ago. It all already happened, and she's supposed to be fine. She's in her room.

But as she looked around, none of it seemed familiar. It all looked foreign. Alien. It even started to look like the room was covered in vines, and dust, and cobwebs.

And she was alone. Steve and Nancy weren't there with her. By her side. Helping her run through the terror anyway.

She was alone.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and then one of the neighbor's walls went down. Everything shook even worse. And while she was petrified just a second ago, she was then thrown into urgency. She all but pushed herself out of the bed and backed up under the frame. In the little space between the floorboards and the box spring. She just tried to crawl further and further back, closing herself into something small and hidden.

Nothing bad should be able to find her under there.

She started crying harder.

Somewhere in it, her parents started asking questions. Asking if she wanted any breakfast before she left. Trying to make sure she was still up. Wondering why she wasn't answering. But none of it reached her. She just stared straight forward, trying desperately to cover her ears and make it stop. She just needed it all to stop. But all she felt was the tremble. And all she heard were the screams.

Her dad opened her door. He and her mom poured into her room and kneeled on the floor to find her down there under her bed. They tried talking to her. To figure out what was happening. None of them understood why it was happening.

Max was dead. Lucas was hurt. Erica was in danger. Eddie was going to die. Dustin was limping. Steve was bleeding.

Nothing was okay. And Robin was alone.

Steve's car rolled to a stop in front of the Buckleys. But Robin wasn't sitting, waiting for him on the stoop. She probably just woke up late and needed another minute, or two, to finish getting ready. They were going in early anyway.

Steve wasn't in any rush.

So he just sat in the driveway. Letting the radio play through “You're Much Too Soon” by Hall and Oats. But still, as the song ended and the host announced that The Cars would be playing next, Robin wasn't outside.

Which was starting to seem unusual. He'd never waited very long for her to run out. It's not like she was someone to go to a rager and be hungover the next morning. And there was no way she had something with Vickie that went so late she couldn't wake up. At least no way she wouldn't have mentioned it to him.

He wasn't sure what her deal was, but he still didn't really want to risk getting Mrs. Buckley's stink eye by knocking on the door. A person only makes that mistake once. So he shrugged to himself and honked his horn in two short bursts. To make sure she knew he was there. Not to sound passive-aggressive, but maybe she forgot what time they planned on leaving.

And in that dark space between what was happening and the memory playing over reality, Steve's car broke through.

Robin knew that beep.

From all the times she was already packed into his car after closing, and he was taking too long to lock the door to Family Video, so she'd lean over to the driver's seat and honk at him from his own car. From every time they'd gotten talked into running one or a couple of the kids somewhere, and they were taking their sweet time, so he'd honk at them. From any time someone peeled out past a stop sign in front of them, Steve would curse, ask how much they think his car is worth, and he'd honk at them because he couldn't expect an answer.

Robin knew the sound of Steve's Beemer.

Which meant Steve was there.

That was the only thing she could grasp and hold on to. Steve was there. Somewhere out of sight, but there. Steve was there, so she wasn't alone.

“Steve? STEVE?” she called for him. Past her parents that didn't fit the picture in front of her, she yelled for her best friend to fill in.

Just when Steve was really starting to wonder what was up, he saw Robin's father open the door.

“There's something wrong with her!” he shouted, looking more scared than grown-ups usually let him see.

And Steve didn't even think he'd ever run so fast for anything. Before he could even worry about what specifically could be wrong, before he could worry about the Buckleys not being his biggest fans, before he could worry about not technically having been invited inside their house - he was through the front door and following the sound of Robin's voice down the hallway to her room. Where her mother was crouched on the floor trying to reason with where Robin must've been under her bed.

He just shucked the jacket off his arms and scooted himself under there beside her.

“Hey. Hey, Rob. I'm here. It's me.”

She looked at him. And he made sense. As much as all of it didn't make sense, Steve being there with her while she felt terrified? That made sense.

Robin's fingers released a sweater that had been lost under her bed and instead grabbed onto the short sleeve of Steve's white shirt.

“Steve. Steve, it's- i- it's shaking. Everything is…”

“I know. I know, it is.” He nodded with her,” But, hey, I’m right here with you. Okay?”

There was barely enough room for the width of their bodies under there. But even so, Steve untucked his arm from beside him and pushed it into the space over Robin. He held her tight around her shoulders, her hand still twisted in the fabric of his shirt. She was probably going to stretch it out, but Steve wasn't even a little worried about it then.

“It's so loud…” she whispered, trying to cover up one ear without letting go of Steve.

“That's okay. That's okay, because…” Steve reached over to his discarded jacket. In the pocket was his walkman and one of his mixes he was keeping on him until he made the one specifically for Vecna. He slipped the headphones over her ears with a little difficulty, due to the angle and tight quarters. But after he got it on, he'd quickly sped through the first third of the tape, because ABBA's “Lay All Your Love On Me” should've been the fifth song on it.

He pulled her tighter against him while she listened to the music and spoke right into her hair,“ I’m right here. And I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

She continued to cry.

Robin's parents just looked at the two in shock. They knew that they had gotten close, but they never imagined… Steve was the kid in town with a reputation for getting around. They always assumed there was something there, something he was chasing her for. They weren’t happy about it but figured - maybe just maybe - Steve Harrington got drawn into Robin’s refusal of his advances and it just made a game for him after they worked together at the mall.

But the way he was looking at her, it was love.

And not a romantic or lustful thing. It was just love in its purest form. Like they were two halves of the same person. Destined to link their arms together for the rest of their lives, despite whatever husband and wife they would get tied to down the road. It was something bigger than her parents understood.

But they were starting to.

Robin eventually stopped shaking so badly, and stopped crying so hard. Steve asked them if the construction crew could stop what they were doing. Even for just fifteen minutes. Just long enough to let Robin calm down some and get out from under the mattress and put some distance between them.

And the parents left them to each other. Somehow, they completely trusted that all Steve Harrington wanted to do was help their daughter feel better. When they told the crew that their kid was having something of a nervous breakdown, they were incredibly apologetic and immediately shut off all the equipment. Mrs. Buckley brought out some lemonade for them as a thank-you while they killed a little time.

“You doing better, Rob?” Steve asked when she looked like she was coming back to herself.

The room didn't look so scary anymore. Her mind wasn't covering her floor and walls in leathery tentacles. She couldn't hear kids screaming and crying in her ears. She knew Max was safe in the hospital, and Eddie was right next to her recovering. Lucas, Erica, Dustin, and Steve all made it out with bumps and bruises, but they were fine.

Robin pushed the headphones off of one of her ears and nodded to Steve, wiping off her face,” Yeah. Yeah.”

“Do you wanna get up?” he offered.

She thought about it. But her legs still felt like jello, and she still had an icky feeling making her hair stand up. It didn't look like the Upside Down anymore, but she was still scared it would again as soon as she made it to her feet.

“Not yet? It feels safer down here. Closed in, nothing can surprise me.”

“Okay. We’ll stay down here for a few minutes.”

Robin shook her head. She felt silly. “We’re going to be late to work,” she told him.

“Fuck work.” Steve remarked, and she laughed through a sniffle,” I’m the manager now. I say Family Video can re-open tomorrow.”

But then the worry hit her again,“ But, Steve, if I stay here all day and they start again, I-”

Steve just shrugged against her shoulder,“ We can go wherever. Wherever you want.”

And she relaxed again.

They got her up off the floor, splashed some water on her face, and got packed into the car after Robin hugged her parents. Told them she was going to be fine.

They blared music from his car and stopped back at his house first to grab snacks. She met the Antonovs while Steve stole a boombox and a handful of cassettes from his room. And then they made quick goodbyes and were off again. Steve figured a good place to go, to get away from everything, was that junkyard past the quarry.

They drove up the gravel road, around the big open water, into the break of the trees, and out through the clearing of abandoned cars and scrap.

“So, this is where Dustin took you, huh?”

She'd wondered what kind of place made for a demodog trap and makeshift fortress to hunker down in. Not enough to actually ask for a visit to a place that screamed serial killer central, but she'd wondered about it.

“Yeah. Except we came from the tracks and walked the whole way from town.” Steve told her.

Robin crinkled up her nose at the idea,“ If you're gonna bring me to the edge of the world, I'm not walking there. Only way you're getting me all the way out here is if I'm riding in style.” She leaned back in the seat, popped her feet up on the dash, and closed her eyes. Like she was trying to become the picture of luxury.

Steve just smiled softly and hummed,“ Of course, you are.”

The Beemer was parked and the two climbed out together. Robin's first instinct was to comment on the mess. The broken glass and the dented-up metal. Steve pretended it was all damage from the demodogs. She didn't know any better to push it. But they sat down in an open spot. Dug into the leftovers of Claudia's brownies while they just talked and looked out over the hill.

And then Robin brought the conversation back to something she considered to be of high importance.

“So, what's the plan with Nancy?”

Steve completely turned away from her, echoing her question like that'd make her drop it,“ What's the plan?”

And, as if she didn't even hear the annoyance in his tone, she agreed,“ Yeah. What's the plan? What sort of idea do we have on the docket?”

“Robin. Her boyfriend is sleeping on my couch right now.” Steve reminded her.

“Which is why I want to know the plan. Situation's gotten complicated.” Robin crossed her legs and popped a bit of brownie into her mouth.

But he declared,“ There is no plan.”

And she almost sounded disappointed. "Steve.”

“You guys keep trying to open that door - and maybe you could entertain the idea while Jonathan wasn't around - but it's different now.”

“You guys?” Robin pointed out,” Who else has been talking about you and Nancy?”

Steve muttered,“ Munson might've said something stupid…”

Her eyes widened,“ See! Multiple people-”

“Just the two-”

“Multiple people think there's something there! So why aren't you going for it? We got your confidence back, you're acting like the hot commodity you are again. Don't get why you're wasting time.”

He tried to redirect her,“ Why don't we focus on the Vickie front?”

She argued,“ The Vickie front is fine!”

“Oh? So what are the two of you then?” Steve pressed.

Robin got quiet before eventually saying,” I don't know.”

“That doesn't sound very fine.”

Which thankfully seemed to pull her away from Nancy Wheeler.

“How do I broach that topic then, Steve?” she asked.

“Well, you're gonna wanna get all dressed up, look real nice, lean in close, and then you're going to ask her where this thing is going.”

“And if she doesn't think 'this thing' is going where I want it to go? Then I've just outed myself and started the countdown until I become the town pariah.”

“You just gotta be covert enough it's safe, and direct enough you get a clear answer,” Steve advised. Which sounded like an impossible balance to strike.

And Robin was at least a little bit annoyed he'd even say such a thing. “Oh? Is that all?“

“That's all it takes!”

“Then…” Robin leaned over and got all in Steve's space before she put on a husky voice,“ Where do you think this Nancy thing is going?”

Steve cried out “Shut up!” and shoved her shoulder. They both fell into boisterous laughter while they lay out on the grass. Leaving behind the horrors of that morning and knowing full well that Family Video wasn't opening by 10 am as they planned.

Karen got a phone call that morning from Theresa. Robin's mother mentioned that they'd had a rough morning at their house, and asked if Karen had noticed Nancy going through anything after the earthquake. Seeming like she was reliving it at all, or stuff like night terrors? Karen truthfully told her that she hadn't seen any of that from Nancy, but what she kept to herself was that their kids didn't just face an earthquake. Karen knew they'd seen more than they needed to.

And with her soft heart, knowing that Robin got really shaken up and quickly left with Steve that morning to get away from the ruckus, Karen decided she'd pay the two of them a visit. Offer a little kindness and remind them that - even if they couldn't turn to their own parents for help - she was on their team now. Like what Nancy had said the night she found out what was going on.

So Karen baked a batch of fresh cookies in the oven. Her oldest daughter was pouring over her school work, the new and the old, and paying extra attention to her essays. Karen slid a plate on the dining room table to Nancy as they came out. Still warm and gooey, practically falling apart as Karen warned her to let them cool a minute so she didn't burn herself. And then she headed out the door. Packing herself and her Tupperware container away while she drove over to Steve's place. Where surely the two of them would have gone after Robin's fright.

The oddest thing was, as she came up to the front porch and knocked on the door, it wasn't either of them that answered. Nor was it Hopper or Joyce, or any of the kids. Instead, there was a man she'd never met before. A very attractive man, for the record, wearing a pretty skimpy pair of cut-off jeans that were halfway up his thighs and what probably used to be a tee shirt until the sleeves were snipped off to the shoulder and the bottom cropped until it almost showed skin.

Which was a little out of the usual considering Spring just started and nobody else in Hawkins would be dressing like that for weeks, if not months. Just wasn't warm enough for it yet. But there this mystery man was, looking like he was ready to host a Summer cookout and work on his poolside tan.

He pursed his lips under a crisp mustache and asked, with a strong, deep voice and accent,” Yes?”

“Uh, yes, I- uh- I’m Karen. Wheeler. Mike and Nancy’s mom.” she explained. Remembering herself after a moment and shifting the cookies onto one arm, reaching out with her other hand to shake his. Friendly, polite, and mannerly. Maybe a little more bashful than she should be.

He smiled kindly and shook it with a firm grip,” Dmitri. I am Mikhail’s father.”

“Oh, yes, I’d heard- that, um, that we had someone new coming into town.” she made the connection and thought to herself that she was being silly. Stuttering and sputtering for no reason.

“Ah, yes.” Dmitri nodded,” Once your government sends me some papers, I may move out of this boy’s home. Maybe then we will even be neighbors, yes?”

Karen smiled and agreed,” Yeah, maybe.”

It was quiet for only a moment before he wondered,“ Was there something…?”

“Oh! Yes! Sorry, um, I assumed Steve and Robin would be around. Wanted to drop off a snack for them.” she motioned to the container she held.

“That is very kind of you. They are out, but I can put it in the kitchen.” he offered.

She handed the sweets over with a simple “thank you,” but she didn't exactly want to run back home so quickly. And she thought it was only reasonable to try and get to know him. Being another adult on the end-of-the-world team and all.

“How- how are you and your son adjusting? To Hawkins? I'm sure it must be a big change.”

“It is fine,” he assured her. “Mikhail wishes he were in school. Also wishes he had his own room, but that will change in time. We are fine. Much better away from where we were. And I, myself, am most enjoying all the time free from work and the warm temperature.”

Dmitri remarked on it all with a smile. Pale, blue eyes shining under the midwest sun. Which must've been a stark difference compared to the snow-covered country he'd called home just days before. He really seemed happy to have completely turned his whole life around.

It wasn't like he had much of a choice. By the sound of it from Murray, Hop, and Joyce, he had to leave. There wasn't anything left for him or his son in the Soviet Union after he was imprisoned, escaped, and every person at his workplace - convicts and guards alike - was killed. He was a renegade, no matter what. So he had to pack up his kid and him, board a sketchy helicopter, and come with the people he'd become loose companions with. Chasing “hope of a better life” and “the American dream” as far as it'd take him.

It sounded terrifying for Karen to imagine putting her own family through. But here, the man stood. In the door of a teenage boy's home because it had a spare room to borrow. In a country he didn't know. Without a clue about what exactly was going to happen in the coming days, weeks, months, or years. If they made it that long.

And he smiled under the sunshine. Because he was away from work, and they had nice weather in Hawkins, Indiana. And that was enough to be happy about.

“Really?” she asked him.

“Oh, yes. Certainly. If I could spend the rest of my days like this, though in a home of my own, I would. Waking up early, making food, spending time with Mikhail and sending him off, enjoying this lovely weather… it is all I need.”

Karen had to laugh to herself. It sounded like the life of a housewife this man was wishing for. And she knew it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. It wasn't as easy or as fulfilling as it seemed like it was when a person summed up in one clean sentence.

“Your son must be better behaved than mine.” she joked.

But Dmitri's eyebrow raised, and he leaned in closer to drop his voice,“ You think too highly of Mikhail. He is still a handful.” He sat back and mentioned,” Though, I suspect I am lucky to just have the one. You manage two.”

“Three, actually.” she corrected,” I have my youngest, Holly, too.”

“Three, then. Miss Wheeler, you are a mother of considerable strength, to do so on your own.”

“Oh, I’m not on my own. My husband, Ted, he-” Karen stumbled for a second. Not exactly sure how much she could speak to her husband's adequacy as a father. Not when it came to the softer parts of childcare. “Well, he supports us. Has a good job and brings home the bacon.”

“But you manage the home and children?” the man restated.

“Uh, yes, I guess, he mostly catches the bills, and I manage the house. And the kids. The day-to-day. If you want to look at it like that.”

“Then that makes you strong,” he argued.

Karen just averted her eyes and brushed her hair off her shoulder. “You’d be the first to think so.”

“Americans do not think their mothers are strong?”

“It’s-” She didn't get very far.

“They should. I believe you are very strong woman, Miss Karen Wheeler.” Dmitri said with full sincerity.

She couldn't help but notice he didn't correct to “Mrs.” even though she brought up her marriage. But it was nice to hear the rest of that sentence too. She was a strong woman. Seriously spoken, because it was no laughing matter.

Karen also couldn't help but ask a question she's wondered a few times by herself.

“Was it easy? To work and take care of your son on your own?”

It seemed a little rude to ask. She'd only known the man for a few minutes, and she only knew he was a widower or some kind of divorcee because it was sort of the elephant in the room. You don't think to grab the kid and not the mom if everything is going well. So he was in the parenting game on his own. And maybe sometimes Karen wondered if she could do something like that.

“Absolutely not.” he answered honestly,” My wife passed many years back. And my job it- it kept me away from home a lot. Only way we got through it was our sweet neighbor watching him when I could not. I only hope I may find way to tend to him more now.”

“You’d want to be a house-husband?” she asked, surprised.

“If I could? Absolutely. Just be a little… little trophy for the Missus to show off while I take care of the home and my boy.” he mused. “Sounds like a fine life to me.”

Karen only let out about half a laugh. “You’re a very interesting man, Dmitri.”

“What? You do not agree?”

“I can see the appeal, from the outside view. I’ve been in the housewife spot for a while now. It can be nice at times, but I definitely miss…” her eyes wandered,” the freedom.”

“I take it you have a passion then? One you put away to take care of your family?” Dmitri leaned against the door frame. His exposed bicep squished against woodgrain, though Karen tried not to notice, and he watched her carefully. Listening.

She admitted to him,“ Yeah, I did. Once upon a time. Many, many years ago.”

“Well, I hope you find it again, Miss Karen.” There it was with the “Miss” again- “Maybe your kids straighten up and give you time to chase it? Or your husband takes over some responsibilities of the house?”

“Oh, that’ll be the day.”

“You think Mr. Wheeler is not strong enough for the job?”

“He does his job.” Karen had to defend her husband. She began to count on her fingers,” Provides the roof over our heads, food on the table-”

But this Dmitri wasn't having it. With one hand, he gently closed his grip around hers. Only enough pressure to stop her, so he could say,“ If your husband leaves you so dissatisfied, then I do not believe he does his job very well.”

And Karen could feel the heat in her cheeks go hotter. He was close. And touching her hands. And serious but not afraid to laugh. And sweet in the way he talked about his kid. And attentive to her in a way no one has been since she and Ted first met.

It swelled something in her chest that scared her.

She smiled politely, and pulled her hands back,“ Sorry to have taken up so much of your time. I wasn't planning on more than a quick drop-off. But I’m happy to hear you’re both settling in. Feel free to help yourselves to the cookies as well.”

“Thank you,” he said, smoothly. No hint of dismay as she backed out. And then he added,” But it was no bother to speak with a beautiful woman on a nice day. Especially if she's brought over her own baking.”

In a moment of bravery, Karen agreed.

“It was no bother speaking to you either. I’ll see you again sometime.”

“Until then, Miss Karen. To your free time and the rise of house-husbandry.”

And Mr. Antonov stayed at the door while Karen returned to her car. He popped open the top and swiped himself a cookie in the wait. Watching as she opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. He only closed the front door of Steve's house once he'd seen the engine turn over fine. Making sure she'd have no problem getting home.

A length of care just beyond what was necessary.

It'd been a long, long time since Karen felt like anyone had extended that attention toward her.

Not that it mattered much. She was a married woman. A housewife. A stay-at-home mom. And Dmitri didn't convey much confidence that she was able to be anything else anymore. Not with three children to look out for. Even if Nancy was going to be off to college soon, Mike still had three years left. Hell- Holly was only six.

She needed to get back home.

Get back to what she knew how to do.

Time passed by in the junkyard. The sun rose up and eventually hung high in the sky overhead. Steve and Robin nearly emptied the last of Claudia's brownies. They were probably ready for some real food soon. And to get back to civilization.

But, for the moment, they just lay out on the ground next to each other.

Trying not to think about all the dirt getting into their hair and rubbing into the back of their clothes.

But Robin finally felt like herself again.

“Thank you,” she said to him. Her best friend. Who sat with her through the whole thing. Even though it snuck up on them out of nowhere, and they've never dealt with anything like it themselves.

“For?” he asked her.

She filled in,“ For being there for me.”

“Rob,” Steve rolled over onto his side to look at her,” I always will be. You know that.”

Robin nodded,“ I know. I just…” she started to explain,” didn’t realize it could get that bad. Nothing ever hit me like that after last summer. Nothing was ever similar enough to what happened that I just- I don’t know. But then I was just in my room, and I looked around, and it was just like Thursday night. Like some amalgamation of my bedroom and the Creel house, and the sounds were just- ”

Steve put his hand on hers where she'd started mindlessly ripping grass up by the roots.

“I know. But we’re fine. We’re fine.” he assured her.

“Yeah. We are.”

“So we’re feeling better now?”

“Yeah. We’re feeling better now.” Robin squeezed his hand.

“All the way better, or is there still something you need to be all the way there?”

She chuckled and smiled up at the bright blue sky. A big toothy smile. The kind her mother would've told her to reign in if they were taking family pictures. But the gentle fondness of Steve Harrington could be funny when he overdid it. Like a mother hen checking on his little chickadees over and over again.

And Steve might've been thinking about cruising by a drive-thru to finish off the comfort, but Robin had another solution in mind to settle any lingering anxiety.

“Well, if you’re offering… you know what my favorite thing ever is…”

And that was all the leading she had to do. Steve's eyes narrowed at her. But he didn't resist much.

“… Fine. Since you had a shitty morning.”

And then Steve went to his cassette player and dropped in “Robin’s Mix.” A tape he'd put together some time ago that always got the most runtime when its namesake was with him. It only took seconds for the sounds of ABBA's “Dancing Queen” to come out through the speakers. The first song on it. Robin stood, dusted herself off, and joined Steve by the hood of his Beemer where he'd propped the player. Fully set on turning the patch of seclusion into their own private dance floor.

And as the Swedish singers came in, Steve was quick to mime a microphone of his own. Directing every single word to his very best friend. Just like they had for her birthday.

“You are the dancing Queen, Young and sweet, Only seventeen! You can dance, You can jive, Having the time of your life, Ooooo~ See that girl, Watch that screen, Digging the Dancing Queen!”

They spun around each other. Robin shook out her hair, dropped her shoulders, and grooved side-to-side. Put her hands up in the air and swept them around in smooth motions. Steve was jumping around, posing, and kneeling to bask up at her. Like she was a real celebrity.

They probably put too much energy into it. If anyone serious was looking at them and compared their moves to the music at hand, they'd probably have said they didn't fit together. But to the two of them, it was how the song was meant to be danced to. It's what was right when everything came down to just Steve and Robin. No one else on the planet was invited.

And just being Steve and Robin was the easiest thing most days.

They made it all the way through the song before Robin nearly collapsed against him in giggles. He put away the phony mic, tossing it somewhere behind him to catch her before they both ended up on their asses. “One Way Or Another” began to fire up, but neither was listening too carefully.

“Thank you,” Robin said, almost out of breath.

“You already said that.” Steve pointed out.

“I know. But seriously,” she grabbed his hand and squeezed it like it was the most tangible lifeline she's ever had,” Thank you. For being my favorite person in the whole world.”

He squeezed her hand back, just as much love expressed in the simple act,” Thank you for being mine.”

Eventually, Robin stood back up on her own two feet. And they decided on that drive-thru meal to offset all the sugar and chocolate they'd had in lieu of a balanced breakfast. And interestingly enough, they also decided on going back to Family Video anyway.

They had no plans to open. More so just get out from under the sun before one of them (Robin) got sunburnt. Maybe even avoid the mosquitoes for the rest of the day. And Robin's Mix played through Steve's stereo the whole drive.

It might've only been Friday, and the nurses might've said they wanted to hold on to Eddie through Tuesday, but he was getting stir-crazy.

He hated, hated, hated just sitting there on that bed. He wasn't supposed to get up and move around too much, lest he desire to face Nurse Tracey's wrath. But it was torture. The tv was no adequate entertainment, and it killed him to know that everyone else had something to do. Some way they were healing or fixing things.

Just “getting better” wasn't a good enough assignment.

Not when there was so much at stake. Not when he was laying down right next to Max, who was stuck where he'd gotten out of. They told him it wasn't the same. But it should've been. They both died, and El brought them both back, and they both got to a hospital. But she wasn't awake.

And it pissed him off so much.

She played decoy, and so did he. And they both did their parts a little too well. But she didn’t get up after.

Wayne dropped in and ate breakfast with him on his way to work. Expressed his sorrow about Eddie's ring. Eddie's mom's ring. His fingertips drifted to his right ring finger where he'd always worn it. Not on the left, because that was the spot dedicated to his own engagement one day.

He missed it. The black gem, cut in too many facets that it caught the light too much. It didn't have the same mystique as domed, smooth onyx that seemed more like a void set in silver than a stone. He'd looked at some in pawn shops and understood the appeal.

But as much as his mom's ring didn't exactly fit the idea of what his aesthetic "should" be, it was better.

And it was gone.

He didn't cry when Wayne mentioned it. Didn't cry when Wayne said he was going to ask around, keep an eye out, and look wherever he could think to. Didn't ruin it for him by saying," I know I wore it into battle. I fucking kissed it before climbing up a twisted version of our trailer and starting my set. So if it's gone, it's gone in another dimension. And, honestly, it was probably eaten by a demobat, given how much they bit at me. So it had to be fucked up for good after sitting in dead monster stomach acid all this time."

No. Eddie just smiled at his uncle. Told him thanks for everything. Said he was going to make it up to him with a spaghetti night when they settled in a new place to call their home again. Wayne smiled and told him not to forget the garlic bread.

"You know that's the best part." he laughed.

Wayne's eyes caught on his watch, and it was time to go. He laid a hand on his boy's shoulder, kissed him on his forehead, and told him to just keep getting better. Try not to worry about anything in the meantime.

Eddie didn't promise him anything.

He finished his re-read of The Hobbit. Sniffled at the end like he always did. He looked over old notes and put together new ones for a campaign. The boys, including Josie and Erica, and even Will, all came by. It was nice.

It wasn't a very complex storyline he'd thought up, but for a one-shot, it would do. The gang of nine players packed around his bed was given the task of sneaking into a masquerade party held in a castle. The queen had received word that her daughter was in danger, but she didn't know who it was. It could've even been a member of their own royal guard. So she'd hired the band of adventurers to make sure the princess would be safe. The hard part was, she'd survived an insane labor of nine. Yup, nonuplets. So there were nine identical princesses to keep an eye on and protect while they tried to find the bad guy. And just as fate would have it, one of them died.

It was only thanks to Will's impeccable notetaking that they figured out it was not actually Daphne in the pale green dress, but Rowena who'd swapped their clothes and taken the place of her sister. A scheme worked up with an assassin she'd fallen in love with to steal the title of "eldest daughter" and have the first claim to the throne. She had been the youngest of nine, after all, she was far down the list before she'd see a crown.

But they solvest the mystery. Earned a good chunk of change from an incredibly distraught royal family who not only lost one child, but a second too. Everyone cheered for each other when they got the confession and defeated the enemies in combat. Tucked away the characters with mentions that it might be nice to dust them off and revisit the theme again another time. Make a regular habit of these Sherlock Holmes-like mysteries dipped in a little bit of fantasy flair and ass-kicking to close it all out.

It was fun. Mostly. But holding the session around his bed, where he felt like he was some weak little thing he didn't think he was… it hurt Eddie in a way he wasn't expecting. It itched against all the other feelings he was holding on to. And he didn't like it.

He was feeling cagey.

So, after they all said their goodbyes, he made a break for it.

Or, more exactly, he told Tracey he had to get out of there and begged for any way to make it happen. She was not happy. Looked at him down her hooked nose, through her thick glasses, from under crumbling mascara that rimmed her eyes. A scornful expression like she was trying to intimidate him into pulling up his covers and saying how much he actually liked it there.

But he stood his ground. And she admitted, him being a legal adult and all, that he could fill out an Against Medical Advice form - meaning he couldn't sue if he fucked himself up for leaving early - and he'd be free. So he asked her, very nicely, to fetch such a document for him. And she did. She still pestered him about calling or coming in the minute he felt bad. To watch himself for a high temperature, upset stomach, sweating or chills, bleeding, puss, or extra sensitivity around the injuries. So he swore up and down he would.

And he made it out.

His car was still at Wayne's hotel, wherever that was exactly, so Eddie just hopped the bus and made it downtown. He didn't have an exact plan, but he was not going to go home. That trailer was practically a fallout zone and wouldn't make for much of a shelter at that point. And he also didn't want to even figure out where Wayne was pitched up at. Because he was bound to go stir crazy there just the same as he had in the hospital.

He ended up on the idea to stop by a certain video store to annoy a certain pair of employees and whatever poor souls decided to shop there on the day Eddie Munson became a truly free man.

“What? Am I not pretty enough for you, Robin?” Steve asked.

His voice dripped with offense, like the discussion at hand was the cruelest thing anyone had ever said to him. They'd been making plans for Robin to ask Vickie on something more obviously a date. To help bridge that gap between girl friends and girlfriends. Robin had suggested something more like what she and Steve do anyway, getting together at someone's house when there are no parents home for a movie. But that also painted what they do as being inherently romantic and she gagged. Now, Steve was on some tirade about being a wonderful date and she should be so lucky.

He leaned against the shop counter and struggled to pop his hip out in a way that could even come close to feminine. But none of the shapes were there, and Robin could only look at him with pity. Not an admission of defeat.

“As much as I love you, Steve…” she tried to soften the blow,” You already know the key thing keeping us apart is my particular interest in…”

”Oh, right.” Steve's tone dropped, and he cupped his hands on his chest as if it was the first time the thought had occurred to him,” Boobies. I don’t have those for you.”

The comment caused Robin to crinkle her nose in a sharp cringe,” Stop calling them that!”

“Why?! It’s what they are! Not my fault you can’t handle the proper word for them!” he pushed.

“ANYWAY!” she tried to take control of the conversation,” I like them a lot, so stop pressing it. It's starting to get really sad.”

“Alright, alright, I'm hearing you, but what if I turned like this.” Steve turned around and arched his back as he shyly looked over his shoulder at Robin. Trying to pull off a more pin-up pose. Like, because she couldn't see his front, she could forget he was missing the pair features they both enjoyed so much. Like it made him girly enough at all.

Robin tried to hold back her snickers at his display. Steve closed his eyes and shook out his hair behind him for effect. He put on a pretend sultry voice before asking her,“ Does this do it for you?”

“What did I just walk in on?” Eddie froze in the open doorway.

As Steve's brain registered that the question didn't come from Robin, he snapped open his eyes and jumped out of the pose. Some kind of less-than-manly shriek flew up from his mouth, and all too quickly he practically tumbled over the countertop and crossed his arms over his chest to cover himself behind it. As if he was even topless in the first place. He wasn't, but he still felt pretty exposed.

“Can't you read the sign?!” Steve griped. A pointer finger shot out to where the “closed” side of the board was clearly facing out the door to any foot traffic on the sidewalk.

Robin was less focused on Steve's cause for concern and complaint. Instead, she joyfully exclaimed,“ Eddie! You’re out of the hospital!”

“Yup, doc declared me as less than ‘healthy as a horse’ but not likely to bleed out at any moment, so I've been released on good behavior for bedrest at my own home while the wounds, you know, do their thing and scar over.”

“If it’s bedrest, shouldn’t you be, ya know… in a bed? Resting?” Steve questioned him. Maybe a little pointedly, but hey, he was allowed to feel a little sour over Eddie walking in on his and Robin's nonsense. That stuff's supposed to be private.

“Didn’t really feel like hitching a ride across town for a quiet hotel room packed with Wayne's and I's stuff while he finishes the rest of his shift.” Eddie excused,” Plus I’d miss out on whatever the hell all this is. So I’ll ask again; what did I just walk in on?”

“Steve’s just really sad that he’s not pretty enough for me.” Robin mused teasingly. Figuring that context was innocuous enough for the present company.

“Oh, man. Tough break, Princess Harrington. My condolences.” Eddie said, putting one hand over his heart and the other on Steve's shoulder like he actually meant to console the man's wounded pride.

Steve swatted away the gesture immediately. And then he decided something new about Eddie being a member of the party.

”You two are insufferable!” he said with a pair of aggressive finger-pointing,” I don't like this duo! I don't need the two of you ganging up on me! It's unfair!”

“Wait till we get Dustin in on the action too. Three on Steve seems like fine odds.” Eddie added just to see the way it made Steve twist up his face. He even started getting a little red!

Through it all, Eddie and Robin found some kind of understanding between the two of them. An understanding of how fun it was to push all of Steve's buttons. And somehow, they still secured invites to his place for dinner. Maybe it was their wicked pair of sad eyes, maybe it was more of that “feeling way too bad for everyone” gene he's got, but Steve let them both pile into his car while he made his way home.

Eddie met their European guests, shook more hands, and made more small talk. And by the end of the meal, Steve would say he narrowly survived the onslaught of teasing. Steve ran Robin back to her place and stayed parked right outside until she buzzed him on the walkie and said she wasn't having a panic attack in her room again and he needed to clear out before someone accused him of stalking. Eddie and Steve laughed, and as the driver wondered where he was sending Eddie off, he admitted he didn't know.

Still hadn't even called his uncle to find out which spot across town he was camped up in.

And somehow… that conversation ended with another invitation to Steve's house. That time, one to spend the night. Eddie was eager to accept. A bustling house of kids and the most random assortment of adults sounded like the exact opposite of falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat beeping on a machine next to him, and Max's a few feet away.

And thanks to an already stacked dance card - the Byers and Co. on the couch, Joyce and Hop sharing the master, Murray laid claim to the first guest room, the Antonovs in the other - there was really only one place with any spare room without tossing one the injured men to the floorboards.

And that was to partner up and share Steve's bed with him.

It started with Eddie trying to break the ice. Pointing out the grid pattern painted on Steve's walls and hung up on his curtains. Mentioning that it was nothing like how he imagined the King of Hawkins slept. It looked more like a cage than anything else.

Steve shrugged, agreed with the sentiment, and tried to focus on grabbing his own pajama options and getting the night over with. As awkward as it was shaping up to be. But drawing attention to his closet, drew attention to the desk and chair right in front of it. And the denim vest hanging on the back of that chair, which rightfully belonged to Steve's most recent guest.

“There it is!”

Steve turned around and followed Eddie's eyes to the battle vest he'd accidentally borrowed for too long.

“Oh, right! Sorry.” he picked it up from its perch. “Didn't mean to steal it. Just forgot it was there a little.”

“Wow. I let you dress yourself in my battle vest - watching out for your delicate purity so that it might not be besmirched - and you forget about such a deep moment we shared?” Eddie lamented the tragedy. Wondering to himself if it would be too much to try and force a tear.

“I didn't mean I forgot about it like that. Just- I was trying to figure out what to do with it, and I forgot to give it back.” Steve quickly handed it over,” Here.”

Eddie barely looked at the item before he asked,“ What to do with it? That sounds a little spooky. Did you have some kind of black magic spell in mind that you needed it for? You're not gonna steal a lock of my hair after I fall asleep, right?”

“No. Absolutely not. I, just, I was wearing it while I was all gross and sweaty and bleeding, so I figured the same rules as borrowing gym clothes applied, and I should wash it before I gave it back.” Steve tried to explain,” But you have so much stuff on it I didn't want to get ruined, and I wasn't sure how to go about it, and everything has been so insane all the time-”

“I get it. Worry not, Stevie.” Eddie tried to release him from whatever pressure he put on the idea. “Plus you don't really wash a battle vest. It's kinda supposed to go through hell and come out the other side with some authentic grime.”

“But another guy's blood and sweat? That's pretty extreme.” Steve commented. But his face said he leaned more towards 'nasty' than just 'hardcore.'

“You don't understand the culture. That's okay.”

“Alright. Well, then I guess my dilemma turned out for the best.” Steve ducked back into his closet.

Eddie more carefully examined his vest for all the wear and tear it saw. None of the patches or pins looked like they were in danger, but there were some new loose threads he could think about playing with. As he looked it over, he commented with a chuckle,“ Yeah, if you wanna uselessly panic about other stuff and wind up saving the day through inaction, there's the Vecna guy I don't know if you've heard about. I think those magic powers could really speed things along and get us all to summer break in one piece.”

Steve quickly turned out of the hanging garments and urged Eddie,“ Don't let Murray hear you strategize, or he'll barge in and spend an hour actually trying to make a plan out of it.”

He said it so seriously Eddie couldn't even get a response ready while Steve slinked out of the room to go across the hall. To change into the jammies and take care of his nightly routine in the comfort and privacy of his own bathroom. And before Eddie knew it, he was left alone in Steve Harrington's room. Sitting crisscross on the edge of his bed, a pile of denim in his lap, and far too much awareness of how fresh their friendship really was.

The rest of the house had gotten pretty quiet. They'd all turned in for an earlier evening after a long afternoon of work at Hop's cabin and some folks still adjusting their internal clocks to Hawkins time. A big, big house, packed with people, and yet there wasn't much noise.

Steve came back to his room just after a few minutes. He tossed his clothes from the day in a dirty laundry hamper and sat on the other side of the bed. Pushing down the covers before he swung his legs up under them. Eddie followed suit. Standing up to put his vest back on the desk chair for the time being, and climbed into the bed next to his roomie for the night.

And then Eddie and Steve were left to each other. In Steve's bed. Laying still as statues to get some well-deserved rest.

And it was nerve-racking. All of Eddie Munson's nerves were racked. He couldn't help thinking about how the whole situation was so far off the map for him a few weeks ago. On the 22nd of March, Eddie Munson held a broken glass to his neck, and everything's been so strangely on the up and up since. Minus the whole almost-dying part. They'd been forging a bond, a weird one, given such a distinctly separate history. But there they were. Having a sleepover in the famed King's bedroom.

And it wasn't any easier for Steve to deal with. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It shouldn’t do or mean anything to him. Steve's done this sort of thing with Robin tons of times. Falling asleep next to someone you’re not attracted to should be easy and simple. But it wasn't.

Like, with Robin, they were both allowed to stretch their limbs out in all directions and hug the night away before they tried to kick one another off the bed. But, with Eddie, they were both practically on the edges of the mattress with their backs to each other so they wouldn't accidentally touch or even look at one another. And Steve wasn’t falling asleep. Instead, he felt like he couldn’t move without bothering Eddie.

What if his stitches were still super sore? What if he was lying about the vest and was actually bothered about the condition it was in? What if he was mad about his mom's ring?

And all of a sudden, Eddie started talking.

“You didn’t, by the way.”

Which didn't exactly make any sense as the first thing either of them had said in almost thirty minutes.

“What?”

“Stomp on me.” he clarified.

And it didn't immediately click. But after a second, Steve remembered what he said while Eddie was still in the coma. The part about “I was a bully,” and “I hope I didn't bully you,” but “I wouldn't really remember,” and “Tommy called it stomping on the ants” like that excused any of it. So that was the stomping Eddie was thinking about.

“Oh… so you…“

“Heard that bit?” Eddie finished for him. “Yeah. When our girlie woke me up in my head, some stuff outside started coming through. When there were a lot of you in the room, I couldn’t really follow any of it or understand what you were saying. But you stopped by on your own. Said that bit. It was easy to hear then.”

“Sorry. I honestly didn’t think you’d catch any of it.” Steve tucked his hands in closer to his face. More thankful than anything else that they couldn't see one another for this conversation.

And yet, Eddie joked,“ You planned to waste such a moving monologue on deaf ears? For shame, Harrington, for shame.”

“I just-” he tried again,” I’m sorry-“

But the other wouldn't hear it. “I just said you didn’t do it. Alright? Nothing to waste ‘sorry’ on.”

“But I must have, at some point.” Steve reasoned.

Unsure why his idea was to argue that, no, no, Eddie, actually he did mistreat you, you must be mistaken, think harder. But Eddie didn't waver. His voice was sure and even. And he simply affirmed the fact.

“You didn’t.”

“But-“

“I’ll admit, I convinced myself once or twice that you orchestrated all of it. Sent out your legions of jocks and goons to carry out your dastardly demands for you while keeping your hands clean. But, I know now that I was wrong about that idea.”

And with a pang of guilt that gnawed at his ribs, Steve spoke quietly,“ But I know I’ve said it.”

Freak. He called him The Freak. He knew he did. Hell, he said it just weeks ago when Dustin invited him to the game. He knew that.

But Eddie didn't dwell on it. Didn't deem it the important part.

“Not to me. Not once did you shove my face in it.”

“I’m still sorr-“ but Steve felt a smack on his shoulder. Carefully, he looked over to see that Eddie was laying face up, no longer with his back to Steve. The wall of air between them was gone, in one way or another. So Steve shifted over, joining him in laying back until he was looking up at his ceiling too.

“And do you always do that?” Eddie asked as he tried to get comfortable.

“Do what? Apologiz-”

“Talk through movies?” Eddie interrupted, steering the conversation way out into the left field,” I mean, I was unconscious, but I still heard your whole commentary on Grease. Very strong opinions you have on that one.”

“Okay, Sandy did nothing wrong and shouldn't have had to 'compromise' with Danny at the end just because he lied about their relationship to his guys for points. Had her story been about actually wanting to be less of a goody-two-shoes for her own reasons-”

Eddie stopped him before he really got going,“ That is what I'm talking about. Seriously, dude? And you had something specific to say every minute of it. Was practically watching it with you even with my eyes closed because you'd remind me what beat we were on without fail.”

He bumped into Steve's shoulder with his own. Small laughs bubbled up. And the whole situation didn't feel so awkward and stilted anymore.

“Yeah, I guess.” Steve agreed with a smile,” Rob and I are usually pretty chatty when we watch ‘em together. I think I picked it up from her.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re a real Chatty Cathy, Steve Harrington.”

“That such a bad thing?”

Eddie paused to think on it. But quickly decided otherwise. “Nah. I wouldn’t say so. Felt way less lonely with someone talking.”

Steve felt some pride settle back into himself,“ Then you’re welcome.”

“Oh, great,” he groaned,” Now I went and gave you a big head about it.”

“I think most people would tell you I already had one.” Steve pointed out.

“A big, stupid head.” Eddie took a finger and poked Steve right on the side of his forehead. But before Steve could really say anything else, he tugged the blanket up and rolled over in the bed. His back was up again, but it didn't feel so insurmountable. It was comfortable.

“Go to sleep,” he commanded. As if he wasn't the one that started their discussion in the first place.

Steve rolled onto his own side,” You go to sleep.”

A comeback fit for a first grader. My, how the mighty have fallen. But sometimes falling could be a good thing. Brings a person back down to Earth. Reminds them of all the other people that didn't climb too tall on their high horse.

And that kind of falling, the kind that Steve Harrington did, didn't make him shatter into broken pieces on the ground.

Some parts of a person need to break. Explicitly so they can put themselves back together. And maybe the breaks were always going to be there. But maybe he'd be the better for it. Maybe they all would.

#Totally didn't forget to post this for a while what are you talking about I've never-#Yeah #I did. Sorry Tumblr I need to get back into the habit of checking in on y'all over here. Working on it.#Anyway #I hope this chapter was everything a person could hope for a more?#I really wanted to develop the trauma they're all kind of going through - Robin has some PTSD - Eddie has some survivors guilt - etc #And more importantly than just the pain they are going through is the reality that none of them are alone #Even if they feel alone for a little while. Someone always shows up. And they don't have to sit in it by themselves anymore.#Also some Karen Wheeler X Dmitri Antanov because when I'm not making her sapphic that's my fave guy for her <3 #And I really really really love the scene in season 3 where Karen tells Nancy not to give up on what she wants from this life #And you can kind of see there's a little bit of longing as she says it to her. Pushing away maybe a little bit of regret what she didn't?#And I never see that stuff addressed - so I'm doing it #These characters are so complex goddamn #Also the lil D&D bit was heavily inspired by Drawfee's Drawtectives on YouTube and everyone should watch it #I dm-ed a similar session and it's so fun highly highly highly recommend #And I finally threw two character into an 'and there was only one bed' situation #After all my years of writing fanfiction I'm finally hitting first base #I have a lot of reasons on why I wrote that Steve didn't really bully Eddie in HS - I might make a whole discussion post about it #I know it's a pretty divisive headcanon - but after all the times I've poured over this show - this feels like the most accurate answer #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Steddie #Steveddie #Steve x Eddie #Nancy Wheeler #Robin Buckney #Ronance #Robin x Nancy #The Fruity Four #Stranger Things

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